Ace POV:
I let out a curse, running my hands through my hair as I tapped the pen tip on the table.
The sound echoed around the office cabin, each tap driving me further into my impatience. Tap. Tap. Tap.
It was just 4:45 PM, and I was getting restless.
Like a drug addict. I don't even do drugs.
Well—only once.
It sucked.
Honestly, drugs are overrated.
Scotch is better than that useless ceramic powder.
If it weren't so popular among the consumers, I would have never started selling and trading it.
Business was business.
I didn't have to enjoy everything I sold.
I took a deep breath, my mind racing from one thought to another, each one darker and more grotesque than the last.
Memories surfaced— ones I didn't even remember properly.
Fragments. Faces. Places. blurred.
Things I'd rather leave buried. Or not.
My fingers tightened around the pen.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
The sound made me straighten my posture.
My heart beat so fast that I could feel it pounding inside my ears, but I didn't stop tapping my pen.
"Come in," I said, my voice low and firm.
The door opened, and Hedrick walked in, carrying a bundle of files.
His tired eyes gave away how long he'd been working.
But he was composed, as always. That was one thing I appreciated about him.
Hedrick placed the files on the table with a faint, bare thud, his movements efficient and practiced.
"Sir, the files are rectified and now completed," he murmured, his voice steady, as though nothing could disturb the calm veneer he presented.
But I knew better.
I hummed in acknowledgment, my pen tapping faster against the table, the noise growing louder, more intense.
I'm not sure whether I was doing it to distract myself or to make him nervous.
Maybe both. Mostly both.
I watched him carefully. He stood there with his hands loosely at his sides, waiting.
Waiting for what?
Eventually, he shifted slightly on his feet.
I didn't stop tapping.
His gaze flickered toward the pen.
"Are you okay, Sir?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I stared at him without blinking.
People are really weird.
As if saying Are you okay? had ever magically made anyone okay.
When they absolutely know they can’t help a shit.
He's scared now.
There was something about the way he asked, the way he looked at me, that is getting under my skin now.
Hedrick Donovan.
My legitimate business secretary.
A good man.
A very healthy man in his late thirties.
Loyal. Respectful. Inconveniently innocent man, who had tolerated me for years, in my controlled business world.
He had never once tried to impress me. That was probably why I kept him.
Good employees were difficult to replace.
Good men were even rarer.
“If there is nothing else, then can I take my leave early today?” he asked, his eyes—maybe unconsciously—darting toward the door, as though he were already planning his escape.
I looked at him.
Then at the clock.
Then back at him.
“No,” I murmured, my voice a mixture of boredom and coldness.
“The property evaluation folders from the west division are inconsistent. Rebuild the archive order and attach the revised assessment sheets beside the original submissions. I want the discrepancies flagged separately this time.”
I lazily flicked the pen down. Clack. The sound of it hitting the desk came out sharper than I intended.
Hedrick hesitates, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind.
Hurt and betrayed. Meh.
He shifted again, his eyes dropping toward the files.
“But you told me to do it later because—”
I cut him off with a quick motion of my hand.
“Yeah, yeah. You're going out with your family to celebrate your anniversary today.”
I leaned back.
“But who cares?” The words left my mouth with a lazy hum.
His expression fell.
I didn't feel particularly guilty.
Do I feel bad?
Or any other bullshit?
No.
He's doing his job.
And I pay him fairly.
More than fairly, actually. More than his position technically deserves.
“Okay, sir,” he said eventually, sighing deeply.
Knock.
Hedrick turned toward the door. Then sighed again. I stared at the back of his head.
He really needs to stop doing that.
The door opened before I could say anything.
Ivan stepped inside, a file tucked beneath his arm.
Hedrick gave him a brief glance before walking past him.
Another sigh followed him out.
I slumped back into my chair and clicked my tongue. Unbelievable.
Ivan shut the door.
I rubbed both hands through my hair. “Is the body in the basement in good condition?” I muttered.
“Very good, indeed.”
Ivan placed the file in front of me. “Iris's information.”
My hand stopped halfway through my hair.
I looked at the folder.
Then picked it up.
I sighed, flipping it open, scanning through the contents with a practiced eye.
Iris Carter.
Recently turned seventeen.
Born in the 81 Mercer Housing Complex, South Jamaica, Queens.
Mother—Asha Carter. Deceased.
Father—Samuel Carter. Deceased.
One older brother—still alive. Location unknown, Blah, blah, blah. The usual sad family history.
Current address listed as some cheap hostel downtown. Shared room with a girl.
Surprisingly, there wasn’t any debt or any unpaid rents or any significant assets, not even a loan.
I paused.
Interesting.
Her SSN was active but barely used.
No consistent school records.
No property.
No vehicle.
No inheritance.
Nothing valuable enough to make someone hunt her down.
Several low-paying jobs scattered over the years.
No criminal history.
No accessible medical records.
No partner.
No obvious financial connections.
No active digital footprint beyond a prepaid number registered under her deceased father’s name.
No emergency contact listed anywhere.
I stared at the information for a few seconds longer.
Tch.
She was practically invisible.
Not mysterious. Not some secret agent.
Not secretly connected to some organisation, group, cult or brothel.
Just—
Invisible.
No protection. No stability. No useful family connections. No one important enough to immediately start asking questions if she vanished from whatever miserable little routine she had.
A pissed smirk pulled at my lips as I tossed the folder onto my desk. I stared at the ceiling.
Wonderful. Absolutely–fucking–wonderful.
All that digging, all those records, all those connections I'd expected to find—and what did I get?
Nothing.
Not even a pathetic little thread leading toward the Centipede.
“You’re happy that she’s useless?” Ivan asked, frowning.
I slowly lowered my gaze toward him.
“Happy?”
The word almost made me laugh.
“I am fucking pissed that—” I stopped and sighed deeply. Control, Ace. “She doesn’t have any connections with the Centipede.”
That was the problem.
Not the girl.
The information. Or rather, the complete lack of it.
Ivan gave a small shrug.
“Nope. Not even a bit. Noah just picked a good-looking, dumb girl he happened to lay his eyes on.” A faint flicker of disinterest crossed his face. “Her brother may be a loose thread but won’t be our problem, I guarantee.”
“Still, one thing doesn’t fucking make sense.”
I stood.
The chair rolled backward slightly as I walked toward him and leaned against the edge of my desk. I folded my arms.
“A seventeen-year-old girl willingly followed a stranger for ice cream.” I paused.
My eyebrows drew together.
“Only to end up being sold.”
I stared at Ivan.
“Jesus Christ. I had heard stories. Plenty of them. First time I've actually seen someone dumb enough to do it.”
This was almost impressive.
“Sì, Capo,” he said evenly. “Ma that’s the information I have about her.”
He tapped one finger against his head.
“So this proves her story is real and painfully true. No matter how stupid—how much like some ridiculous favola— it sounds.”
“Did you check the footage of them entering the club?”
“Yeah.” Ivan's expression became more serious.
“It wouldn't look like she was being forced, though.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Noah was the nervous one.”
That caught my attention.
Ivan continued.
“Her head and face were covered, so it was difficult to see her properly. But from the movements and posture—” He paused. “She looked composed. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“She flinched whenever someone moved too quickly near her. She kept close to Noah, but she also kept looking around.”
I remained silent.
For that her explanation was kinda valid, “trying to cooperate and then run away.”
