It had been one and a half weeks, and Ace found himself utterly captivated by her.
At first, it was nothing more than passing curiosity—an afterthought, really.
But the more he stayed in his house, observing her intentionally, the more she consumed his thoughts.
She was strange.
Too obedient. Too careful.
Too different.
Iris knew why she was here.
This wasn't a fairy tale where she was a cherished guest or a beloved woman.
She was a deal, nothing more.
And yet, despite that, she worked tirelessly, moving through the house like a ghost, her hands never idle.
A maid, twenty-four hours a day.
She cooked. She cleaned. She did her duties without complaint, without resistance.
And it made Ace suspicious.
Women in his life had always been predictable.
They wanted something from him— money, power, status. Some just wanted to fuck him for the thrill and adventure.
But Iris?
He had given her nothing. No money, no gifts, not even kindness.
Yet she never faltered.
She didn't complain about her workload, didn't demand anything in return or even brought up about Noah and leaving her, again.
She looked at him with careful, gentle eyes, as if she had known him for years.
As if she understood him.
And that... that was dangerous.
Ace didn't believe in selfless people.
Everyone had an angle, a selfish reason. Everyone had a price.
He didn't gave her money, care or even anything to be grateful to him.
Then why?
Why did she behave as if she had chosen to be here now, despite knowing the kind of man he was?
It was getting infuriating.
Iris was slipping into his head, like a poison he didn't realize he had swallowed.
And Athena noticed.
To her, Iris was nothing more than an annoying little pest—a fly buzzing around, drawing Ace's attention away from her.
It was becoming a problem.
Whenever Iris was in sight, Ace's attention would shift. Even in the middle of something intimate.
It had happened just days ago.
Athena had been sprawled across his desk in the study, her breathy moans filling the dimly lit room as he pounded into her.
Her nails clawed at the desk, her lips whispering his name over and over again.
And yet, he wasn't really there.
His eyes had wandered beyond the room, past the large window overlooking the garden.
Iris.
She was outside, tending to the plants, completely unaware of his gaze.
Her small frame was bent slightly as she watered the black dahlia, her hands delicate, her expression calm.
Something about that moment, that second— set something dark alight in him.
His grip on Athena's waist tightened.
He fucked her harder, rougher, but his focus never wavered. His eyes never left Iris.
Athena felt it. The shift in his attention.
The way he was using her, not for pleasure, but for distraction.
From her.
From Iris.
And that was the moment Athena began to despise the little girl.
But for Ace?
He didn't care.
He had made it clear from the beginning—Athena was just a fuck.
A warm body to ease his tension. Nothing more.
Today was payday for the house staffs.
Every worker in the mansion was set to receive their salary. But this time, Ace had a different plan.
For her.
Iris POV:
Finally!!
I was practically vibrating with excitement. Salary day!
I could finally buy some decent undergarments. The ones one of the maids had given me were too big—I practically swam in them.
Well, no surprise there.
Everyone in this house was a giant.
Seriously, was there a height requirement to work here? 5'6" or taller?
Meanwhile, here I was—5'0" of pure suffering.
For small people living on this big planet is a big worry. Ufff~
The staff lined up one by one, waiting for their turn as Ivan distributed their salaries.
It was a long line, and I was at the very end, of course.
But after 15 whole minutes of standing on my tiptoes, shifting from one foot to another, it was finally my turn!
Or so I thought.
Ivan glanced at me once before turning on his heel and walking away.
Wait. Wait, what?!
My eyes widened in horror. My money!
I ran after him, practically sprinting to catch up.
"Sir! Ahem... you... forgot to give money to... me," I managed to say, trying my best to sound polite.
Ivan barely spared me a glance. "I didn't forget, ragazza. Your name's not on the list."
He held the sheet up to my face, as if that was enough of an answer.
I blinked. What?
"But why?" My voice rose with confusion. "I did every task perfectly, I didn't take any leave, and I mean—I was brought here to work...or maybe not."
