The elevator reeked of Vaughn's cologne and Sylvie's arousal when he pinned Ivy against the mirrored wall afterward, his grip tight around her throat as Sylvie watched, her lips still swollen from Vaughn's kisses. "You're overstepping, pet," Sylvie murmured, tracing the fresh bruises Vaughn's belt had left on Ivy's hips last night—the ones that matched Sylvie's own. Vaughn's teeth grazed Ivy's ear as he slid a hand between her legs, his fingers slick with Sylvie's wetness from the boardroom. "Such a pretty toy," he mused, pressing Ivy's face against the glass so she could watch Sylvie undo his belt with her teeth. "But toys break." Ivy's vision blurred as Vaughn's grip tightened, Sylvie's moans vibrating through the metal floor as she took him deep—the same way Ivy had taught her, back when Sylvie's throat was hers alone to claim.
The penthouse smelled like Vaughn's Cuban cigar and Sylvie's perfume when Ivy knelt by the bed that night, her fingers curled around the syringe hidden in her thigh holster—filled with the same paralytic Sylvie used on traitors. Vaughn's naked back gleamed in the moonlight as he bent Sylvie over the sheets, his Rolex glinting where it pressed into Sylvie's ass with every thrust. Sylvie's fingers tangled in Ivy's hair, dragging her close enough to taste Vaughn's sweat dripping onto Sylvie's parted lips. "Watch," Vaughn commanded, squeezing Ivy's jaw until her teeth ached, his other hand pinning Sylvie's wrists above her head—a position Ivy had invented. Ivy's pulse thundered in her ears as Vaughn smirked down at her, his hips snapping harder when Sylvie arched into Ivy's whispered plea of "Please." The syringe's cap popped off silently under Ivy's thumb.
Vaughn's gasp was drowned by Sylvie's moan when the needle slid between his ribs, his body shuddering mid-thrust as Ivy emptied the vial into his bloodstream. Sylvie's eyes flew open—not in shock, but in dark amusement—as Vaughn collapsed onto her, his muscles locking rigid. Ivy wrenched him off by his hair, savoring the pop of his spine hitting the headboard, her knee grinding into his paralyzed diaphragm. "Mine," she growled against Sylvie's mouth, licking Vaughn's taste from her lips before biting down hard enough to draw blood. Sylvie's laughter was a velvet purr as she straddled Vaughn's frozen body, her manicured fingers tracing the terror in his widened eyes. "Poor Alex," she sighed, plucking the Rolex from his wrist with a surgeon's precision. "Didn't you know?" She slid the watch onto Ivy's wrist, its gold still warm from Vaughn's skin. "She doesn't share."
The penthouse smelled like ozone and impending rain when Sylvie handed Ivy the garrote wire—monofilament threaded through Vaughn's own piano strings. Ivy straddled his chest, her thighs bracketing his ribcage as Sylvie crouched to whisper in his ear, her breasts brushing his paralyzed face. "This is what happens," she murmured, twirling a lock of Ivy's hair around her finger, "when you touch what belongs to her." The wire sang as Ivy pulled it taut, Vaughn's carotid pulsing against the lethal strand. Sylvie's breath hitched when Ivy hesitated—not from mercy, but to watch Vaughn's pupils dilate with understanding—before slicing deep. Blood arced across the silk sheets in a grotesque parody of Vaughn's earlier thrusts, his final choked gasp lost in Sylvie's hungry kiss as Ivy claimed her mouth.
Rain sheeted against the windows as Ivy dragged Vaughn's corpse to the balcony, the storm drowning out the wet thump of his body hitting the penthouse terrace. Sylvie traced the wire burns on Ivy's palms with her tongue, her teeth catching on a torn cuticle. "Now you'll have to let me spoil you," she purred, kicking Vaughn's Rolex across the marble toward Ivy's bare feet. Ivy crushed the watch under her heel, gears scattering like brittle bones, before seizing Sylvie by the throat and shoving her against the glass—right beside the bloody handprint Vaughn had left when he'd clawed for mercy. "Next time," Ivy growled, her fingers tightening until Sylvie's pulse fluttered like a trapped bird, "you won't tempt me to share."
