Ace POV:

My friends had long passed the point of no return when it came to alcohol consumption, with Aiden being the worst of the lot.

He had somehow ended up in Alex's lap, clinging to him like a lifeline and murmuring incoherent nonsense that only made sense in his alcohol-addled mind.

His head lolled against Alex's shoulder, and every now and then, he'd let out a sigh that was so dramatic it could have belonged in a tragic film.

Alex, on the other hand, had completely given up fighting him off and had surrendered to the chaos of the night, eyes half-lidded and unbothered.

Liam, Hudson, and I were the only ones sober enough to ensure we could get everyone's asses home safely.

Hudson had taken up the responsibility of stopping Felix from stripping off his shirt for the fifth time, while Liam was busy making sure Leo didn't sleep on the couch.

"Feeling good?" Hudson's voice broke through the haze of annoyance that was settling over me as I looked at the guys.

His eyebrows wiggled suggestively, and his smirk was anything but innocent.

Liam, who had been relatively quiet, chuckled under his breath, clearly relishing Hudson's teasing. "Yeah, Ace, you look like you're having the time of your life."

"Fuck off," I scoffed, my patience wearing thin.

We guided the drunken crew into the limo. Aiden, still glued to Alex, had to be practically pried off and guided into the vehicle.

The others followed, their steps unsteady and their words slurred beyond comprehension.

Once everyone was settled inside, I made my way toward the driver's seat.

My hand had just touched the door handle when Ivan appeared at my side.

A smirk played on his lips, one that told me he was up to no good.

"Boss, some girl wants to see you. Athena," he said, his tone laced with amusement as he tilted his head in her direction.

I turned, my eyes landing on her almost instantly. Athena had a way of drawing attention without even trying.

She stood there, her presence commanding every eye in the vicinity.

Her outfit was deliberately provocative, leaving little to the imagination, and she knew exactly how to use her assets to her advantage.

It was working, too— men around her were practically drooling. Even Ivan.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice as cold as the expression on my face.

"You didn't give me your number, Sir... I mean, how would I contact you then?" she asked, her tone sickeningly sweet, but her eyes revealed a calculating glint.

I sighed and gave her the second number I used for outside contacts. I had no intention of mixing her into my real world any more than necessary.

"Bye..." she said cheekily, her smile coy as she turned to saunter off, her hips swaying provocatively.

It was a calculated move, one that she likely thought would leave a lasting impression.

As she disappeared into the crowd, Ivan chuckled beside me, his smirk widening.

"Well, the ass was a good view," he commented, clearly entertained by the whole situation.

I shrugged, the tension of the moment easing slightly. We both climbed into the vehicle, with Ivan taking the wheel.

The limo eased into the flow of traffic, the city's lights blurring together as we sped through the streets.

Inside, the atmosphere was a chaotic mix of drunken laughter and slurred conversations.

Aiden, who had been relatively quiet for the first part of the ride, suddenly began whining loudly, his voice filled with desperation. "Su, I swear I didn't fuck anyone... baby, trust me."

I glanced over, watching the ridiculous scene unfold. He was talking to Susan.

So does that mean Aiden sat on Alex's lap because he mistook Alex for Su?

Does Su feel like a man to Aiden?

"You're so beautiful," Aiden was now pouring his heart out to Alex, who had passed out hours ago and was now completely oblivious to the world around him.

Aiden having a girlfriend was always a bit of a mystery to me.

The guy was a fucking toddler—annoying, childish, and completely incapable of taking anything seriously.

Yet, somehow, he'd managed to find a girl who put up with his bullshit. Interesting.

By the time we finally arrived home, it was nearing 11 PM, and the night felt like it had stretched on forever.

I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, taking a long sip as I made my way upstairs, my phone in hand.

I needed to decompress some documents and go through some pending files, but I found myself swiping through my phone instead.

At first, it was mindless scrolling.

A few unread messages, a missed call from one of my associates, a notification from Ivan about tomorrow's shipment. Nothing that required immediate attention.

But then my finger hesitated, hovering over a particular photo.

But my mind was restless, and I found myself mindlessly swiping through the document photos on my phone, my attention waning.

Then, suddenly, a particular photo caught my eye. I stopped, my thumb hovering over the screen as I stared at it.

It was Iris.