“She doesn’t even speak his language and trusted him enough to come with him just because of an ice cream.”
A disbelieving chuckle escaped me. Even saying it aloud made it sound worse.
Apparently, that was all it took to lure a seventeen-year-old into a room full of criminals.
I had built an empire around information, leverage, blackmail, and contingency plans.
This girl had apparently built her survival strategy around dessert. Ice cream. Dumbass.
Ivan’s eyes widened slightly as he looked at me, as though he couldn't decide whether I was exaggerating.
“Then we really need to be careful of her,” he said. “Stupid people are very dangerous and hard to figure out.”
“Noah and Iris?” I asked.
He shook his head, “Checked thoroughly. Noah and Iris's roommate, Helen, traded drugs. That's how he came across her. He and this idiot met for the first time yesterday.”
“And Iris?”
“She doesn't use drugs. She wasn't drugged either. Melinda checked her in the morning. No obvious signs of intoxication or anything suggesting she had been given something.”
“My friends?”
“Nothing. From everything we've gathered so far, she doesn't have any type of connection or relationship with them. They've never met her before.”
I nodded.
“What about me?”
“No, Capo. Mai. She never crossed paths with you either. Not until yesterday.”
I sighed in irritation.
“She seriously thinks she's here to take care of me.”
I pointed my thumb toward myself.
“Basically, that twink told her I have some fucking disability.”
Ivan's mouth twitched.
This morning, when she was trying to find a way out through the window, I thought she was finally doing something clever but the next thing I know, she's asking me questions like I'm some fucking patient. I was going to kick her ass.
Ivan folded his arms. “So, you’re saying she’s not a whore, nor a sham, just an idiot who genuinely thinks she's here to take care of a patient?”
“Apparently.”
“Even after knowing who you are, she wants to stay, even for ‘one week.’
He stared at me.
I stared back.
“Yeah…”
I trailed off.
Neither of us liked that part.
“Either she doesn't understand how fucked you are—”
He raised his index finger.
“Or she's some crazy sick fuck who loves adventure.”
Then he raised his middle finger.
He held up both fingers between us, looking at them like they were the two most reasonable explanations available.
I stared at his hand.
Then his face.
I rubbed my tongue against my molars, pondering.
“But I still have suspicions about her not being a whore.”
Ivan hummed.
“One minute she's painfully oblivious.”
I paused.
“Next minute, she’s eye fucking me, like staring at my soul.”
Lowering his hands, “The guards were praising her boldness because apparently she asked you, in broad night time “to sleep with her”.
“Mannaggia! I have to correct them, then,” he exclaimed, somewhat disappointed.
I rolled my eyes.
“For fuck sake, do you think I am a slut who would spread my legs just because some girl asked me?” I gripped his wrist, clenching my jaw, my fingers tightened briefly.
Ivan immediately pulled his hand back and rubbed it absentmindedly.
“No, Capo.”
His expression became serious. “How could she speak so casually to you? No matter how dumb she is, there's still a line not to cross.”
“Or maybe—” He pointed his thumb toward me. “Since you are supposedly a patient and she is supposedly your caretaker—”
His other hand gestured vaguely between us.
“Staying near you would make sense to her. Caretakers generally stay close to patients. Maybe that's just how she's interpreting the situation.”
I raised both brows.
“Do I look like someone with any fucking disability?”
Ivan pressed his lips together, bit his lower lip. Then shook his head. Slowly.
I stared at him.
One.
Two.
Then– Snort.
I closed my eyes.
A laugh burst out of him, loud enough to echo around the office.
I opened my eyes.
He was practically doubled over.
I stared at him with a blank expression.
“What about Noah?” I asked, pulling out my phone.
“He—he—he’s fine,” Ivan managed through his laughter.
Then, abruptly, he straightened himself and cleared his throat, straightening his suit.
“Wandering around loan companies, friends’ houses, and the usual places. But we don't think he's visiting the Centipede.”
My thumb stopped against the screen.
“Why not?”
“Because he doesn't randomly disappear into a building complex for ten hours straight.”
“Why not?”
Ivan blinked.
“That’s what I’m suspicious about.”
He shrugged slightly.
“We're keeping an eye on him. Let's see what happens.”
His phone began vibrating and his brows immediately furrowed.
Definitely Ares.
“What?” His tone changed instantly.
I flicked my fingers at him dismissively and walked away.
He gave me a brief bow before turning and leaving as well.
I stopped beside my desk.
“Once I get my hands on the Centipede, I'm gonna fucking ruin it to the ends for making me buy a whore—or whatever she is—who thinks I'm a slut.”
My irritation had returned in full.
I dropped into my chair and stared at the computer screen.
A spreadsheet stared back. I clicked through a few tabs.
So now I knew she was useless. I should let her go.
If an asset had no value, you disposed of it.
But then—
Why had Noah been so fucking adamant about her?
He hadn't simply brought her along.
He'd practically shoved her at me.
He'd been terrified I'd refuse or did I misread the signs?
No. I am never wrong in that field.
That time it made sense, now after knowing about her, it bothered me.
When he can just give me another girl (of course I would refuse again), but that night even after I refused her and tried to give him time, he was behaving like a fucking pimp.
Maybe he knew something I didn't.
Maybe he didn't.
With Noah, fifty-fifty.
I leaned back.
Even if she wasn't a whore, she could still be some freak.
Or maybe she was simply naïve thinking life is full of ice creams and smiles.
Neither explanation particularly impressed me.
Most importantly—
She had no connection to the Centipede.
Which meant I definitely should kick her out.
I glanced at the closed folder.
For once, the world might actually have handed me someone without a complicated price tag attached.
I closed the remaining tabs.
One after another.
Then I started shutting down the system.
The screen went dark.
My reflection appeared faintly against the black glass.
I stared at it.
Something about this entire situation still irritated me.
After twenty minutes, I finally left the building.
The evening air hit my face the moment I stepped outside, cooler than the suffocating air I'd been trapped in for hours. I stood there for a second, taking deep breaths, staring at the car waiting by the entrance.
Opening the door, I got inside and immediately leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes.
“Should I kick her out then?” Ivan asked.
“Yeah.” I loosened my tie and tossed it onto the seat beside me. “Give her a big lump of money before dropping her at her house.”
Ivan glanced at me through the rear-view mirror.
“Why?”
“She looks like sticks and bones.”
Ivan's eyes lingered on me through the mirror as he changed gears.
“You do sure care for someone you were cursing minutes ago about being useless.”
What's that got to do with this?
“Is it really worth your time, Capo?”
I didn't answer.
“At the end of the day, Centipede isn't that powerful an alliance. It's hardly worth this much time and effort.”
He was right.
“Do I have to ask your permission about where I should waste my time and effort now?” My voice remained calm. “Or something, Mr. Ivan?”
He immediately cleared his throat. “No.”
“Did you tell those noisy toddlers about it?”
“Do you think I’m some pettegola?” He sounded genuinely offended.
“You ratted me out last time, just for the reason that I didn't raise your salary.”
“That time, my salary was involved,” he pointed out smugly.
“You petty bastard.” My tone softened just slightly, but it was more out of exhaustion than anything else.
Lazily, I slid my hand into my coat and pulled out the last pill.
I stared at it between my fingers for a moment before popping it into my mouth and chewing. Bitter. Disgusting. I grimaced slightly.