I barely finished my sentence before Ivan cut me off.
"Talk to the boss." And just like that, he walked away.
I stood there for a moment, my brain buffering.
Talk to the boss?! Ughhhhh.
This so-called boss was getting on my nerves.
For the past week and a half, I had gone out of my way to avoid him, and now I was being forced to go straight to him?
Great. Just great.
With a deep breath, I stomped to his office and knocked.
Once. Twice. Five times.
No response.
But I could hear something inside—muffled voices, soft murmuring.
Was he ignoring me on purpose?
A tiny shiver ran down my spine.
Did he find out?
Did he remember me?
I had been so careful—keeping my head down, staying out of his way.
But now, standing here outside his door, waiting like a fool, dread curled in my stomach.
"AHHHHHH!"
I screamed so loud the walls could have cracked.
A sudden weight had landed on my shoulder— unexpected, uninvited, and completely terrifying.
Ghost.
I spun around, nearly tripping over my own feet, my heart slamming against my ribs.
And then— Ivan.
Standing there. Watching me. Suspiciously.
I blinked at him.
Nope. No ghosts. Just a six-foot-something, scary, cold man staring into my soul.
I exhaled a breath I didn't know I was holding.
But wait— this was bad.
Before he could even say anything, I blurted, "No, sir! It's not what you think!"
He raised a single brow, completely unimpressed. Oh god.
Before he could interrogate me further, the office door swung open, and a very disheveled-looking guard stepped out.
Oliver. He was the only guard who talked to me friendly.
His uniform was slightly wrinkled, his breathing was heavy, and his eyes—were red?
What the hell had happened in there?
I stared at him, then at the half-open door, then back at him.
He looked like he had just walked out of a horror movie.
I awkwardly lifted my hand and waved, my lips stretching into a forced smile. "Hey..."
Oliver just stared at me. Dead in the eyes.
And then— without acknowledging my existence in the slightest— he walked away.
Does he hate me now? I think.
I turned back to Ivan, still standing there, still staring at me like I was an ant under a magnifying glass.
And then, without warning, he grabbed the back of my hoodie and started dragging me inside the room.
"Wait—wait," I screeched, my feet scrambling against the floor as I flailed helplessly.
Ivan didn't care. I was an old rag in his big, scary hands.
And then— I froze.
My heart stopped beating.
Because right in front of me, sitting behind his desk, shirtless, was Ace.
... Why was he always shirtless?! This man had an actual allergy to clothing.
Fit people never wear clothes properly. Torn dress or no dress policy.
"Capo, stava origliando (Boss, she was eavesdropping)", Ivan said.
I blinked at him. Huh?
What in the foreign phew-phew language was that supposed to mean?
But whatever it was, I could tell from the slight narrowing of Ace's eyes that it wasn't good for me.
He was staring. Hard.
He was impossible to read. Always so expressionless. So calm. So terrifyingly collected.
Was he mad?
Annoyed?
Bored?
Going to kill me? Possibly.
"Don't believe him! He's lying whatever he's saying about me", I confessed, wide eyed.
The air in the room was thick. Heavy. Suffocating.
I turned to Ivan with wide, pleading eyes. "Don't lie to him," I urged.
"Then what were you doing?" Ivan asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Speaking to the door?"
"I was knocking!" I said quickly. "But all I heard was murmuring, and—that's it! Believe me! My lord, I said the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!"
I snapped my fingers and smirked. ""Don't think I'm a spy. I mean, I could be if you trained me," I added, determinedly.
Ivan scoffed. "What murmurs?" he asked, arms crossed.
I frowned, thinking back. "Like... someone was discussing something important?"
Ivan laughed. I didn't like that.
It was the kind of laugh that made my stomach twist uncomfortably. Like I was missing something important.
Then, he turned to Ace, muttered something, and without another word— Left.
Just like that.
I stared after him, jaw slightly open.
Wait, what?! Where are you going?!
He just left me here.
