Author POV:

It was 8:30 at night when Ace finally stirred from his extended nap.

Having slept through half the day without the aid of any medication or nightmare, he was disoriented and groggy as he opened his eyes.

The dim light filtering through the curtains cast long shadows across the room, making everything feel strangely surreal.

He exhaled sharply and ran a hand down his face, trying to rid himself of the foggy haze that clung to his thoughts.

The room was eerily silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall.

A loud grumble from his stomach served as a stark reminder that he hadn't eaten all day.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he sat there for a moment, elbows resting on his knees, fingers pressed against his temples.

His mind felt sluggish, reluctant to function at full capacity.

He shook his head and pushed himself up, moving with deliberate effort toward the bathroom to freshen up.

The cold water against his skin did little to chase away the exhaustion that clung to him like a second skin.

Despite his grogginess, one thought remained persistently lodged in his mind—the absence of Iris.

As he made his way to the kitchen, his sharp eyes darted around the halls, searching for any sign of her.

He checked the living room, the lounge, even peered briefly into the study, but she was nowhere to be found.

Melinda, who had just finished clearing the plates from the dining room, appeared from the hallway, her expression neutral as always.

She halted when she noticed Ace standing there, his brows furrowed in what could only be described as irritation.

"Where's Iris?" Ace asked abruptly, his voice cutting through the quiet atmosphere.

She paused, looking slightly puzzled.

"I don't know, Boss. I haven't seen her around," she replied, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Ace studied her for a second longer before giving a curt nod. "Alright. Get back to your duties."

"Yes, Boss," she answered before hurrying off, sensing the growing tension in the air.

Left alone once more, Ace exhaled heavily and rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar irritation creeping up his spine.

The unsettling thoughts swirling in his mind were only getting worse. He needed a distraction.

Something—or someone—to take his mind off things before frustration got the better of him.

Without wasting another moment, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, his thumb hovering over a name he hadn't reached out to in a while.

Athena.

He dialed her number and arranged for his driver to pick her up and bring her to the mansion.

MATURE

Athena stood outside the mansion, her eyes wide with admiration.

She had seen wealth before— lavish hotels, expensive penthouses, men who liked to flaunt their power—but this?

This was different. This wasn't just money. This was control.

The grandeur of the mansion was undeniable, with its stately architecture and sprawling grounds that hinted at the wealth and power of its owner.

Not big but not small.

Ivan led her through the opulent halls, his expression impassive, as if he'd done this a thousand times before.

The walls were lined with intricate black-trimmed panels, the floors polished to a mirror-like sheen.

Every detail screamed of wealth, but there was something cold about it. Something detached.

She was left alone in a dimly lit room, the scent of expensive cologne and aged scotch lingering in the air.

Plush furnishings surrounded her, the sheer decadence of it all making her swallow hard.

But her attention was immediately drawn to the man standing by the window.

Ace.

Shirtless.

The moonlight cast a silver glow over his muscular torso, highlighting every sharp contour of his body.

His pants hung low on his hips, his broad shoulders tense as he gazed outside.

In one hand, he held a glass of scotch, the amber liquid swirling lazily as he tilted it between his fingers.

Athena's breath hitched. He looked... untouchable.

His usual sharp, calculating aura was dulled by the alcohol in his veins, but there was something else too— a storm beneath the surface.

Her gaze flicked to the table beside him. An empty bottle of scotch sat there, confirming what she already suspected.

He wasn't tipsy. He was drunk.

Slowly, she stepped forward. Standing behind him, she hesitated for only a moment before wrapping her arms around his waist.

The warmth of his skin against hers sent a shiver through her, but just as quickly as she touched him— Click.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

Before she could react, his fingers clamped around her wrist, forceful but not bruising.

He unwrapped her arms from around him and pulled her forward, spinning her with ease.

The sudden movement left her breathless, and before she could steady herself, he pressed her against the cool glass of the window.

Her palms splayed out against the surface, the contrast between the cold pane and the heat of his body behind her sending an electric shock through her spine.

The backyard stretched before them, bathed in the glow of the full moon.

The reflection of the two of them was crystal clear against the glass— her: flushed and expectant, him: unreadable.

"Athena," he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. "Do you crave something?"

His voice was low, thick with liquor and something else. Something darker.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Yeah. Love and money."