The image had been taken earlier that day in the car by Ivan to investigate her.

She wasn't posing, wasn't even aware that the photo had been captured.

Her head was tilted slightly, her brown eyes framed by dark lashes, her expression softened by exhaustion.

Her skin had a natural glow under the soft lighting, and the faintest flush dusted her cheeks from the heat.

She looked delicate, yet there was something about her that felt unshakable.

My grip on the phone tightened slightly as an unfamiliar sensation settled in my chest.

I had seen plenty of beautiful women in my life, had my fair share of them, yet somehow, looking at this particular image of Iris stirred something different.

Pretty girl.

The thought struck me out of nowhere, and I blinked, caught off guard.

What the fuck did I just think? Where the hell had that come from?

This was getting ridiculous.

Iris had been lingering in my thoughts more than I cared to admit lately, and it was starting to piss me off. Pathetic.

The sudden sound of something shattering made me jolt.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" Hudson's voice thundered through the house, yanking me out of my own head.

I turned behind, my pulse still slightly elevated, only to find Hudson standing in the hallway, his face contorted in pure disbelief as he stared at the broken remains of his favorite vase.

Felix, in all his drunken glory, was laughing like a maniac in the corner, completely unfazed by the destruction he had just caused.

Hudson looked between Felix and the shattered porcelain like he was contemplating murder. "Do you even know how much that fucking cost?!"

Felix hiccupped and threw an arm around Hud's ankle. "I dunno, man, but like—why do you even have vases? You're not an old lady."

Hudson exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering something about killing Felix in his sleep.

I remained in the doorway, my phone still in my hand, but now my focus had shifted.

I hadn't even realized I'd been staring at Iris's picture for minutes, completely absorbed.

The realization made me uneasy, and I quickly locked my phone, slipping it into my pocket before Hudson could catch a glimpse of what had me so distracted.

Hudson's gaze shifted to me, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Ace, you good, man? You've been acting weird all night," he said, still holding the pieces of his once-prized possession.

"Yeah, just tired," I muttered, hoping that would be the end of it.

"Ace, you don't stay more than a day at my house, but it's been two days and you're still here. So, I know something is wrong," he said, his tone a mix of worry and curiosity.

His words surprised me. Hudson wasn't the type to pry, but he was also the father figure of our group, always the one to give advice, whether we wanted it or not.

His dedication and wisdom had earned him my respect, and I knew that his concern came from a genuine place.

"I'm fine. Just a little tired," I repeated, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Alright then," he said, but the way he looked at me told me he wasn't convinced.

Then, as if on cue, he decided to add his unsolicited words of wisdom.

"But if you're in love, remember not to judge a girl solely by her appearance. You never know what's beneath the surface. And for the love of cooking, pick someone who can actually cook. Susan sucks at cooking."

I exhaled sharply, my patience wearing thin. "Gosh! Hud, I am not in any shit."

Without waiting for his response, I turned on my heel and headed for my room, eager to escape the conversation.

Hudson's voice faded behind me as I made my way down the hall, my footsteps heavy with frustration.

Once inside my room, I closed the door behind me, leaning against it as I took a deep breath.

The image of Iris's face flashed in my mind again, and I couldn't shake the strange feeling that had settled in my chest.

I scowled, running a hand through my hair as I pushed myself off the door and walked over to the bed.

What was it about her that made me feel so... unsettled?

She was just another girl working in my house.

A temporary presence, an arrangement that had an expiration date.

And yet, I found myself drawn to her in a way that defied logic.

The more I tried to convince myself it was nothing, the less I believed it.

The room was quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. It was a silence that I usually found comforting, but tonight, it felt oppressive.

Lying in bed, I tossed and turned for what felt like hours. The sheets were cool against my skin, but they did nothing to soothe the restlessness inside me.

The clock ticked relentlessly, each second dragging on, and sleep remained elusive.

My mind was consumed with Hudson's words. Why was I even thinking about Iris in this context?

She was a deal. A contract. A means to an end.

But my thoughts kept circling back to Iris, her image, that night and the implications of Hudson's advice.

I clenched my jaw, flipping onto my back and staring at the ceiling.

It didn't matter if she had been with someone before. It wasn't my place to care.

And yet, the idea that someone else might have touched her, might have seen her in ways that I hadn't—it gnawed at me, filling me with an unfamiliar frustration that I didn't quite understand.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. This was getting out of hand.