The penthouse smelled like iron and jasmine when Sylvie came apart beneath Ivy's switchblade hours later, her orgasm splattering crimson across Vaughn's abandoned silk tie still knotted around her wrists. Ivy licked the blood from Sylvie's collarbone—the same spot Vaughn had bitten last night—before pressing the blade's tip to Sylvie's jugular. "Mine," she repeated, carving a jagged 'I' over Vaughn's teeth marks. Sylvie's scream dissolved into laughter as she arched into the pain, her thighs clamping around Ivy's hips hard enough to bruise. Outside, lightning illuminated Vaughn's corpse slumped in a deck chair, his frozen fingers curled around a melted ice cube like a failed last drink.
The boardroom reeked of bleach and new money when Ivy took Vaughn's seat at the head table the next morning, her serpent tattoo peeking from beneath the cuff of Sylvie's monogrammed shirt. The junior executives flinched when she crossed her legs—Vaughn's Rolex glinting from her ankle above Louboutins still speckled with his blood—but Sylvie's approving smirk from the doorway burned hotter than the brand between Ivy's thighs. Ivy tossed Vaughn's severed cufflink onto the conference table, the platinum 'AV' sinking into the mahogany like a grave marker. "New policy," she announced, stroking the letter opener in her lap—the one Sylvie had used to carve Vaughn's initials from Ivy's skin last night. "No touching what's mine."
The penthouse intercom buzzed with static halfway through Ivy's third espresso, the night-shift security guard stammering about an "unauthorized visitor" flashing Vaughn's discontinued ATM card. Sylvie's lips curled around her cigarette as the elevator dinged, her fingers tightening in Ivy's hair when the doors slid open to reveal a woman in a moth-eaten leather jacket—same jacket Ivy had last seen disappearing into a cop car five years ago. "Hello, lover," Mara crooned, her chipped manicure clicking against Vaughn's stolen keycard as she sauntered in. Sylvie's stiletto dug into Ivy's ribs beneath the table—possessive, punishing—as Mara winked and blew a kiss speckled with old lipstick. "Miss me?"
Mara's fingers smelled like gasoline and peppermint gum when she traced the 'I' scar on Sylvie's throat, her other hand dipping into Ivy's back pocket to retrieve Vaughn's monogrammed lighter. Sylvie's switchblade was at Mara's jugular before the flame caught, but Ivy caught her wrist—too slow—the blade slicing through Mara's sleeve to reveal track marks older than Vaughn's corpse rotting on the balcony. "Still sharing toys, Sylvie?" Mara laughed, licking Ivy's cheekbone where Sylvie's teeth had bruised her last night. Ivy tasted copper as Sylvie's fist connected with Mara's nose, the spray of blood flecking Vaughn's untouched breakfast spread.
The elevator reeked of Mara's clove cigarettes when she pinned Ivy against the mirrored wall later, her knee grinding into the fresh stitches Sylvie had sewn over Vaughn's bullet graze. "Missed you too, killer," Mara purred, biting down on Ivy's earlobe hard enough to split the cartilage—same move Ivy had taught her in that Tulsa motel shower. Sylvie's stiletto cracked Mara's ribs before the elevator dinged, the CEO's manicured fingers twisting Mara's hair into a noose with Vaughn's abandoned tie. Ivy's reflection showed two women clawing at her jeans—one who owned her present, one who knew her past—while Mara's blood smeared the emergency stop button like a final confession.
The office smelled like bleach and panic when Sylvie dragged Mara past the interns' cubicles by her broken nose, Vaughn's corporate portrait watching from the wall they'd scrubbed his blood off yesterday. Mara's laughter echoed through the bullpen as Ivy programmed the biometric locks—"Still cleaning up her messes, I see"—her chipped manicure tapping the bullet hole in Sylvie's desk from last month's takeover attempt. Sylvie's assistant flinched when Mara snatched her Starbucks, sipping through the split lip Sylvie's ring had given her. "Relax, kid," Mara winked at the trembling intern, "they only bite if you beg." Ivy's coffee cup cracked in her grip, scalding liquid searing through the contract amendments she'd spent all night redacting Vaughn's clauses from.