He chuckled, the sound laced with mockery.

"What do you crave, Sir?" she added.

His breath fanned against her skin. The scent of scotch clung to him, intoxicating in itself.

"A pair of eyes," he murmured, his fingers flicking her earlobe lazily.

Athena's breath hitched. She knew better than to ask, but curiosity got the better of her.

"Why?" she whispered.

She barely had time to react before his hand slid beneath the fabric of her dress.

The touch was deliberate, slow, teasing. Her body tensed, anticipation coiling inside her as his fingers ghosted over her lace panties.

Without hesitation, his hand slipped inside, finding soft, plumpy heat. She gasped, her body jerking against his in response.

"I don't know," he murmured against her neck, his fingers moving with a cruel kind of leisure. "It pisses me off but makes me calm also."

Athena exhaled sharply, her fingers curling into fists against the glass.

It was too teasing and not enough.

Her gaze flickered to their reflection, and a sharp pang shot through her chest.

He wasn't looking at her.

His fingers played her body like an afterthought, his touch sending pleasure through her veins, but his mind?

His mind was somewhere else.

His eyes weren't on her.

They were fixed outside, staring into the dark expanse of his backyard, lost in thoughts she had no part in.

And suddenly, she understood.

She wasn't the one on his mind.

"Sir," Athena called softly

Like he had known she was staring at him through the mirror's reflection, Ace's eyes met hers, dark and unreadable.

Without breaking eye contact, he stepped back, his hands slipping away from her now- moistened heat, leaving her breathless, wanting.

Ace's voice cut through the silence, low and commanding. "Strip and lay down, whore."

There was no hesitation in Athena's movements. She was accustomed to his orders, to being summoned like this, and she understood exactly what was expected of her.

Her fingers moved quickly, shedding her clothes with practiced ease, letting each piece fall to the floor like discarded inhibitions.

With each layer removed, her anticipation only grew, her body already aching for his touch, her skin tingling in the charged atmosphere between them.

She was dripping wet before he even touched her again.

With a sultry glance and a seductive smile, she approached the bed, slipping onto the cool sheets with a feline grace.

She arched her body provocatively, silently inviting him, eager to be used, eager to fulfill the raw, unspoken cravings that had been building inside her.

Ace stood at the foot of the bed, slowly peeling off his own clothes, the flickering light casting deep shadows across his sculpted form.

His gaze was heavy, predatory, burning into her bare skin.

When he finally hovered over her, his smirk was laced with something almost sinister.

His hand wrapped around her throat, fingers tightening just enough to make her pulse jump.

His mind wandered, imagining how she would look with his grip tightening even further.

Eyes wide, lips parted, gasping— helpless beneath him. The thought was tempting. Too tempting to kill her.

He exhaled sharply, almost disappointed in himself, before sliding his hand down to cup her breast instead.

His restraint tonight had nothing to do with mercy.

No, he simply needed something more than blood and pleasure— a distraction, however temporary.

–––––––––––––––

Half an hour later, the room was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the aftermath of their exertion leaving the air heavy and still.

Athena lay spent beside him, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, while Ace sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair.

The sheets were tangled around their bodies, but the warmth they had shared moments ago had already begun to fade. The emptiness was creeping in.

Without a word, he pushed himself off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

Athena watched him go, biting her lip.

She could still feel the sting of his grip on her skin, the ghost of his touch lingering in the places he had claimed.

But as much as she enjoyed his attention, she despised the way he so easily dismissed her once he was done.

Five minutes later, he returned, running a towel over his damp hair as he slipped into his boxers with little care for her presence, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Athena propped herself up on one elbow, watching him.

"So, is this your room?" she asked, her voice softer now, as if seeking something more than just carnal satisfaction.

Ace barely spared her a glance. "No."

A beat of silence stretched between them, heavy with the unsaid.

As their encounter drifted to its inevitable close, Ace settled onto the couch, his phone in hand, thumbs scrolling idly across the screen.

Whatever momentary escape she had provided him was already forgotten, buried under the weight of something far more pressing in his mind.

Athena exhaled through her nose as she slid off the bed and padded toward the bathroom.

She emerged ten minutes later, her damp skin wrapped in a towel, droplets of water clinging to her collarbones.

"I assume you like brown eyes," she said casually, her attempt at conversation a thinly veiled attempt to pull him back into her orbit.