With him.
Alone.
Oh— oh no.
I knew—I just knew—that Ace would be burning holes at me.
So, I just turned, folding my hands behind my back, my eyes fixed on the floor, my body completely still.
"Iris."
His voice. Deep. Low. Velvety. Dangerous.
I raised my head, my throat dry.
"Sit here. On your knees." Ace's voice was calm. Unhurried. He motioned to the floor in front of him with his hand.
Erm...Something tickled my stomach. A weird, fluttery feeling.
I resisted the bizarre urge to giggle.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I rubbed my palms over my thighs, stalling. "But... Boss," I dragged out, taking slow, baby steps toward him.
His expression didn't change. He just watched me. Waiting.
Like he had all the time in the world.
I swallowed and, reluctantly, sank onto my knees in front of him. The hardwood floor was cold beneath me.
I kept my gaze lowered.
Down, down—to his feet. Because he was—nakey. Again.
Seriously. This man had a personal vendetta against shirts.
"Eyes up here," he said.
His tone was calm, yet there was something undeniable in it. Something that told me he wasn't asking.
My gaze flickered up briefly—before darting away again.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Sorry, mama.
"I—I wasn't eavesdropping or something," I blurted out, desperate to shift the topic anywhere but the fact that he was shirtless.
He rested his elbows on his knees, still watching me. "Have you never looked at a naked man before?"
My brain short-circuited. I felt my entire soul leave my body.
What kind of question was that?!
I peeked at him from under my lashes, my pulse thudding erratically.
"N-No, Boss," I admitted, my ears burning with embarrassment.
His head tilted slightly, as if my answer intrigued him.
"Why?"
I blinked. "Why... what?"
"Why haven't you?" He leaned forward just a little. "Do you not like men? Aren't you curious?"
My entire face caught fire.
Of course, I was!
I mean, wasn't everyone curious about their opposite gender at some point? Especially teenagers?
But It was forbidden for me.
I sucked in a sharp breath, gripping the hem of my hoodie.
"I—I mean, I am... but it's..." I hesitated.
"...It's a taboo," I blurted.
His eyebrow lifted. "A taboo?"
I swallowed, too deep in now to stop.
"Mom said... it's shameful to look at someone else's... naked body," I explained, my voice getting smaller.
The room felt too big. Too quiet.
"It would make them... uncomfortable." I shut my eyes, bracing for impact.
He's going to scold me. Or mock me.
Or— something.
Because every time I gave him some sort of explanation, I ended up in trouble.
Last time, I had spoken too much, too freely.
And what did I get? His anger. His scolding.
I should've learned by now.
But no, I always had to open my big mouth.
My hands clenched into the fabric of my hoodie, fingers curling so tightly my knuckles ached.
Mom was the one who raised me most of the time.
She always told me to be mannerful. To be modest. To never do anything that would bring shame upon myself.
My father— he was different. Always working. Restless, distant.
I rarely saw him growing up, especially after he was removed from his traveling job.
So, really, it wasn't my fault I was like this. Right?
Last time Ace asked something to me and scolded me.
I mean I took revenge there by yelling at him in anger too.
Is he gonna kill me?
Is he gonna cut off my tongue? But–
Click.
The sound of his tongue against the roof of his mouth shattered the silence like a whip.
I startled a bit, my eyes snapping open.
Ace hadn't moved.
But his gaze— oh, his gaze— was pinned on me like a predator watching its prey,
Ace POV:
"You're mother sounds so conservative," I said.
Her response was almost too quiet.
"Yeah..." she murmured.
"So, you wanna satisfy your curiosity?" My voice was laced with amusement as I hummed the question, dragging it out deliberately.
She shook her head instantly, rocking herself back and forth slightly, as if the movement could ground her. A nervous habit.
My smirk widened.
Her enchanting brown eyes— were pointed downward, staring at my thighs. Dammit.
If anyone walked in and saw her like this, they'd get the wrong idea.