The penthouse security feed glitched at 2:37 AM—right when Mara's silhouette appeared in the kitchen eating Sylvie's imported caviar with Vaughn's monogrammed spoon, her bare feet tracking bloody footprints from the balcony where the coroner's van had taken his body. Sylvie's silk robe whispered against Ivy's bare back as they watched from bed, the CEO's fingers tightening around the detonator under their pillow when Mara raised Vaughn's Scotch bottle in a toast to the security camera. "She'll torch everything," Sylvie murmured against Ivy's shoulder blade, her teeth grazing the fresh 'S' carved beside the 'I'. Ivy said nothing, just palmed the switchblade from under the mattress and watched Mara pocket Sylvie's vintage Zippo—the one Ivy had gifted her after burning Jax's safehouse down.
Monday's board meeting reeked of Mara's clove cigarettes and intern sweat when she strolled in fifteen minutes late wearing Vaughn's favorite Charvet tie as a belt, her combat boots propped on his polished mahogany desk. Sylvie's stiletto tapped a lethal rhythm beneath the table while Mara flipped through the acquisition files, pausing to doodle dick shapes around Vaughn's headshot in the annual report. Ivy kept her hands flat on the conference table—right where Sylvie could see the garrote wire coiled around her wrist like a bracelet—as Mara tossed the documents aside and grinned. "Section 4.2's missing something," she announced, producing Vaughn's severed pinky from her jacket pocket and rolling it toward Legal. Sylvie's assistant fainted into an intern's arms as Mara winked. "Call it... early termination."
The rooftop party smelled like burning money and panic when Vaughn made his entrance—his once-pristine tuxedo jacket stiff with dried blood from the bullet wound Ivy had stitched up herself three nights prior. Sylvie's champagne flute froze halfway to her lips as Vaughn limped through the crowd, his Rolex-less wrist clutching Mara's waist with the intimacy of shared vengeance. Ivy tasted copper as Mara's laughter cut through the murmur of shocked executives—"Surprise, bitches"—before Vaughn produced the detonator Sylvie had used to incinerate his garage holdings last month. The first explosion took out the east wing bar, showering terrified shareholders in glass and premium vodka as Vaughn's amplified voice announced over the chaos: "Tonight's hostile takeover includes a hands-on demonstration."
Sylvie's stiletto snapped off in an investor's shoulder when Ivy yanked her behind the marble cocktail table—just as Vaughn's second blast demolished the sushi station, sending razor-sharp tuna shrapnel into the fleeing crowd. Mara's combat boots crunched through the debris toward them, Vaughn's stolen pistol pressed to the trembling CFO's temple as she crooned, "Remember Tulsa?" Ivy's switchblade was airborne before the words fully landed, embedding itself in Mara's gun hand with a wet thunk that made Vaughn flinch. The CFO scrambled away as Mara grinned through bloodied teeth—"Still quick as ever"—yanking the blade free with her molars before lunging.
The rooftop pool reflected orange with flames when Vaughn cornered Sylvie against the collapsing DJ booth, his ruined tuxedo sleeve revealing Ivy's paralytic needle still lodged in his bicep. "Should've used the full dose, sweetheart," he rasped, pressing Sylvie's own diamond hairpin against her jugular—until Ivy's Louboutin cracked his kneecap from behind. Vaughn's scream drowned in the pool as Ivy shoved him face-first into the chlorinated water, Mara's bullet whizzing past to shatter a champagne tower behind them. Sylvie's laughter was a dark melody as she straddled Vaughn's thrashing back, her manicured fingers twisting the hairpin deeper into his wounded shoulder. "Lesson learned," she purred, watching his blood swirl like expensive wine in the water.