Staring at the empty metal wrapper in my palm and I sighed deeply.
If Hud found out I hadn't refilled my meds— he would lose his marbles. Again.
The moment I stepped into my mansion after a long, grueling day, covered in dried blood and sweat I knew something was wrong. Very wrong.
The place, usually pristine and austere, was now an eyesore— An overwhelming, aggressively cheerful eyesore.
Artificial flowers sat in vases every-fucking-where. On tables. Shelves. Corners. Places I wasn't even aware could accommodate a vase.
And the smell—
Hell.
The fucking smell.
Artificial room freshener had been sprayed so generously that breathing suddenly felt like an optional activity.
Grinding my teeth, I pinched my earlobe and tugged on it hard.
The throbbing in my head was getting louder.
Walking past the hall, I stopped beside the stairs and looked around again, hands planted on my hips.
Why the hell were clocks hanging on the walls?
I had deliberately taken those clocks down. Every single one. I'd thrown them into the storeroom because I didn't want them there.
Curtains. Artificial Flowers. Clocks. Decorative nonsense. More fucking flowers.
My eyelid twitched.
My jaw clenched as I breathed in— God, the fucking foul smell hit me again.
It was a sickening blend of artificial floral fragrance and waxy furniture polish, clashing together so violently that it turned my stomach.
I cleared my throat and swallowed.
I could practically taste it.
I took another breath through my mouth.
Why does my house taste like this?
My fingers twitched, fists slowly clenched at my sides.
What the actual fuck is happening?
Did someone spread a rumor that I died and changed everything to their liking?
“MELINDA.”
My voice echoed through the halls and corridors of the house. Silence.
Then—
Footsteps.
Seconds later, Melinda came rushing down the stairs.
Her expression was already nervous. The moment her wide, panicked eyes met mine, she slowed.
At least one person in this house possessed survival instincts.
“What the hell is going on here?” I demanded. My voice was cold. Not loud.
“Huh?” Her voice came out small, her shoulders curling inward like a child caught stealing biscuits.
I gestured vaguely around us. Are you blind?
“Do you think we have a shortage of real flowers in this house?”
She blinked.
“And what's with the fucking curtains and clocks everywhere? Or did you suddenly decide this is your house and you're free to decorate it however you like?”
Her head turned from left to right.
She looked at the decorations.
Then at me.
Then back at the decorations.
“Answer me, damn it!”
She flinched.
“Did you forget the conditions under which you signed the contract every year? Or have you reached the age where you're forgetting the things you do most of the time, huh?”
“What smell, boss?” she asked nervously, looking around.
“Didn't the rules mention not to use artificial room fresheners or any fucking thing?”
I stepped forward.
Melinda instinctively stepped back.
“Is every flower in my garden dead, rotten, or something, Miss Melinda?”
“I-I'm sorry, boss,” she stammered. “But the new g-girl said you told her to clean the whole house, so I didn't say anything.”
My fury spiked.
That damn brat.
I took in a deep breath through my nose, forcing myself to keep control before I did something irreversible, but the smell kept reminding me of how awful everything was and is.
“I th—”
“Aah..…” I ran a hand through my hair and looked toward the ceiling.
My ears twitched when a sudden ringing pierced through them.
Wonder-fucking-ful. Perfect.
Exactly what I needed.
I pressed my tongue against my cheek.
“I mean, since she slept in your room. With you. So I thought… maybe you—”
I cut her off.
“Melinda.”
She stopped.
“Why the fuck would I change the rules for a girl whom I met just yesterday?” I stared at her in disbelief. “Yesterday, for fuck's sake.”
“Umm…” She licked her lips and gave me an awkward smile. “I mean, you're at the age of—”
A slow exhale left my lips. Ridiculous.
“Where is she now?” My voice dropped. Dangerously quiet.
Melinda hesitated for half a second.
Then whispered— “I-In your room.”
I turned on my heel.
My footsteps struck the floor hard as I headed toward the bedroom, each one vibrating the nerves all over my body.
I shoved both hands into my pockets.
One breath. Two.
My heartbeat was still too fast just as the ringing in my ears .
I blinked tightly. Once. Twice.
Can I just rip this feeling out of my chest?
I reached the door and kicked it open with my leg. It flung wide and slammed against the wall with a heavy bang.
The lights were off. Only the dim yellow lamps were on, leaving most of the room submerged in shadows.
And there she was.
Standing beside the table.
Her hands were clasped behind her back, her entire body going rigid the moment her eyes locked onto mine— Wide. Terrified. Frozen.
I tilted my head. Took a slow breath.
My left ear seemed to shut out the surrounding noise, muffling everything beyond the room.
I stepped forward. She instinctively backed away.
One small step.
“H-Hello, Sir.”
“Do you think this is your house?” I snarled, my voice sharp enough to cut through the silence.
“You're a fucking nobody here. Behave like one. Just because I spoke to you softly—even after you were shamelessly eyefucking me—doesn't mean you can act like a fucking leech.”
“Wha-Wha…” She stammered something incomprehensible, taking another step back— only to lean against the table completely.
In a swift motion, I walked towards her, but then her palms suddenly flew to her cheeks.
I frowned.
What the hell was that supposed to accomplish?
I crossed the remaining distance and caught the collar of her top, pulling her upright and away from the table.
A sharp breath escaped her throat as I fisted my hand, tightening and twisted the cloth that it would bite into her skin.
Her eyes shot up to mine, lips parted. “S-Sorry?”
“Are you fucking dumb enough that you don't understand the difference between decorating and cleaning a room?” I gritted my teeth, twisting the cloth more, making her hiss under her breath.
Her hands gripped my wrist, as she frowned deeply.
“I-I… Everywhere I worked, they all preferred—”
I cut her off.
“So you're saying not even one of the maids warned you that what you were doing was out of your fucking line?”
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
Her eyes dropped toward my chest.
A tiny hum escaped her.
My jaw tightened.
“So, do you understand what you did wrong?” Each word came out slowly.
My free hand curled into a fist, it was itching to just rip off her head.
Her breath hitched, her fingers trembling as they hovered near mine, as if she wanted to pry me off but didn’t dare.
Her lower lip wobbled, her lashes fluttering as she blinked rapidly— probably fighting tears.
“Did you understand?” My voice dropped into a dangerous rasp.
She nodded quickly. Her cold hand moved again, trying to loosen my fingers from the fabric.
“‘Preferred,’ you say?” I continued, my stare fixed on her. “Shouldn't you ask the others who have worked here for years instead of deciding my house needed a fucking makeover, you damn fucking brat.”
Then, suddenly— Her palms struck my chest. Smack.
I blinked.
She planted one foot behind herself and pushed against me.
A scoff left me. Seriously?
My jaw ticked, the headache that had been throbbing since morning suddenly pulsed harder behind my temples. Fuck.
I inhaled deeply, a nauseous feeling in my throat.
For a few seconds, my palms felt strangely numb.
I released her collar—not intentionally.
She stumbled back half a step.
Then stopped. Her eyes shot up to mine.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
I looked down at my hand. Then at her.
She looked equally confused.
I flexed my fingers once. The numbness was already fading.
My lips twitched, eyes darkening.
Then, suddenly— my hands shot forward, wrapped around her neck.
A sudden “Ack” slipped out of her lips, making her stumble a bit back.
“S-Stop” she spoke, her hands hovered uncertainly near my wrists.