Hell, even I had to shake off the thought that flickered through my head.
But I knew better. I knew exactly what was running through that overactive mind of hers.
She wasn't thinking about anything sinful. No.
She was thinking about whether I was going to scold her. Or kill her.
That's what made her so unique. So frustrating. So damn captivating.
"Why?" I asked softly, curiosity slipping into my tone.
She only shrugged, her small shoulders lifting before falling. No words, no excuses.
Slowly, I leaned in further, closing the already small distance between us.
She stiffened, her body locking up like prey sensing a predator's approach.
I reached behind her, grasping the thick braid that rested against her back.
It was smooth under my fingers, soft and well-kept despite her work.
"I love your hair, bambi," I murmured, my voice dipping into something quieter. "It's beautiful."
Her breath hitched, but she didn't move away.
Carefully, I slipped the rubber band from the end of her braid, rolling it over my wrist.
Then, I pushed my chair forward, the legs scraping against the floor with a quiet sound.
Her eyes widened.
Now, she was completely between my legs—small, vulnerable, and utterly still.
Her gaze flickered up, watching as I began unraveling her braid, taking my time with each section.
She looked lost. Like she didn't understand what was happening, why I was doing this.
But she didn't stop me.
When I finished, I let her tousled waves fall freely, sliding my hand through the loose strands, pushing them back from her face.
My fingers traced along the nape of her neck, tilting her head up, forcing her to meet my eyes.
A blush bloomed across her cheeks, spreading down to her throat. Her ears were burned red, and her teeth sank into her lower lip, biting it tightly.
"I love braids," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
She exhaled deeply, her eyes darting to my neck. Avoiding my gaze again.
I felt the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat beneath my fingers, uneven and fast. Too fast.
I slid my fingers through her hair again, slowly, tracing down the length of her back, letting the strands breathe freely.
They were soft, curling slightly at the ends.
When I withdrew my hand, a few strands of her hair clung to my fingers.
"I-I will take it," she said quickly, her voice breathless as her gaze dropped to my hand.
"It's okay," I replied, brushing the hair onto the table without a second thought.
"I-I...go..." she stammered, shifting her weight like she was ready to bolt.
I tilted my head, smirking. "Hm... you wanna go, bambi?"
I leaned in again, my hands settling on the nape of her neck once more, keeping her in place.
Her lips pursed, her body tensing, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths.
She squeezed her eyes shut as I leaned closer, pressing into her space.
Instead, I tilted my head at the last second, brushing my lips behind her ear, inhaling the soft scent of her hair.
"Your hair smells nice," I whispered against her skin.
Coconut and jasmine. Sweet and subtle. Just like her.
Her eyes snapped open, wide with surprise, as she stared up at me, her breath hitching in her throat.
"What were you thinking? That I was gonna k—" I started, only to be cut off by the faintest of whimpers from her.
"Kill me... I thought you were gonna kill me," she murmured, as if the mere thought of saying another word, the real word, was too much to bear.
I licked my lips, my gaze locked onto hers, the sheer nervousness in her eyes making my chest tighten.
Fear. It was always fear when it came to me.
I should've been used to it by now. But with her... it was different.
The abrupt sound of the door creaking open sliced through the silence between us, snapping her head towards the intrusion.
Her eyes widened, her body stiffening before she quickly looked away, biting her lip in what I could only guess was shame or embarrassment.
I didn't move, even as I slowly removed my hands from her, keeping my body close enough to remind her I was still there.
"Ivan," I muttered, clicking my tongue in irritation.
My gaze flicked toward him as he stood at the entrance, as emotionless as ever. "Since when do you start coming in without knocking?"
"Sorry, boss," he answered in a monotone. "The shipments have not arrived at the East Coast branch."
I exhaled sharply, my patience thin. "Get out."
Ivan didn't hesitate, bowing before stepping back through the door.
But something in his expression made my jaw clench.
Was it just me, or had he been looking at her?