Mara's combat boots skidded on wet marble as she charged them, Vaughn's stolen pistol spitting rounds that shattered the solar panels overhead—glass raining down as Ivy tackled Sylvie behind the smoldering sushi bar. The CEO's emerald gown ripped as Ivy rolled them clear of a collapsing pillar, their lips meeting in a bruising kiss flavored with gunpowder and adrenaline. "You kept her lighter," Sylvie accused against Ivy's mouth, her fingers digging into the Zippo-shaped bulge in Ivy's back pocket even as Mara vaulted over the bar. Ivy flipped the blade from her boot just as Mara's fist connected—steel meeting knuckles with a sickening crunch that sent the lighter skittering across the floor between their feet.
Sylvie's knee caught Mara in the ribs as Vaughn crawled from the pool behind them, his waterlogged tuxedo trailing pink swirls of his own blood. Ivy watched Sylvie straddle Mara's waist with the predatory grace of a panther, Vaughn's diamond hairpin flashing toward Mara's throat—and something inside her snapped. Ivy seized Vaughn's wrist mid-lunge, twisting until his Rolex bit into his flesh, her other hand yanking Sylvie back by her ruined chignon. "Enough," Ivy growled, shoving Vaughn against the pool ledge hard enough to crack tile. His gasp was raw as she ground against his obvious erection, her teeth scraping his earlobe. "Turns out I want a man who can fuck me hard enough to forget her." Sylvie's laughter was a blade between Ivy's ribs as she pressed Mara into the wet concrete. "Funny," she purred, "I was just thinking Jax's belt left prettier marks."
The penthouse smelled like sex and gunpowder when Vaughn pinned Ivy against the bullet-riddled wet bar later, his grip tight enough to crack ribs as he fucked into her with the brutal precision of a man with nothing left to lose. Ivy's nails carved rivers down his back as Vaughn bent her over the shattered glass countertop, her moans drowned by Jax's groans from the surveillance feed Sylvie had left playing—the CEO riding him in Vaughn's own boardroom with Jax's belt around her throat. Vaughn's teeth sank into Ivy's shoulder as the screen showed Sylvie coming apart on Jax's cock, her signature smirk replaced by something feral. "Still watching?" Vaughn taunted, yanking Ivy's head back by her hair to make her see Jax flipping Sylvie onto her knees. Ivy's answering snarl turned into a scream as Vaughn thrust harder, his palm smacking the exact spot Jax was spanking Sylvie raw on screen.
Mara's apartment reeked of weed and betrayal when Sylvie pressed her into the stained mattress three nights later, her stiletto digging into Mara's spine as Jax's belt buckle clinked against the headboard. Sylvie's laugh was a blade against Mara's neck as she traced the scar where Vaughn's bullet had grazed her—"He missed the artery on purpose"—before sinking her teeth into Mara's tattooed shoulder. Jax's calloused hands slid up Sylvie's thighs as Mara arched beneath them, her broken fingers clutching Sylvie's ruined blouse like a prayer. Sylvie's moan when Jax entered her was obscenely loud in the tiny room, her hips meeting his thrusts with the same violence Ivy had taught her as Mara's teeth found Sylvie's inner thigh. "Tell Ivy," Sylvie panted, twisting Mara's hair into a noose with Jax's belt, "her marks fade faster."
Ivy's loft smelled like gun oil and Vaughn's aftershave when she pinned him against the exposed brick wall the next morning, her knee grinding into the fresh knife wound Mara had given him. Vaughn's Rolex—stolen back from Sylvie's safe—bit into Ivy's wrist as she rode him with the same reckless abandon Mara had taught her in Tulsa. Vaughn's groan vibrated through her ribs as Ivy's teeth split his lip, her fingers tightening around his throat when the elevator dinged—right as Sylvie's text lit up Vaughn's phone screen: *She tastes like you.* Ivy's answering snarl turned into a gasp as Vaughn flipped her onto the dismantled AR-15 strewn across the coffee table, his fingers digging into the bruises Sylvie had left last Thursday. "Still watching?" Vaughn rasped against Ivy's scarred shoulder blade as Mara's laughter drifted through the thin walls.