Yeah…. I should stop.
“St-Stop it….A-Ace.”
I could feel sweat gathering at the back of my neck. My heartbeat was pounding so hard that the sound seemed to swallow everything else.
What the hell is she saying?
“...It–,” she murmured.
Biting my lower teeth, I grinned wickedly.
“Huh.” I twitched my ears, trying to hear whatever she’s saying.
".Hurts..”
“It hurts?” My voice was mocking as I gripped her right wrist with my free one, prying it off of my hands, applying just enough pressure to hear her tiny, distressed whimper, as she tried to pull her other hand back.
“Tell me how much it hurts.”
In an attempt to free her throat, she started to twist her neck.
“Can you feel the burn in your throat?” I asked, letting out a throaty chuckle.
Digging her fingers between my thumb and index finger, she raised her head up and twisting it left and right.
Something slipped out her lips.
I could hear something—a wheeze, perhaps—but it barely registered.
All I could hear was my own heartbeat.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Too loud. Too fast.
Then–
Flexing my fingers, I pulled her toward me, causing her to stumble forward and raise my palm up a bit, making her stand upright and straight.
“Mghh,” a whimper left her lips, as she stood on her toes.
I tightened my grip just enough to feel her trembling and pulse hammering against my palm, her heartbeat erratic and frantic. Just like mine.
Her hands instinctively flew up, grasping my shirt collar in a sudden move or maybe for support. “J-Jerk,” her fingers fisting my shirt, a pitiful attempt to stop me.
I raised her head higher, forcing it back, making her let out a small, distressed cry.
Her throat was so small that I could touch the small hairs on her nape beneath my fingertips, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Keep your fucking eyes open.” I snapped.
“Y-You bastard,” she murmured, gasping, her hand shot back to grip the table but only her fingers could reach, her body trembling from standing on her toes.
I yanked her closer, the sudden movement making her whimper, her fingers slipping.
Tilting my head, I leaned down a bit and looked at her face.
And then, finally, she did— Slowly, hesitantly— she peeked her eyes open, then a little more.
Then fully.
For the first time, I really saw her.
Maybe— it was the lights or my brain had finally decided to malfunction or her original colour.
Her eyes were perfectly brown.
The moment I locked onto them, my irritation, the itch in my chest, the voices scraping inside my ears, the faces— halted.
A deep, unfamiliar sensation settled somewhere beneath my ribs.
Her eyes were—
“...Ace.” Her voice was quiet. Barely there.
My vision got blurred at the edges.
I blinked. Again and again. It didn't fucking help.
I could still see it.
I looked down immediately.
Yeah…. My mind was playing tricks on me. Yes.
…I'd been awake too long. My head had been pounding since morning. I hadn't taken care of my medication properly. Of cou— “Ack!” I pressed my ear against my shoulder as my right ear ringed, loudly.
“Tiny!”
“Tiny!”
“TINY!”
These fucking voices.
My lips parted as something cold touched my cheek, I groaned loudly in pain.
I straightened my head and blinked rapidly, trying to erase the images and those voices scraping at the edges of my consciousness.
Then— I realized it.
My breath caught. My eyes widened. My palm fisted something soft.
It was a memory. My memory.
But— how?
I bit my tongue, dug my toe into the floor, and clenched my fingers tightly.
“Hah…” A shaky breath escaped me.
Something hard pressed against my head.
When I opened my eyes again, everything looked watery and unfocused.
Fuck.
My head was resting—more like digging— against her shoulder.
For a second, I simply stared.
Then I pushed my head a bit back.
She hadn't moved.
Her expression was…different now. Still nervous. Still breathing unevenly.
But her eyes were strangely steady. Cold, almost.
Tch.
She was back on her feet, but she hadn't run away.
Her survival instincts were of a mosquito near an electric racket.
“Will you kill me this time?”
Her voice was soft, yet it cut through the air like a blade, her breath fanning over the dip of my throat.
She wasn’t questioning.
Not afraid.
Wasn't even crying.
She was simply— asking.
Like if i said yes, she would agree, too.
My throat tightened.
I looked into her eyes, my rough, shaky breath passing between us.
Gripping her shoulders tightly, I stared into her eyes, leaning a bit close.
I panted softly, trying to shake off the unsettling weight pressing down on me. My ears, which had been ringing and muffled moments ago, slowly began to clear.
This time?
I wanted to say that. I wanted to ask what the hell she meant.
Instead—
“Want to.”
It slipped out.
I should have refilled my meds.
But then— Her eyelids dropped halfway, turning her usually wide, doe-like eyes into a strangely detached, empty stare. Her lips pressed into a thin line, the tension leaving her forehead.
I frowned.
The longer I looked into her eyes, the more nauseous I felt. Ah…fuck.
Her body trembled, just like my legs.
Yet her eyes—No– Her face looked like she—
“Are you having a panic attack?” Her hand trembled as she reached for my chin and gently pulled my face closer, forcing my attention back onto her.
I gulped hard. “No.”
Her fingers were trembling, but her gaze remained unwavering, staring directly into my eyes, devoid of anything.
She tilted her head. Then pressed the back of her palm against my cheek, making me flinch from the coldness of her skin. Her expression softened.
A small smile touched her lips.
“It’s okay, Ace. Breath.”
I clenched my jaw.
My fingers twitched against her shoulders, I didn’t move or pull away either. I just… stared.
Then—
My heart kicked up a beat. One wrong beat, then another.
The rhythm went completely out of sync, and just like that, my heart started pounding so fucking hard it felt like a piece of metal had been wedged between my chest.
My brows furrowed.
A wave of dizziness slammed into me. The room tilted, but my fucking eyes refused to leave hers.
For a fraction of a second, my feet went numb. My balance disappeared.
My body lurched forward, making me fall against her and forcing her to stumble backward with me.
I immediately stomped my feet against the floor, trying to force the sensation back into them.
My hand shot out, gripping her nape and forearm as she caught herself against the table and I on her.
The only thing that didn't move—
Her eyes.
They stayed fixed on mine.
It was like those damn eyes were literally mocking me to break away.
The outer ring was a dark, rich brown.
But the inner ring—the one closest to her pupil—held a circle of gold flecks, forming a distinct, hypnotic pattern.
A perfect circle of gold.
I was so close that I could see the way they shifted in the dim light, catching the glow like embers struggling beneath dying flames after rain.
Her lips were moving, softly but all I heard was ringing. Again.
As I stared at her, every little detail seemed to magnify.
Her flushed cheeks, the delicate curve of her eyes, the mole beneath her right eye and the way her hair was tucked behind her ear— all these details made her seem even more calm and soft.
Despite the harshness of the situation, there was something disarmingly peaceful about her eyes.
I didn’t like it.
I didn’t like any of it.
“..ce”
“..ce”
“Ace!!”
“Ace!!”
I snapped back, my shoulders flinching.
Her face was suddenly far too close to mine.
My pupils tightened.
Her gaze dropped to my lips.
Only then did I realize her hand was cupping my face.
My stomach lurched.
I felt my throat tighten with a sudden wave of gagging.
My hand shot out, gripping her wrist and shoving her hand away from my face.
I backed away immediately, putting a good fucking distance.
My chest heaved as I turned around, my entire body suddenly burning beneath my clothes.
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
“Get out. Right this instant.” My voice was cold, devoid of anything—no anger, no warmth, just emptiness, a medium bit of gagging.
