Ivelle was the only person brave enough to phone Jordan so late. When he emerged from the shower, towel-slung across his torso, she watched him answer without hesitation. Whatever Nicole said on the other end made his jaw tighten. "Don't play games," he commanded, ending the call abruptly. He moved toward the bedroom to dress and leave, but this time Ivelle wouldn't stay silent. She grabbed his arm, her voice trembling with desperation. "Please don't go tonight. Stay with me." His expression hardened into stone. "Are you making demands of me now?" The words cut like ice. Ivelle froze, then laughed—a bitter, hollow sound. She met his dark gaze and spoke with quiet rage. "Tomorrow we bury Grandpa. Whatever claim Nicole has on you, shouldn't respect matter more than desire?" His hand found her jaw, fingers pressing firm as midnight eyes narrowed into slits. "You're bolder than I thought, Ivelle," he whispered, dangerous and low.