Ace didn't even look up. "No."

She frowned. "But you said you—"

His gaze finally met hers, and whatever words she had planned to say died on her lips.

That look—sharp, cold, unreadable.

The same look that warned her not to push, not to pry into the depths he refused to reveal.

She swallowed hard, nodding in understanding.

With an air of feigned indifference, she reached for her dress and began slipping it back on.

Her hands slid over the fabric as she reached behind her to zip it up, but instead of finishing the task herself, a small smirk curved her lips.

Sauntering over to where he sat, she slid effortlessly onto his lap, the heat of her core pressing against him once more.

"Can you please zip up my dress, sir?" she purred, her voice sultry, teasing.

Ace sighed, setting his phone aside. He leaned in, zipping her dress with slow precision.

Their bodies pressed together for a fleeting moment, her scent wrapping around him.

And yet, the moment the task was done, he pulled away just as quickly, retrieving his phone and returning to whatever had held his attention before.

Athena's lips pressed into a thin line. Rolling her eyes, she slid off his lap, annoyance flickering across her face.

"Bye then," she muttered, unable to keep the irritation from seeping into her tone.

Ace didn't even bother to look up, his focus never wavering from the screen in his hands.

He merely lifted his other hand in a lazy wave, dismissing her without so much as a second glance.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, her teeth grinding together.

With an irritated huff, she grabbed her belongings and stormed toward the door.

The finality of the clicking latch as it shut behind her felt deafening in the silence of the room.

And yet, Ace remained unmoved.

His eyes remained glued to his screen, but his mind?

His mind was elsewhere.

On someone else.

On a pair of brown eyes that haunted him more than he cared to admit.

Two days.

It had been two full days since Ace last saw Iris, and the absence gnawed at him like a dull ache he couldn't shake.

He sat in his study, the dim glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows over the documents spread before him.

His eyes skimmed the words on the pages, but none of them registered.

His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in the threads of an unfinished conversation and the ghost of a presence that was no longer there.

Then, Athena's voice cut through the thick silence like a blade.

"I was thinking maybe I could stay at your place," she said, her tone hesitant but laced with an underlying expectation. "We've been seeing each other quite a bit lately, so I thought it might be convenient. Just a suggestion, by the way."

Ace's grip on his pen tightened slightly. Her words were logical, practical even.

Convenient.

Was that all this was? He supposed it was.

"Okay," he replied flatly, his voice devoid of any real emotion.

Athena blinked, clearly expecting more—maybe some discussion, maybe even a little resistance—but he didn't offer her either.

She shifted slightly in her seat, waiting for something. When he gave her nothing, she exhaled a breath, covering her mild irritation with a practiced smile.

Ace didn't care to elaborate.

He had no patience for pointless back-and-forth, nor was he in the mood to justify his indifference.

His mind was already burdened with heavier matters.

Reaching for his phone, he dialed Ivan's number, his voice sharp and decisive when the man answered.

"Athena's going to stay at the mansion," he instructed. "Make sure everything's arranged for her."

Ivan didn't question it, simply confirming the order before the call ended.

Ace set the phone down, his pen idly tapping against the wooden surface of his desk.

He should've felt relieved to have one less thing to deal with, but he didn't. Instead, the weight in his chest remained the same.

Athena was here now. That should've meant something.

But it didn't.

And deep down, he knew why.

With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple before refocusing on the mound of work in front of him.

The papers blurred in his vision, his concentration slipping once more.

Two days.

It had only been two days.

And yet, it felt like an eternity.

Iris POV:

I was exhausted.

My arms ached, my legs burned, and my back felt like it had been trampled by a herd of elephants.

I had spent hours scrubbing floors—three whole levels of the mansion—only to be given yet another task.

And now, here I was, standing in yet another damn room, preparing it for some guest who would probably never appreciate the effort.

"Can I take a short break? Please," I pleaded, my voice carrying the weight of my frustration and sheer exhaustion.

Melinda, the ever-patient, sighed with sympathy but stood firm. "I'm sorry, dear. The boss's friend is staying over, and Ivan said to prepare her room. I understand you're tired, but it's part of the job."

She gave me an apologetic smile before walking off, leaving me alone to tackle yet another chore.

I clenched my fists, inhaling deeply. The boss's friend?