My irritation flared, but I forced myself to push it aside.
When I turned back, my eyes landed on her again— only to catch her own gaze fixed downward.
My lower body.
Her brows furrowed slightly, her expression shifting into something I couldn't quite place.
Curiosity, maybe? Definitely not what I expected from her.
Then she asked me a peculiar thing that no one asked me ever in my life.
She raised a single, hesitant finger and pointed towards my side, her voice small but laced with intrigue.
"What's that, boss?" she asked, her fingertip barely five inches away from my skin. "The black patterns."
I stared at her, momentarily thrown off. Of all the things to ask...
"Tattoos," I said, sighing slightly, as if I couldn't believe she didn't know.
Her mother must've raised her in a cave if she didn't even recognize a damn tattoo.
And then, as if this were completely normal, she shifted closer, lowering herself onto her calves.
Without thinking, she placed her hands on my thighs, as if she did this all the time.
My jaw flexed.
Her wide, innocent eyes roamed over my torso, her gaze trailing the ink that covered my skin.
She looked utterly entranced.
As if she were trying to map every inch of me with her eyes alone. I let her.
I love it when she looks at me. Just fucking me.
This took an unexpected turn.
I smirked slightly, watching her as she tilted her head, her eyes following the lines and shapes of the tattoos with quiet fascination.
She wasn't looking at me with lust. She wasn't gawking at me the way women usually did.
No, this was something else entirely.
Interest. Pure, unfiltered curiosity.
"Done bambina?," I asked.
I let my fingers toy with a loose strand of her hair, watching as she remained lost in thought.
I had no idea what the hell was going on in her head, but knowing her– definitely some peculiar questions.
Why not take advantage of this?
"Fine. I will ask one question, and you will answer it. Then the same goes for you. Let's play," I said, my voice smooth but edged with curiosity.
A smirk curled my lips. "Your parents are dead. So, why are you still following their rules? Don't you have any curiosity?"
She stiffened slightly, fingers twitching against my thighs before she withdrew her hands quickly, as if suddenly realizing where she had placed them.
"I mean..." she exhaled, as if weighing her words carefully. "It doesn't look that fun to me, and it's not important. That's why."
But I don't think she believed her own words, the slight scrunch in her brows, betrayed the uncertainty behind her statement.
She was judging me now.
"What... is a tattoo?" she asked, frowning slightly as her eyes traced the black lines curving over my abdomen.
"An ink needle that draws patterns in your body," I said in simple words for her to understand.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" I asked, my voice low and probing. "Or has a boy ever liked you?"
"No. I never had one because they said I'm boring. Or not fun." She puffed her cheeks slightly before flashing a playful grin. "What they don't know is that I'm a secret assassin. Phew. Phew."
She mimicked shooting an imaginary gun with her fingers, giggling at her own joke.
But as soon as she realized what she said, she went rigid, her smile faltering.
"I—I was just joking! I'm not like that. Don't be suspicious of me, boss. I am innocent," she stammered, shaking her hands as if warding off an accusation.
A stupid smile formed on my lips. A small one.
I leaned forward just a little, letting my eyes settle on cheeks. "Am I the first man you've looked at like this? My naked chest... freely?"
Her lips parted slightly, her eyes squinting a bit. "Erm...no," she mumbled, frowning as if I had somehow offended her.
A blatant lie.
"Can I get a tattoo also?" she asked suddenly, her voice tinged with excitement. She looked up at me eagerly, almost bouncing in place.
"No," I said firmly, watching as her brows knitted together in disappointment.
"Why not?"
I leaned in, my hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "It hurts, bambina," I murmured. "Your skin is soft. I like it this way—clean, untainted, and soft."
Before she could react, I lowered my lips to her cheek, pressing them against the warm skin there.
Just as I thought—so fucking soft and smooth.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her hands curling into the fabric of her hoodie.
Her entire body stiffened, her eyes darting downward as if trying to make sense of what just happened.