There wasn’t any noise for a minute.
Then her voice came soft. Worried. “Okay.”
After a second. Click. The door closed behind her.
The moment I heard it latch, my knees gave out.
I dropped hard onto the floor, one hand catching me against the carpet as my other immediately went for my vest. I tore it off. Then the shirt.
Buttons flew loose as I yanked the fabric away from my chest, as though the fucking clothes were suffocating me.
“Hagh—hahhh…”
My breathing came out ragged. Too fast and shallow. My chest hurt from the force of my heartbeat hammering against it.Tears blurred my vision.
I slammed my fist against my chest once. Again.
“Calm down. Calm the fuck down.”
My ears were again muffled, the entire mansion sounding like it was buried underwater.
I coughed repeatedly, trying to force the nausea back down.
Soon, sound began leaking through again.
I pushed myself upright. My legs felt rubbery beneath me, her eyes coming back to my mind.
No, not her eyes. Not Iris'.
It was someone else. It was a thing.
My fingers tangled into my hair. My lip twitched upward like a madman.
Fuck. Finally.
A low, deep chuckle escaped me.
Somewhere inside the haze, I heard her voice echoing, for fuck’s sake, as always and caught another glimpse of that thing. Blurry. Distant.
Something metallic coated my tongue.
I stumbled sideways and caught the nearest table.
My brows knitted together.
I raised a hand to my mouth, then dragged it upward when my fingers reached my nose, I felt the wetness.
Blood bleeding heavily. Seriously?
Lapping my tongue over the blood, I looked around the room, noting the changes she had made.
Flowers in vases, pictures hanging on the wall.
Each small alteration she had made felt like an intrusion.
I slapped both palms against my cheeks, trying to keep my increasingly drowsy eyes open.
I sucked in a breath. My lungs protested.
Sweat rolled down my temple and chin as though I'd run up a mountain and back again.
My fingers curled into fists, then moved. I dragged my hand across the wall.
One frame shifted.
Then another.
My jaw tightened.
With one large step, my arm swept across the wall.
The framed pictures crashed onto the floor.
The sudden noise rang through the room. Shattering. Destroying. Erasing.
Just like that, I dragged my shoulder against the wall as I moved forward, breathing heavily.
My head loitered back and my eyes caught the vase beside the bed.
Dawdling my way to the bed, I reached the table.
Grabbing the vase, I hurled it onto the floor.
The glass shattered.
Pieces skittered across the floor, some flying close to my feet.
A mix of a scoff and a chuckle left my lips as I looked down.
They were real flowers. Tulips. Fuck.
I thought they were artificial.
Grabbing them by the stems, I snapped them apart, one after another. Petals scattered around my feet like feathers from a dead bird.
I fell backward onto the bed, landing hard on my ass.
My hand scratched my throat.
I panted. A moan tore from my chest as I clutched my hair, fisting it and tugging. Water…. Water. I looked around but there wasn’t any.
Ah, motherfucking Jesus… I am going to kill her tomorrow.
Falling onto my side, I shoved my cheek into the pillow and forced myself to calm my heartbeat and breathing.
Placing a hand over my aching chest, I stared toward the window, curtains closed tightly.
My vision blurred.
Then cleared.
Then blurred again.
A knock echoed through the room, but I didn't answer. Couldn't.
"Boss, you good there?" Ivan's voice was a bit muffled or maybe it was just my muffled ears.
Minutes stretched. Then nothing came. Maybe he left. Thank fucking hell.
I shifted slightly, and a sharp sensation prickled through the soles of my feet.….Maybe I'd stepped on some of the shards.
As I half lay across the bed, my eyes drifted toward the floor again and stopped— a single white tulip, lying on the floor amid the shattered glass, against the window.
She loved tulips. No. Loved wasn't the word. She had been obsessed with them. Absolutely fucking crazy over them.
Mom used to cling to them like they were something sacred, like they could bring light to a world that had been so unbearably cruel to her.
Something twisted inside my chest.
I pulled my legs up from the floor and dragged them onto the bed, turning my back toward the window, my cheek sinking into the pillow as my breathing slowed to a somewhat steady rhythm. Gripping the blanket, I dragged it over my face and shoulder.
My eyes blinked slowly, burning slightly. Once. Twice.
Then stayed open.
Hud is gonna kill me if he knew I tried this way, again.
I squeezed my eyes shut beneath the blanket, trying to force my thoughts into some semblance of order.
Nothing.
Just fragments. Noise. That fucking ringing. And those eyes.
I..Iris… Was that her name?
I frowned against the pillow.
She definitely knows me.
There was no other explanation for the way she looked at me, talked to me.
The way she looked, unfazed, unwavering, almost strangely familiar even when I was gripping her by neck, asking me…. What was she asking by the way?
I swallowed.
What the hell was she asking me?
Fisting the blanket, I shifted deeper into the pillow, trying to drag the memory back into focus.
Her voice was… Soft. Barely audible. I couldn't remember the expression on her face anymore.
She was smiling at me? Crying?
Was she actually standing there?
Has she really spoken to me?
Or—
My eyes opened.
Was it my hallucination?
Did I imagine her talking when she was just standing there, crying and pleading to leave her?
I stared into the darkness beneath the blanket.
The possibility sat there, quietly, refusing to leave.
Maybe my fucked-up brain filled in the gaps, the words had come from somewhere else.
My eyelids grew heavier.
One thought remained stubbornly lodged in my head.
Those eyes. A perfect brown with gold flecks.
Iris POV:
I chewed at the corner of my lip, my fingers interlinked and resting flat against the top of my head as I stared at the door.
Five minutes. It felt like an eternity. But technically, it had only been five minutes. Five very, very long minutes.
Not a single sound came from the other side. No footsteps. No voice. Not even standing there silently plotting my execution sound.
The silence was unnerving.
Aaaahhhh…I should've behaved more mannerly. More politely. You messed up, genius.
I swallowed hard and lowered one hand to my hip before knocking again.
Knock. Knock.
After what happened last night, I was pretty sure what to expect—blant ignorance, maybe even yelling.
But…
Reaaalllity reaaalllly succccks.
Well, I deserved it. It’s okay. It’s okay.
That was why I'd woken up ridiculously early at four o'clock in the morning, sneaked out, and practically begged and lied to the guards, "Their boss called me."
Of course, they didn't believe me. Who would? But I was a professional liar. So. Pfft. Easy-peasy.
I knocked again, this time a little more aggressively.
I glanced around casually, pretending to stretch my neck while my eyes wandered toward the CCTV cameras.
I wish he would open the door a little faster before one of those giant Terminators decided to shoot me for lying.
Maybe I woke up too early, that’s why my luck isn't working.
Gripping the doorknob, lazily— more like a habit of not having anything in my hand for fidgeting– I pushed it down and it clicked open.
My eyes widened, “hah,” a short laugh left my lips.
Wait…
Would he be furious if I entered unannounced?
My fingers tightened around the knob.
I mean, last night it was clear, he literally backed away and gagged looking at me, when I was staring at his eyes like some shameless little creep.
The memory of his hands withdrawing from me with disgust on his face and anger, eyes which were filled with despise, still lingered like a shadow in my mind.
Not like it hurt me or anything that I couldn’t sleep or eat anything…. Sighhhhhh.
Okayyyyy!!! I have a job to do, and standing outside his door like a coward wouldn’t get it done.