So-called Boss barely even acknowledged my existence, and now I had to cater to some guest of his?

By the time I finished, my body was screaming for rest.

I trudged back to my own tiny room, barely making it to the bed before collapsing onto it like a lifeless doll.

I just need five minutes.

Just as I was about to slip into blissful, much-needed sleep, there was a knock at my door.

I groaned, forcing my eyes open. What now?

Dragging myself up, I shuffled to the door and opened it to see one of the other maids standing there, her expression bright and far too cheerful for my liking.

"The boss's friend is here. Do you want to see her?" she asked excitedly.

I blinked at her, completely devoid of energy.

Did I want to see her? Hell no.

I wanted to curl up in bed and sleep like a sloth.

"It's okay," I whispered, barely able to muster the energy to speak.

The maid's face fell slightly, as if just now noticing how drained I looked. "Oh... alright."

She hesitated before leaving, and I barely had time to shut the door before I felt tears prickling at my eyes.

I hate periods.

I flopped back onto my bed, not even bothering to change or wash up.

Sleep consumed me almost instantly, dragging me into darkness.

When I woke up, it was already late afternoon. 4 PM.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I dragged myself out of bed, freshened up as quickly as possible, and forced myself back to work.

This time, my task was serving Athena— the boss's friend.

I didn't know what I expected, but when I set a plate of cheese bread in front of her, I was immediately met with a complaint.

"This cheese isn't melted," Athena said with a hint of annoyance.

I blinked, taken aback.

"But it is melted, ma'am," I replied, furrowing my brows. "I saw it myself when I put it on your plate."

Athena glanced up, her patience visibly wearing thin. "Give me what I want. You're the maid, not me," she snapped.

Maybe she's on her period too.

"Okay, ma'am," I said, pouting slightly.

It was frustrating to see food go to waste, especially when I knew how much effort went into preparing it.

I relayed Athena's complaint to Melinda, who took over from there.

Meanwhile, I did what any sensible person would do—I ate the so-called "unsatisfactory" cheese bread.

It was perfectly fine.

Soft, warm, and honestly, better than most things I'd had recently.

When I returned with another plate, this time with the cheese exactly how she wanted it, Athena barely spared me a glance before accepting it and eating it without further complaint.

I sighed in relief. Finally.

But now that my mind wasn't occupied with her demands, a new thought crept in.

I wanted ice cream.

No. I needed ice cream.

Specifically, chocolate flavor.

The rich, creamy sweetness, melting on my tongue, dissolving into pure bliss.

Just thinking about it made my stomach twist with longing.

Rice was my comfort food, sure— I would die for it if I had to.

But stress eating? That was a job for ice cream.

Ace POV:

"You will get the weapons by tomorrow, and about the money—you have to pay in full, at once."

My voice left no room for discussion. No room for hesitation. No room for second chances.

The man on the other end of the call stammered, but I didn't bother listening.

With a flick of my wrist, I ended the call, trusting that Alex would handle the rest.

He always did. Cold. Precise. Efficient. That's why I kept him close.

Stepping out of the building, I adjusted the cuffs of my suit and walked toward my car, the night air sharp against my skin.

It smelled like rain and asphalt—like the kind of night where things went south for someone.

Ivan caught up to me, his steps light, a sly grin on his face.

"Boss, we found him."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Who?"

"Noah." A slow smirk crept onto his face. "He's in the basement."

Ah, finally.

"Then let's meet that mama's boy," I muttered, my voice carrying a sharp edge of satisfaction.

Noah had crossed the line—again.

He thought he could get away with it, like so many others who mistook my patience for leniency. But patience had a limit.

And Noah? He had just reached it.

As we descended into the basement, the air grew cooler, and the lighting dimmer, setting a stark scene for the confrontation.

Let's show him how this game has to be played.

The lighting was dim, a single bulb swinging above Noah's slumped figure, casting eerie shadows along the stained walls.

He was tied to a metal chair, arms bound, legs restrained, his once- arrogant posture now reduced to something pitiful.

Blood dripped from his split lips. His left eye was swollen shut, a deep purple hue spreading across his cheekbone.

A pitiful sight.

Just kidding.

It was a work in progress.

Ivan, knowing my preference, wordlessly stepped out of the room, giving me space to do what I did best.