I wasn't some lovesick idiot who lost sleep over a girl.

Maybe a conversation with Iris would help me make sense of these thoughts. Just a casual talk, nothing more.

I needed clarity, and the only way to get it was to confront whatever this was head-on.

I'd figure out what this was, and then I could put it to rest.

NEXT MORNING

After a grueling workout session, I left Hudson's house and made my way back to my mansion, a sense of anticipation and unease swirling within me.

There was something about Iris that stirred an indescribable feeling inside me— something both unsettling and compelling.

I couldn't quite place it, but it was persistent, almost as if my instincts were warning me about her.

Maybe my instincts are saying she's bitch. Fuck it.

As I arrived at the mansion, I bypassed the usual routine and headed straight for the maid's quarters.

The staff, as always, bowed respectfully as I passed, but I barely acknowledged them.

My mind was elsewhere, focused on the uncertainty that had been gnawing at me since last night.

I pushed open the door to Iris's room, only to find it empty. A wave of disappointment washed over me, sharp and unexpected.

What was I expecting, anyway? That she'd be sitting there, waiting for me?

I called out to one of the maids standing nearby, instructing her to find Iris and bring her to me.

As she scurried away, I stepped further inside and took a seat on the edge of her bed, letting my gaze roam the space.

The room was a mess—an unexpected sight considering her usually composed demeanor.

Her bag was carelessly placed at the edge of the bed, half unzipped, with a few articles of clothing spilling out.

Discarded items were scattered on the floor: an old pair of duck-patterned panties, a dinosaur bra, and, of all things, a small Mickey Mouse sock dangling from the lamp.

What the fuck?

I stared at the random assortment of things, my brows furrowing.

The absurdity of it clashed with the image I had crafted of her in my mind.

She wasn't fitting into any of the neat little boxes I had tried to place her in, and I hated it.

People were supposed to be predictable— I was supposed to be able to read them, break them down, understand exactly what made them tick.

But Iris? She was proving to be a puzzle with missing pieces, and it was fucking irritating.

Was she really as naïve as she seemed, or was there something more to her that I was missing?

The sound of the door creaking open snapped me out of my thoughts.

I looked up to see Iris standing in the doorway, her body frozen mid-step, eyes wide with surprise as they landed on me.

For a moment, it felt like time stood still.

Her surprise was evident, but more than that, I saw something else— something raw and unfiltered.

Relief and happiness. Tsk.

An emotion I couldn't believe that it flickered across her face before she quickly masked it.

But holy hell, how much I missed those eyes. Those fucking brown eyes that always seemed to see right through me.

But then her gaze shifted to the state of her room, and I watched as her face flushed with embarrassment.

She scrambled to tidy up, her movements frantic as she gathered her bag and tossed her bra and panties into it.

The small Mickey Mouse sock was quickly stuffed into the pocket of her extra-large hoodie, a desperate attempt to hide the childish item.

Despite the chaos around her, my focus remained locked on Iris. Her genuine and unguarded expression was a stark contrast to the awkwardness of the situation.

"Hello... boss," Iris greeted awkwardly, her voice small as she forced a hesitant smile.

I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a slow drag while my gaze remained fixed on her.

She stood there, her posture stiff, her eyes cast downward as she focused on my shoes rather than meeting my gaze.

The silence between us was thick, almost suffocating.

I exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching as she shifted uncomfortably under my scrutiny.

"Sit," I commanded, my tone flat and unyielding.

She hesitated for a moment, glancing nervously toward the door as if seeking an escape. Her hesitation only irritated me more.

"But, Sir... Melinda is waiting for my help," she said, her voice wavering, barely audible.

I remained silent, my expression unreadable. I had no intention of entertaining her excuses.

I continued to stare at her, my jaw clenched tightly. Her words were of little importance to me.

"Maybe... she can wait," Iris added, her voice faltering under the weight of the silence.

I smirked, the edge of my lips curling up in a way that was more menacing than amused.

"Sit on the floor. On your knees," I said, teasing her but with an undercurrent of seriousness that couldn't be ignored.

I expected her to hesitate, maybe even protest, but to my surprise, she complied immediately.

She settled down on the floor without a word, her movements quick and obedient.