Just get in, see if he’s alright, and leave.
Don’t think. Don’t feel. Just do it.
Why should I do it, you all ask?
Because I want to.
With a deep breath, I slowly pushed the door open, peeking inside.
What I saw made me freeze in place.
….The room was a disaster.
Glass shards glittered on the floor, flowers lay crushed and wilted, and the once-pristine white sheets had been yanked from the bed, half of them hung over the edge of the bed, wrinkled, tangled, while the rest were twisted beneath whoever was sleeping inside them.
My gaze traveled across the room, finally landing on him—Boss or Capo or Sir as everyone called him— sleeping in bed amidst the chaos, completely still, cocooned inside the sheets.
For a moment, panic seized me, freezing me up. The mess. The silence. The fact that he wasn’t moving.
But as I took an anxious step forward, and another, and finally, I noticed it. The slow, steady rise and fall of his back beneath the sheets.
“Heh” a tiny laugh slipped out.
His face was half-covered by the blanket, dark lashes resting against his skin. His hair had spilled messily across the pillow and over his forehead. Waaooow.
He looked peaceful. And pretty.
Cleaning this up would take some time, and I needed to do it quietly so I wouldn’t disturb him.
He always called me a kid, But here he was—Throwing a tantrum like one.
I nearly scoffed. Nearly. But I bit my tongue.
No, Iris ! Bad girl.
Who was I to judge? Especially him.
Mama often says you can’t understand someone until you’ve walked a mile in their dress or sandal.
And I had no intention of making assumptions about a man I barely knew.
As I began to clean up, something caught my eye—a bottle of sleeping pills beside the bed.
My hand remained suspended in midair.
But last night, I saw a barrel there—but the fact or my luck, he also entered the room time, furiously before I could put it back— not these stupid pills.
“Aww…precious,” I looked over at him, my heart sinking.
So, each shard piece was small, sharp as I carefully gathered them into the dustpan, making sure nothing remained behind before sweeping my fingers over the floor. Safe for him to roll around. Yay!
I tossed the ruined flowers aside, followed by the picture frames and whatever else had been knocked out of place.
By the time I had put nearly everything back, almost half an hour had passed. Everything except the bed.
I stood there, staring, my fingers twisted nervously into the sleeves of my hoodie.
Why was I suddenly nervous?
I grasped a fistful of fabric against my chest, when I realized my heart was hammering. My cheeks were burning. My ears felt hot.
I should've turned around, walked out of that room.
But I didn’t.
Instead, my feet carried me forward, slow, hesitant.
I approached the bed, my breath shallow, and before I could process, I crawled toward him.
The mattress dipped under my weight, and for a brief, terrifying second, I thought he would wake up.
My spine stiffened.
But he didn’t move.
I waited another second.
Nevermind, it works.
Waking up early was a good-luck charm. To me.
Now that I was this close, I could see him properly.
His face looked a little—No. A lot—more mature up close and sharper.
Uooooh…A long, straight scar rested just above his eyebrow and his hair– short, neat, kept.
Pointing my finger at his nose, I tugged the blanket down to his neck.
Strong jawline. Dark brows, slightly furrowed. Lips pressed into a firm, unreadable line.
But dried blood stuck on his chin.
I leaned slightly closer; There was more along his jaw and some had stained the pillow.
My eyes shifted to his feet, which were tangled inside the sheets.
Licking my lower lip, I clicked my tongue. So, the dried blood beside the table was his.
Suddenly, the disastrous room or his blood didn't seem like the strangest thing in the room anymore.
He really was— in the mafia.
Mother jesus…. I am really doomed.
I exhaled shakily and quickly stood.
Without another glance, I left the room as silently as I'd entered, pulling the door shut behind me with painstaking care.
I hope Noah loses his arm for giving me this interesting job, baiting me in the name of high salary.
Peeking off the wall, I stared at Ace and Ivan as they spoke for half an hour. Half. An. Hour. I was definitely sure Ivan was ratting me out by now.
“Capo, she lied to the guards.”
“Capo, she touched your barrel.”
“Capo, she stared at you while you were sleeping.”
“……”
That last one sounded worse when I put it like that.
Okay. Ivan only knows one lie and I know three, so not to worry.
I quickly ducked my head behind the wall again.
Massaging my neck, I made my way toward the kitchen, the smell of ginger and coriander tea hit me, making me gag.
My Mama always made it whenever he had headaches, a weak body, cold, flu, tiredness, cancer, blah, blah, blah, and whatever disease existed in the world. According to him, tea could probably cure half of civilization, so why not a stupid fight.
….I wasn’t sure if it would help in this situation.
God, I wasn't even sure whether he would drink it or touch it or worse haul it on me. Splosh. Splosh.
But if I couldn't even do something this small for him, wouldn't he think I am some unmannered, mean little brat?
This morning, the maids had warned me to be careful around him. Cautious. And he didn't like anything being done without his order.
In short, their words had been— He's a bloody psycho and… butthole.
How is butthole an insult?
Genuinely. How?!
Without buttholes, not a single human being could be happy in the morning. So wasn't it technically……A necessity….a useful compliment.
Melinda, in particular, practically begged me to be cautious, telling me that Ace might lose his temper again if I brought him tea without asking.
But I couldn’t let that stop me. I'd already overstepped yesterday.
He had told me to clean, not decorate, yet I'd gone ahead and wanted to do something; something that might make him— nevermind.
The main point was—I really wanted to apologize to him for last night. Properly.
As the tea finished brewing, I carefully poured it into a cup, watching the liquid swirl, the steam rising in delicate tendrils.
It reminded me of Mama.
Would it remind him of something too?
“Hm… it’s… nice,” Melinda murmured after taking a small sip. Her eyes widened slightly.
Maybe they don't make this tea here. I mean, I had heard all the old people make this at home.
“Don't you think that's a lot of tea, though?” she asked.
I glanced down at the cup.
Then back at her.
“No.” I said it with such confidence that even I almost believed myself.
“It’s good for his headache.”
“How do you know he has a he—”
“Does he have any special cup that he prefers to drink with…?” I cut her off before she could finish.
My eyes wandered toward the shelves.
“Like cat cups with straws? Frogs cups…”
I paused.
“…kangaroo?”
Please don't ask me anything else.
Melinda stared at me. Concerned. Deeply concerned. “Uhh… no.”
She looked at the cup in my hand. “As long as the cup you're taking comes back empty and unshattered, then it's his favourite.”
I blinked.
“Oh.” My eyes lit up and I happily walked away.
I want him to choose this cup then.
Unfortunately, it was just a plain white cup.
No tiny crown that said World's pretty boy.
Such a shame.
Ace deserved the prettiest cup.
As I reached the living room, I peeked my head around the corner again.
He was seated on the couch, flipping through a few pages with one hand, his legs crossed casually, T-shirt was perfectly ironed, black pajama trousers falling loosely over his legs.
Hoooo….He’s soooo elegant.
I looked down at the cup.
It’s just tea. Harmless. Hot. What could possibly go wrong?
….
……Maybe everything.
Hmmm… decisions, decisions.
Do I pretend Melinda made it?
No.
Lying again would probably be a terrible strategy, Ninjaty ninja.
Then I noticed a pair of olive-green eyes looking straight at me.
For one brief second, I hesitated.
Ivan. I don’t know him but I know one thing— he despises me from the movement I stepped beside his capo and inside the house.