I cracked my knuckles, rubbing my hands together as I shrugged off my jacket, draping it neatly over a chair.

"Noah, Noah." I shook my head, clicking my tongue. "I gave you a chance, didn't I?"

His head lolled to the side as he groaned in pain, spitting a thick glob of blood onto the floor.

"Sorry... (Mi dispiace)," he croaked, voice raw.

I chuckled. "Don't be (Non essere)."

Gripping his hair, I yanked his head back, forcing him to meet my gaze.

His remaining eye was wide with fear, glossy with unshed tears.

He whimpered, lips trembling. "Mi dispiace... lasciami... (S-Sorry... L-Leave me.)"

I let out a slow sigh, then pressed my thumb against his swollen eye, applying just enough pressure to make him squirm.

His body went rigid, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Fa male, vero? (Hurts, doesn't it?)" I mused, my tone almost conversational.

Then I pressed harder.

A guttural scream tore from his throat, raw and primal, echoing against the basement walls.

My thumb slid further, parting his eyelids, the sensation turning slick as I reached his eye lens.

I could feel it.

Soft. Wet. Delicate.

A fragile thing.

His body thrashed violently against the chair, but the ropes held him still.

"No use," I murmured, gripping his hair tighter. "Stay still."

Then, in one swift motion, I pushed my thumb in with force.

The sound it made was obscene.

A sickening squelch, followed by another scream— this one jagged, broken, bordering on hysteria.

His legs jerked, his fingers trembling wildly, his entire body convulsing in agony.

I grinned, withdrawing my thumb slowly, watching as blood oozed from his socket.

I wiped the slick redness off my hand with his own shirt, patting his cheek condescendingly.

"Now, now, Noah," I murmured, stepping away. "Abbiamo appena iniziato (We're just getting started.)"

I picked up an axe from the metal table nearby, its sharp edge glinting under the dim light.

Walking toward him, I rested it gently against his foot, just enough for him to feel the cold bite of the steel.

"Sarà divertente, Noah (It'll be fun, Noah)," I promised, my voice soft, almost soothing.

Then I cut the ropes.

His body immediately slumped forward, collapsing onto the bloodstained floor with a dull thud.

The sound he made was pitiful—half a gasp, half a sob, choked by pain.

For a moment, he didn't move.

Just lay there, hands clutching at his ruined face, fingers trembling as they smeared blood across his skin.

His breathing was uneven, jagged—like he was trying to hold on to something, anything, but slipping further into the abyss with every second.

And then—he moved.

Crawling.

Desperately.

I took a slow step back, watching him drag himself forward, his body trembling.

Good.

What was the satisfaction in killing prey that was tied down, helpless? That was mercy.

True satisfaction came from giving them a glimpse of freedom— a sliver of hope.

A chance.

Then snatching it away.

Hunting them. Slowly.

Deliberately.

Noah was wheezing now, his breath coming in shuddering bursts as he clawed at the floor, his remaining eye wild with terror.

He must have thought—hoped—I would let him go.

That was the cruelest part, wasn't it?

Making them believe.

Half an hour passed.

His right hand was sliced through just halfway.

It dangled from his armpit, a grotesque mess of shredded tendons and fractured bone.

I had taken my time, each cut careful, deliberate— savoring the way his body shuddered under the blade, the way his screams had turned to weak, broken whimpers.

His breath hitched as I stepped closer, the cold steel of the knife pressing against his throat.

He didn't even beg anymore.

That was the thing about pain—it stripped people down to their core.

There was nothing left of his arrogance, his defiance. Just raw, primal fear.

I leaned in, my lips close to his ear. "Non tollero i ritardi. Non tollero la mancanza di rispetto. E non concedo seconde possibilità (I don't tolerate delays. I don't tolerate disrespect. And I don't give second chances.)"

A fresh tremor wracked his body.

Nice.

Every bruise, every cut, every drop of blood was a lesson.

A message.

An hour later, Noah was barely recognizable and slightly alive.

His body was slumped against the chair once again, his breathing weak, ragged.

Blood seeped from every wound, painting his clothes, his skin, the floor beneath him in deep, glistening red.

His right arm was no longer a limb— it was a ruined piece of flesh, carved and shredded until nothing remained but bone and sinew.

His face? A mask of agony.

One eye permanently closed, the other wide open, glassy, empty.