Her hands clasped together in her lap, her head slightly bowed. She was small between my legs, fragile even.

A perfect picture of submission.

"Do you remember what you said last time... about how friends behave?" I asked, my tone laced with sarcasm.

She nodded eagerly, completely oblivious to my mockery. "Yes, Boss."

There was something different about her today.

She looked thinner, a little bit paler. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin.

I exhaled slowly, flicking the ashes from my cigarette onto the floor. "Why don't you tell me again how friends behave?"

She didn't even hesitate.

"Well, they... care for each other, eat ice cream together, trust each other without hesitation, and when people are mean to them, they go to each other for comfort and a big hug, especially," she explained with a sincerity that made my jaw tighten.

The innocent words grated against something inside me. This wasn't what I wanted to hear.

Her naive, almost childish view of friendship clashed violently with the reality I knew, and it grated more on my nerves.

"You said they sit in each other's laps, right?" I asked, pressing further, searching for something—what, I wasn't sure.

"Yeah... they do. I know it might sound strange, but... Helen said that's the reality. It's okay. I didn't understand before, but now I do," she said with a resigned sigh, her words carrying a mix of acceptance and confusion.

Something in me snapped.

I crushed the cigarette against the nightstand, my movements slow and deliberate.

Then, I turned my full attention to her, my voice dropping into something dark and cutting. "Are you dumb, or are you just faking it? Do you think I'm stupid, Iris? Don't you have basic knowledge of how this fucked-up world works?"

Her eyes widened momentarily, her shoulders tensing as my words hit their mark. Her gaze fell to the floor, avoiding mine.

Her fingers twisted nervously around the hem of her dress. She looked small and defeated, and for a moment, I almost regretted my harsh words.

But the frustration inside me was too strong, too consuming.

"I just wasted my time listening to you talk about how to be a cheap whore," I muttered, my voice carrying a bitterness I hadn't intended to let slip.

I turned to leave, feeling a mix of anger and discontent simmering inside me.

The door was already halfway open when I heard it—the quiet, trembling sound of sobs.

The sound made me stop in my tracks.

I should have kept walking. Should have left her there, let her cry herself to sleep, let her deal with her own damn emotions.

But my feet wouldn't move.

A sigh left my lips, and I rubbed my temple in frustration. This wasn't my problem. I didn't have time to deal with her fucking tears.

And yet, something about that quiet, trembling sobbing struck a nerve deep inside me, one I couldn't ignore.

Goddammit.

I hesitated for a moment before turning back around. I found her still huddled on the floor, her head lowered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Her shoulders were shaking, and her hands had balled into tight fists in her lap, as if she was trying to hold herself together.

I walked back to her and squatted down in front of her, lowering myself to her level.

I gently placed a finger under her chin, tilting her face up so I could see her tear-streaked expression.

Her lashes were damp, her cheeks flushed with the remnants of frustration and sadness.

I could see the slight tremble of her lips, the way she was trying to control the sobs that still shook her small frame.

My thumb swept away some of the moisture from her cheek, and I noticed her mouth moving, her pouty lips murmuring something.

Her voice was so quiet, so soft that I couldn't make out the words.

"What are you saying? I can't hear you," I murmured, my voice lower, softer than before.

Pathetic. Your pathetic Ace.

"WHY DOES EVERYONE SCREAM AT ME?" she suddenly burst out, her voice loud and filled with raw emotion, making me blink.

The outburst caught me off guard, and I felt a strange pang in my chest.

"It's not my fault I don't know some things! Even when I ask someone, they just make fun of me and make me cry or give false information! Everyone is bad... like you. You're bad!"

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she rubbed her eyes with her fists, her small body shaking with sobs.

"You asked me, and now you're yelling at me. You're bad, so bad. I'll... I'll throw cockroaches on you," she added, her words coming out in a desperate, angry torrent.

I stared at her, momentarily stunned into silence.

She sat there on the floor, hiccupping through her tears, her face scrunched up in frustration and exhaustion.

Despite my irritation, despite my frustration, I couldn't just walk away.

"Come here," I said finally, my voice laden with exasperation but softened by a strange reluctance to leave her in this fragile state.

Her teary eyes blinked up at me, but instead of moving, she shook her head stubbornly, her refusal fueling my frustration further.