I slowly pulled my head back behind the wall, straightened myself, squared my shoulders, took a deep breath and stepped out.
Every step toward them felt louder than the last.
And I could feel Ivan's stare burning into my face.
Was this the moment?
Was I going to turn into a butterfly? Wings growing from my back, glitters— I shook my head, slightly. Focus!
After ten steps, I finally reached Ace and he didn't even raise his head, didn't twitch, shift his shoulders, or acknowledge me in the slightest. Nothing.
Okay, come on, Iris. You can do this.
Hip hip hurray!
“Ehh… Tea—!” I immediately winced. Too loud. Way too loud. “For you, boss.” This time, softer, warm and polite.
Yeah… Good..Perfect.
I carefully placed the tray on the table in front of him— showcasing my waitress skills—and straightened up. Jealous, huh.
My eyes locked with Ivan's, more like it was impossible to ignore
I smiled.
A perfect customer-service smile.
The kind that said: Hello, valued customer! Thank you for choosing Iris airlines. We hope you enjoy your tea and please leave a tip as big as your belly and buttcheeks.
I tilted my head slightly. trying to look at Ace, when he didn’t move. God is he even breathing?
I narrowed my eyes, shifted my weight onto one foot as I leaned a bit.
And then— His eyes moved. Only his eyes.
They lifted from whatever he'd been looking at and locked directly onto mine.
I smiled, immediately, a full closed lip smile.
Not gonna lie, when he looked at me, I pissed a little. Just kidding.
Help me, Mother of all gods.
Ace POV:
The day was already off to a bad start.
My head was pounding—a relentless, skull-splitting pain that had been clawing at me since I woke up.
No matter how many times I drank warm water, pressed cold compress, coffee, gulped tablets, or anything, the ache wouldn’t ease.
The shipment logs in front of me blurred slightly as I tried to concentrate.
Fuck. I need more sleep and a round to a doctor.
The numbers swam together, columns bleeding into one another whenever I stared at them for too long. My eye throbbed with every heartbeat.
Then I heard it.
A loud, bright, breathless voice.
“Ehh… Tea—” The voice abruptly paused.
For fuck sake.
“...For you, boss.”
She moved closer, placing the tray on the table.
No….The smell was different for a normal tea.
I frowned.
What the hell had she made?
She stood beside me afterward, small and quiet.
I didn’t raise my head, hell I didn’t even want to look at her.
I felt her tilting her head, leaning slightly forward, like I am a deaf person.
Raising my eyes, I locked onto hers.
She instantly smiled; A full, closed-lip smile.
Her cheeks puffed fully, her eyes round and bright, almost absurdly wide. And sparkling. Her head tilted to the side.
The dress she was wearing looked like it belonged to someone twice her size, hanging off her frame in a way that made her seem even smaller than she already was.
For a moment, I just stared at her, my mood soured further.
“Did I ask for any tea?” I snapped, slapping the document onto the table. The sound echoed around us.
Linking her fingers together and she raised them against her chest.
“No, boss,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. “But your head must be hurting…”
My gaze sharpened.
“That’s why I made something for you to drink.”
She hesitated.
“It’s completely safe. No side effects.”
I narrowed my eyes.
My lips pressed into a thin line.
How the hell does she know that?
My gaze moved from her to the cup.
I hadn't told her.
I hadn't complained to anyone, not even Ivan.
So how?
She didn't think my head hurt.
She was sure.
“Are you deaf or something?” Ivan spoke from behind me. “Throw it out.”
My facial muscles loosened when her smile fell slightly, Her lips pressed together. And her eyes— Sad, the fact that even her eyes mirrors her tiny moods. Even the tiny drop in brightness.
This was the second time I'd seen someone's eyes that expressive.
I swallowed. My mind dragged me straight back to last night.
Those eyes. The same brown.The same face. And yet— Nothing alike.
Last night, her eyes looked fully lifeless, bright but detached and devoid.
Compared to now, that expression seemed almost impossible.
How could the same pair of eyes look so empty one moment and so painfully expressive the next?
Also, no one would make that type of expression, in front of someone who’s pathetically panting like a fish, except if the person knows the other too deeply.
And I definitely don’t fucking know her.
“But—” she murmured under her breath but stopped herself.
“Godammit,” I murmured, staring at her eyes, which were staring at Ivan instead, her lips moving as she grumbled something too quietly for me to catch.
“Get out.”
Her lips parted in shock then reality sank in and then sadness; A gloomy, agonizing sadness.
“Ivan, Are you deaf or something?” I murmured, staring deep into her eyes.
Her eyes unsettled me more than I cared to admit.
I heard a low “tsk” then he walked away.
She also started to leave.
I rolled my eyes.
How fucking dense.
“Why did you lie?”
She stopped, her shoulders stiffened before she turned around, fully.
“Oh!”
She blinked.
“I thought you also told me to go.” A tiny chuckle escaped her as she scratched her cheek.
“Um….Yeah. Lie…The lie…” She hesitated.
“I wanted to apologize to you for my mistake.”
Before I could respond, her entire upper body suddenly bent forward. A deep bow.
“I apologize, boss!”
I stared.
“For lying in the morning to your guards, crossing the line, and making changes at your home!”
I sighed and let my head fall back against the couch.
My arms folded across my chest.
At least she knows she fucked up.
“But you were sleeping,” she continued.
She straightened herself, fingers joining together against her stomach.
“So I left.” A pause. “...boss.”
“You know me, don’t you?” I asked.
My eyes narrowed, never leaving hers for even a second.
“Yeah…” She frowned, thinking.
“You’re in phew—mafia work. Leader…” Her nose scrunched slightly.
“Not a beggar or some thief.”
I stared at her.
Phew?
I had no fucking idea what the hell that was supposed to mean.
I licked my lips slowly, studying her face. Her eyes looked too clean, like they were never tainted with sins or capable of lying. Too difficult to read.
Eyes were the hardest things to train when perfecting a façade.
People could control their mouths. Posture. Breathing. Even their fucking pulse, with enough practice.
But the eyes?
They always betrayed people eventually.
A flicker. Hesitation. Fraction of a second where the expression didn't match the words.
Hers weren't doing any of that.
She smiled, again, standing there with that dumbstruck expression. Dumbass.
“So, you're saying you woke early at dawn just to apologize and prepared tea for me.” I tapped my finger against my bicep.
“For a man you met one day ago.”
Another tap.
“Also, I might add one tiny detail to help you understand the seriousness of the situation.”
Another tap.
“I tried to choke you.”
Her forehead creased. A genuinely confused expression settled over her face.
“You didn't.”
My finger stopped. The room went quiet.
“I didn't?” A scoff escaped me.
I leaned back, a faint smirk pulling at my lips.
“I don't like lies, brat.”
Her eyes widened.
“Wh—ah—Boss!” She looked genuinely offended now.
“You were just gripping my collar tightly and making me stand on my toes—”
She pointed a finger towards herself.
“No, first thing! Please don't call me brat when I didn't do anything wrong.”
Her brows pulled together.
“Then you started taking deep breaths and told me to get out.”
She shook her head slightly.
“Why would you say something so horrible… boss?”
I stared at her.
My heart skipped. Then another beat. Then it began settling into a slower, steadier rhythm.
I mean when I woke up, even the memories I put together before sleep were forgotten and hazy.
