I lower my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose, letting my gaze sweep over the estate. The stone driveway gleams under the late afternoon sun, the marble lions on either side of the steps looking just as smug and judgmental as they did when I left three years ago.

Everything smells the same, money, power, polished wood, and secrets.

But I'm not the same girl who ran away at eighteen with a heart full of grief and a head full of stupid dreams.

Back then, I was scared. Lost.

Now, I'm fucking dangerous.

The heavy oak doors creak open before I even lift a manicured hand to knock. And there he is.

Alexander Wolfe.

Billionaire. Kingmaker. Devil in a goddamn suit.

And my stepfather.

For a beat, neither of us moves.

He just stands there, tall and lethal, wearing black slacks that hug those thick thighs and a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned, veined forearms-the kind you wrap your whole fucking life around when the world falls apart.

His dark eyes rake over me slow, deliberate.

Not like a man greeting his stepdaughter.

No.

Like a predator cataloging his prey.

"Ivy, welcome home" he says, voice rough like gravel soaked in whiskey. "Didn't recognize you at first."

Liar.

He felt every inch of me the second I stepped out of that car.

I tilt my head, letting my long hair spill over my bare shoulder, and smile slow and syrupy. "Guess Daddy's eyes are getting old, huh?"

His jaw ticks so hard I almost hear it crack.

"You need to stop calling me that," he growls, stepping out onto the porch, his big body blocking the sun-and the world-behind him.

God, he smells fucking dangerous.

Sandalwood. Leather.

The kind of scent that stains your sheets and your soul.

I saunter up the steps, dragging my fingertips along the stone railing as I pass, the click of my heels echoing like gunshots.

"I don't know..." I purr, stopping inches from him, so close I feel the heat rolling off his skin. "You liked it when I was little."

"Ivy." His voice is a warning. A threat.

A promise.

I shrug, pretending not to notice the way his eyes dip to the soft swell of my cleavage. "It's just a word, Daddy. No need to get your boxers twisted."

He leans down, so close his breath brushes my lips. "You're playing with fire, little girl."

My heart thunders, my nipples pebble under the thin silk of my top, but I keep my voice steady. Coy.

"What if I like getting burned?"

His pupils dilate. His hand fists at his side like he's physically restraining himself from grabbing me, pinning me against the goddamn doorframe, and teaching me a lesson I'll never forget.

God, I want him to lose control.

I want to see the man underneath the mask.

Instead, he drags in a breath through his nose, nostrils flaring like a caged animal.

"Your room's ready. Dinner's at seven. Don't be late."

"Or what?" I tease, letting my tongue peek out to wet my bottom lip. "You gonna spank me, Daddy?"

He flinches like I slapped him-and then his mouth curves into something dangerous. Dark.

"I should throw you over my knee and beat that brat right out of you."

My thighs clench.

Oh, fuck yes.

I smile sweetly, batting my lashes. "Promises, promises."

Without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks inside, leaving the heavy door open like an invitation.

Or a challenge.