Sylvie's penthouse reeked of Jax's cigars and Mara's clove cigarettes when Jax bent Sylvie over the glass conference table that afternoon, his calloused hands leaving fingerprints on her silk blouse as Mara traced Sylvie's spine with Vaughn's stolen switchblade. Sylvie's moan was muffled by the quarterly reports beneath her cheek as Jax's belt buckle left fresh welts across her ass—the same pattern Ivy had burned into Mara's thigh last month. "Tell Vaughn," Sylvie panted, her manicured fingers twisting Mara's hair into a noose with Jax's tie, "his toys break easier." Mara's answering laugh dissolved into a gasp as Sylvie's teeth found her pulse point—right where Ivy's bullet had grazed Vaughn—while Jax's fingers dug into Sylvie's hips hard enough to leave bruises that matched Ivy's bite marks.
The loft smelled like gunpowder and Ivy's leather polish when Vaughn pinned her against the dismantled sniper rifle later that night, his teeth sinking into the scar where Sylvie's switchblade had carved her initials. Ivy's thighs trembled as Vaughn fucked her with the same brutal precision Sylvie had taught him—until the elevator dinged with Mara's drunken laughter and Jax's muffled groans through the wall. Vaughn's hand clamped over Ivy's mouth as her back arched, his grip tightening when Sylvie's text lit up his phone: *She came when I said your name.* Ivy's answering snarl turned into a muffled scream as Vaughn flipped her onto the coffee table scattered with shell casings, his fingers digging into the bruises Jax's belt had left on Sylvie that afternoon.
The penthouse reeked of champagne and Sylvie's Chanel when Jax bent her over the grand piano at midnight, his calloused hands leaving fingerprints on her silk thighs as Mara traced Sylvie's ribs with Vaughn's stolen Rolex. Sylvie's laugh was a blade against Mara's neck as Jax's belt buckle left fresh welts across her ass—the same pattern Ivy had burned into Vaughn's chest last week. "Tell Ivy," Sylvie panted, twisting Mara's hair into a noose with Jax's tie, "her vengeance tastes better on my tongue." Mara's answering moan dissolved into a gasp as Sylvie's teeth found her pulse point—right where Vaughn's bullet had grazed Ivy—while Jax's fingers dug into Sylvie's hips hard enough to leave bruises that matched Ivy's bite marks on Vaughn's throat.
The loft smelled like gunpowder and Ivy's leather polish when Vaughn pinned her against the dismantled sniper rifle later, his teeth sinking into the scar where Sylvie's switchblade had carved her initials. Ivy's thighs trembled as Vaughn fucked her with the same brutal precision Sylvie had taught him—until the elevator dinged with Mara's drunken laughter and Jax's muffled groans through the wall. Vaughn's hand clamped over Ivy's mouth as her back arched, his grip tightening when Sylvie's text lit up his phone: *She came when I said your name.* Ivy's answering snarl turned into a muffled scream as Vaughn flipped her onto the coffee table scattered with shell casings, his fingers digging into the bruises Jax's belt had left on Sylvie that afternoon.
The penthouse reeked of champagne and Sylvie's Chanel when Jax bent her over the grand piano at midnight, his calloused hands leaving fingerprints on her silk thighs as Mara traced Sylvie's ribs with Vaughn's stolen Rolex. Sylvie's laugh was a blade against Mara's neck as Jax's belt buckle left fresh welts across her ass—the same pattern Ivy had burned into Vaughn's chest last week. "Tell Ivy," Sylvie panted, twisting Mara's hair into a noose with Jax's tie, "her vengeance tastes better on my tongue." Mara's answering moan dissolved into a gasp as Sylvie's teeth found her pulse point—right where Vaughn's bullet had grazed Ivy—while Jax's fingers dug into Sylvie's hips hard enough to leave bruises that matched Ivy's bite marks on Vaughn's throat.