So. I really had hallucinated it.
That was the only explanation that made sense.
And yet—
I was having an unusually difficult time believing her.
Because according to her version of events, I hadn't wrapped my hands around her throat.
I hadn't threatened her.
I had merely grabbed her collar, made her stand on her toes, then apparently developed enough common sense to tell her to leave.
Also there is no way she would be kind to some men, who literally tried to kill her, though.
Why did I remember her smiling at me?
And why the hell did I remember her calling my name?
I dragged my tongue over my teeth.
Just my luck.
Out of every person my brain could've decided to malfunction in front of, it had to be this dumbass—Too perfect at being a sham.
“Iris—”
Her eyes widened.
The faint flush spread across her cheeks even more, making me pause. What?
Before I could say anything else, she suddenly looked behind me.
“Ivan.” I sighed.
Of course.
“Capo, l’avvocato ha mandato il contratto aggiornato. Ci sono tre clausole che devi approvare personalmente. (Capo, the lawyer sent the revised contract. Three clauses need your personal approval.)” he murmured, calm and steady.
“I would take my leave,” Iris announced.
I looked back at her.
She was already backing away.
“Tea may taste a little weird,” she added, almost apologetically, “but it will cure your headache instantly. And it's really healthy too.”
She gave me a small bow.
Then one step back.
Another.
And another.
And just like that— She scurried away.
Without turning back.
What the fuck?
I glared after her retreating figure until she disappeared completely.
A frown settled between my brows.
My gaze dropped to the tea she'd left behind.
I still hadn't agreed to drink this. Tch.
My eyes narrowed at the cup.
What if she put poison in it?
A bitter laugh almost escaped me. As if she had the guts.
Still—
I hesitated.
Not because I trusted her.
Because Melinda wouldn't give me anything to eat or drink without tasting it first.
With a resigned sigh, I picked up the cup and took a sip.
The taste hit me immediately, spicy, warm and absolutely fucking unpleasant, but I forced it down. It was disgusting.
I placed the cup back on the table. Fuck you, Iris.
Apologize, my ass.
She'd basically told me fuck you in tea form.
I stood up and walked away, smacking my lips as I rubbed the back of my neck.
As I reached the steps, a faint sweetness lingered on my tongue and the pressure behind my eyes had eased. Not disappeared. But eased. The heaviness inside my skull seemed lighter too.
I stared blankly ahead.
...No.
Coincidence. Probably.
Walking up the stairs, “Get me the tea from the table,” I muttered. “And send Melinda to my room.”
“Sì.” Ivan muttered.
I sat in the chair, rubbing my eyes before reaching for my glasses.
The headache had dulled enough for the words on the page to stop swimming.
I opened the file, which the lawyer of all the days he could send, today he thought was perfect to send.
Two minutes later, a soft knock echoed through the room.
“Boss.”
Melinda's voice was faint and timid, like the rustling of leaves on a windless day.
“Come in.”
I flipped another page.
The door creaked open.
And there she was— Slightly wrinkled grey eyes. Stiff posture. Hands clasped neatly in front of her.
That constant fear she seemed to carry around like a cloak.
Or— More accurately— Like something she only wore around me.
I didn’t even kill anyone she knows or any relation.
She stopped several feet away.
“So, it looks like you're making your own rules now, Melinda,” I said, my voice cutting through the stillness of the room.
I leaned back in my chair,
“I think you should retire from you’re position since you're getting old and forgetting things.”
Her eyes widened.
“Why the hell is a little girl giving me tea in my own house without my order?” I continued. “Aren't you the chef? Isn't this your responsibility?”
Her lips parted.
“I—I’m sorry, b-boss,” she stuttered, the words spilling out in a rushed, anxious mess.
“But the new girl—she wanted to apologize, so that's why she did it. I told her you wouldn't like it, but she really wanted to. Next time, I'll make sure it doesn't happen.”
I scoffed.
“Is this really your excuse, Miss Melinda?”
She bit her lower lip and lowered her gaze.
“Is it my fault that she looked too cute that I couldn't decline,” she mumbled. Barely audible.
I stared at her.
Cuteness.
Apparently, that was all it took to rewrite my household rules now.
Tch.
This excuse was somehow worse than the last one.
“Who cleaned my room?” The question came out colder.
Melinda shifted uncomfortably. Her shoulders hunched.
“The new girl,” she whispered.
My frown deepened.
Didn't she say she left?
“I mean…” Melinda quickly corrected herself. “She was the one who informed me to clean your room urgently. She only cleaned the debris.”
I froze.
Only the debris, huh.
My fingers tapped once against the armrest.
So she had been here.
For a while, I'd thought I was imagining it. The footsteps. Someone watching me. An uncomfortableness.
I'd blamed the headache. The exhaustion. The medication. The fucking hallucinations.
But now—
Melinda had confirmed that Iris had been in the room.
It wasn't my imagination.
Which left another problem.
Did she lie or tell the truth about last night?
I looked at Melinda.
There was one way to test it.
“How is her neck?”
Melinda froze.
“Her… neck?”
Her eyes widened, genuine confusion spreading across her face. “It's fine.”
I watched her carefully.
“You didn't see any marks after she left my room last night?” I kept my voice casual. Almost bored.
“She didn't say anything about her neck being sore? Hurting?” I hummed quietly.
Melinda stared at me.
Then her eyes traveled over my face. Slowly.
Then down.
Then back up.
There was something in her expression now. Not fear exactly. Judgment.
“Ah… No, boss. She looked a bit afraid, though.” A pause. “But I didn't see anything like… that.”
Her gaze ranked me up and down again. Very slowly.
I raised an eyebrow. What?
She looked away immediately.
I knew that look.
She was looking at me like I am a pervert.
Well.
I couldn't exactly blame her; I literally tried to kill a kid, so it’s a fair reaction.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Next time, I don't want this kind of behavior in my house. If you're going to change something, inform me or Ivan first. Understand?”
She nodded quickly, almost as if she'd been snapped out of a train of thought.
“Y-yes, boss. I won't let it happen again.”
I watched her for a moment.
Well, I guess that brat had only lied about this morning.
Nothing about last night.
At least, according to what I'd just verified till now.
Also, she talked fine, not like someone who’s neck was choking last night. There weren't any marks either.
“Go.” I dismissed her with a small movement of my fingers.
Without another word, Melinda hurried out of the room, glancing back at me again and again, making me frown slightly.
The door clicked shut behind her.
I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against the table.
Fuck. What a day.
My head was still heavy, but nowhere near as bad as it had been earlier.
And apparently, I didn't need to punish that brat.
She just cleaned my room, which, in the grand scheme of things, wasn’t the most unforgivable offense.
Second—
She'd apologized. Properly.
Still, I had no tolerance for unasked-for gestures. Especially when they came from someone I barely knew.
But something in me hesitated.
I lifted my head slightly.
Old hags weren't wrong, apparently— A warm drink could buy someone a little mercy.
Ridiculous.
I didn't forgive people because they made tea.
I forgave them because the offense wasn't worth my time.
That was all.
I sighed, as I recalled the way she had looked at me earlier when I called her name.
I frowned.
Was it the first time I'd actually called her by her name in front of her or something?
I shook my head. I'd already wasted enough time trying to untangle whatever the hell had happened last night.
I had more important things to focus on and all the other chaos that seemed to demand my attention every hour of the day.
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