With a sigh that held a mix of irritation and reluctant empathy, I moved closer to her.

I bent down, carefully sliding my arms around her waist, lifting her effortlessly off the floor.

Her fingers clung to my shirt, her tiny hands curling into the fabric as if holding onto me was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

I stood up, carrying her toward my bedroom with a sense of awkward determination.

I could feel her gaze on me, wide and searching, as if she was trying to figure out what I was thinking, what I was planning to do.

I glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow in silent challenge, but I kept my expression neutral, unwilling to give anything away.

"You're..bad and meanie," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper, her tone carrying a mix of accusation and resignation.

"Took you long enough to figure that out," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

As I adjusted my grip on her hips to ensure she wouldn't fall, my hand accidentally brushed against her ass.

The contact, though unintentional, made me pause for a brief moment.

I looked down at her, expecting to see some discomfort or awkwardness on her face, but she seemed lost in her thoughts, oblivious to the accidental touch.

She was staring at her hands, which were still wrapped around my neck, her fingers curled against my collar.

It felt soft, round and small. Just like her.

Shut up, Ace.

I shook my head, pushing the thought aside as I gently eased her onto my bed.

I took a seat beside her, running a hand through my hair as I let out a slow, heavy sigh, trying to make sense of the situation.

By now, her tears had subsided, but her frown was still firmly in place, her expression caught somewhere between a deep existential crisis and the regret of her life choices.

I recognized the look all too well; I'd seen it on too many faces before, usually the ones who realized they had underestimated me.

But with her, it was different. There was no fear— just pure, unfiltered exhaustion.

I reached for a bottle of water on the bedside table and extended it to her.

"Here, drink up," I said, trying to be accommodating, though the sharp edge of impatience still laced my tone.

She let out a quiet sigh and took the bottle without question.

No hesitation, no suspicion, just blind acceptance.

A small part of me bristled at that.

Had no one taught her caution?

She sighed in resignation and grabbed the bottle, chugging half of it in one go as if trying to drown whatever thoughts were haunting her.

"Are you done crying?" I asked, my voice flat.

It might have sounded rude, but my intentions were good.

Her eyes met mine, and for a second, I swore I saw something dark flicker through them.

It was gone just as quickly, replaced by a deadpan expression that could rival a mannequin's.

"I want to go home," she murmured, barely above a whisper.

There it was again—that fucking tone.

The kind that made something deep in my chest tighten, something I didn't want to acknowledge.

I inhaled deeply, forcing my usual indifference back into place.

"Noah still hasn't given me back my money," I said, watching her reaction closely.

I expected anger, maybe frustration.

But instead, she simply nodded, as if she had already known the answer.

She held my gaze for a long moment before saying, "Then kill me."

Dead serious.

I can't.

"I can't just do that. What if he decides to pay up tomorrow?" I shot back, my tone laced with sarcasm.

She blinked at me, her lips pressing together before she finally spoke again. "I should go... Sir."

The way she said it, the way she refused to look at me, made something sharp dig into my ribs.

Then she turned, dragging her feet toward the door, her lower lip jutted out in a pout and her posture screaming defeat.

"I'll just walk into traffic or something," she mumbled, mostly to herself. "Or maybe I'll wrestle a six-foot-tall dog."

My eyes followed her as she walked out, and for reasons I couldn't explain, I didn't stop her.

Instead, I flopped back onto my bed, rubbing both hands over my face in frustration.

What the fuck just happened?

I'd dealt with liars, traitors, manipulators, killers— hell, I'd been all those things myself.

But this? This was something else entirely.

I didn't know what to make of her.

She was either the most naive person I'd ever met or the most dangerous. And the worst part?

I couldn't tell which one was worse.

There was something infuriating about the way she existed in a world as ruthless as mine, as if she hadn't been touched by its cruelty the way everyone else had.

It was almost unnatural. Unreal. And yet, somehow, she had survived this long.

I scoffed under my breath, shaking my head as I turned over onto my side.

Who would've thought I could misunderstand a situation like this?

The idiocy, the sheer stupidity of it all, gnawed at me.

I didn't make mistakes like this. I didn't get caught off guard.

And yet, here I was, completely blindsided by a girl who didn't even know how the world worked.

Eventually, sleep overtook me, and I drifted off with a lingering sense of bewilderment.