The room smelled of iron, of sweat, of fear.

I exhaled, stretching my shoulders as Ivan stepped back into the room, carrying a large, steel bucket.

Warm water sloshed inside, tinged red with fresh blood.

Floating in it, grotesque and lifeless, was Noah's half-severed hand.

Ivan lifted the bucket slightly. "Boss, what should we do with this?"

I smirked, rolling the sleeves of my shirt back down, ignoring the blood staining my skin.

"Send it to his family as a gift."

Ivan chuckled, nodding. He always enjoyed these little deliveries.

—----------------------------------------------------------------

The evening air was crisp when I finally returned to the mansion.

The moment I stepped inside, warmth settled over me, a stark contrast to the cold, damp basement where Noah had left behind a mess of blood and broken bones.

Ivan interrupted my brief respite, delivering more unwelcome news. "Boss, Alex called off the deal."

"Okay," I muttered.

If Alex canceled it, then clearly it wasn't worth pursuing further.

With that thought dismissed, I made my way to the living room. A warm shower would do me good.

Steam curled around me as the hot water pounded against my back, easing the tension in my muscles.

The sharp scent of my soap filled the space, but it wasn't enough to clear my head.

It had been five days since I last saw Iris, and her absence was beginning to gnaw at me.

She had been avoiding me.

Not obviously, not dramatically— but smartly. Carefully this time.

We were under the same roof, yet she had managed to slip away at every opportunity, like a shadow dissolving before I could reach it.

It was... annoying.

Then there was Ivan's report—about Iris being overly friendly with one of the guards.

A ridiculous thing to care about. Yet here I was, thinking about it.

Why? Was I concerned that she'd get taken advantage of?

Or was I just irritated by the idea of her smiling at another man when she refused to even look at me?

Tch. And why should I even care about some girl, a mere deal?

I turned off the shower and stepped out, dragging a towel over my face before throwing on a pair of trousers and a sleeveless shirt.

The thought should've died there, washed away with the water down the drain.

But it didn't.

Descending the stairs, I barely had time to register Athena before she pressed herself against me.

She was decked out in a sheer net dress, leaving nothing to the imagination.

"Ace," she purred, arms winding around my neck as she kissed me, as if I were a mannequin she could drape herself over.

I pushed past her. "Not now."

I found myself heading toward the kitchen, not entirely sure why.

Well... maybe I wanted coffee. A strong ginger coriander blend. Something to clear my head.

Or maybe I just wanted to see if Iris was alive. Just checking with my own eyes.

Melinda placed a cup in front of me, steam curling from the surface. I took a sip and immediately grimaced.

It tasted like burnt cardboard. Bitter. Disgusting.

Iris's coffee tasted different.

Soothing. Tart, but not unpleasant. A sharp relief against the weight in my head.

"Tell Iris to make my coffee," I demanded.

Melinda blinked, then scurried off without protest, probably relieved to escape my foul mood.

The seconds stretched into minutes.

Fifteen, to be exact.

And then, finally, she appeared.

Iris walked in with slow, measured steps, wearing an old hoodie that swallowed her frame and baggy jeans that hung loose around her legs.

She looked small. Smaller than usual.

She set the cup in front of me carefully, her head hung low, her expression unreadable.

Not a single glance. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

I found myself gripping the table, irritation and something else—something stupid—tightening in my chest.

She turned to leave.

Just like that. Like I wasn't even here.

Annoying.

"Serve me," I ordered, my voice cutting through the thick air.

She paused but didn't react, didn't argue. Just turned back, silent as ever.

"It's okay, I'll serve you," Athena piped up, stepping forward, her usual saccharine smile in place.

My jaw clenched.

"Did I ask you?" I snapped.

Athena flinched, her smile faltering, but I had already turned my attention back to Iris.

"Iris," I repeated, my voice sharper this time and she, being the obedient girl she was, began to serve me slowly.

Like she was punishing me with every second that dragged on.

"Faster. I can't stay here all night."

I barely bit back a smirk, waiting for some reaction.

A twitch of her lips. A flash of irritation in her eyes.

Something.

But she gave me nothing.

No words. No defiance. No tears.

Her head remained down, her face a perfect mask of indifference, her silence thick and suffocating.

It should've satisfied me.

But all it did was twist in my gut like an itch I couldn't scratch.