I lingered for a moment longer before pulling away, watching as her cheeks burned a shade darker, her ears practically glowing red.
She looked utterly wrecked—overwhelmed. Adorable.
"Then... then... w-why did you get it?" she stammered, her voice shaky. "Didn't it hurt?"
I let out a slow breath, relishing her reaction.
"No," I murmured. "I'm used to it."
What would her face look like if I kissed her throat?
If I dragged my lips over hers? If I pressed her down and made her squirm—
"Used to... what? Pain or tattoos?" she asked cautiously, her voice soft but laced with something deeper.
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I watched her. Maybe both.
"Forget it," I muttered, lifting my hand to her face, the back of my fingers grazing against her cheek.
Soft. Like silk against my calloused skin.
She didn't flinch, didn't move away. Just stared at me, eyes unfocused like she was lost somewhere deep inside her own head.
Then, suddenly, she raised her hand, slow and hesitant, towards my shoulder.
"Can... I—I touch it... if you don't mind, sir?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, her gaze locked onto mine.
My jaw tensed, but I nodded. "If you want, go ahead."
The moment her fingers made contact with my skin, my pulse jumped.
Just a featherlight touch, but it was enough to send a slow burn through my veins.
She traced the ink, her fingertips gliding over the intricate design— the wings merging into the panther's spine, my tribe, my duties.
It spanned from my lower ribs to my upper arm,
For two whole minutes, she traced my tattoos, and I just... watched her.
The moment was perfect.
A little girl on her knees for me, running her hands over my body, just for fucking me.
"It all looks... painful," she murmured, glancing up at me.
Her eyes softened when her touch ghosted over a deep scar on my shoulder, the one that never fully healed.
"You have so many scars," she whispered. "So many wounds... You're so strong."
Her voice was laced with something unfamiliar—admiration? Sadness? I wasn't sure.
"My papa used to say scars represent our past. Scars make us strong and powerful." A small smile played on her lips as she spoke. "He said if you see someone with scars, don't underestimate them."
I swallowed, watching her intently.
A comfortable numbness spread through my chest.
"You're a good man sometimes... boss," she mumbled, her eyes searching mine.
My brows furrowed.
"Don't judge me quickly, Iris," I warned, my voice low. "Words can't be taken back."
BANG.
The door jolted open, slamming against the wall.
Iris flinched so hard she almost stumbled back, her wide eyes snapping toward the door.
"What the fuck is happening here?" Athena's voice sliced through the room, cold and sharp.
Iris shot to her feet, her entire body stiff, her breathing ragged.
My body felt cold, my throat dry as her presence slipped away. She was so warm.
I wonder how warm she'd be with my cock buried deep inside her, stretching her open, forcing her to take all of me.
Would she whimper, or would she scream my name? Would she beg me to stop or beg me for more?
My fingers curled into a fist.
Athena's hand shot out, her long fingers wrapping around Iris's small wrist.
A sharp gasp left the little thing's lips as Athena yanked her back.
Iris flinched, her body stiff with fear.
I hated it.
The way she cowered. The way her instincts told her to run.
Athena shoved her toward the door like she was tossing out a stray cat.
Iris didn't resist— she bolted, her feet barely making a sound as she disappeared from my sight.
A breath left me, long and slow. I hadn't even realized I was holding it.
Athena turned back to me, her gaze sharp, expectant, waiting for me to speak.
Pissed. Jealous. I didn't fucking care.
I pushed up from my chair, towering over her.
"Athena," I said, voice low, controlled. A warning.
"I don't like to hurt girls," I continued.
My tone was measured, but the weight behind it was sharp as a blade. "Especially when someone behaves like she's entitled, even when she knows she isn't."
My hand shot out, gripping her forearm.
She hissed, her perfectly manicured nails grasping my wrist as she tried to pull away.
"Touch the little girl again," I murmured, my voice dipping lower, "and you'll see the consequences of your choices."
I let go, my fingers unraveling from her skin in slow, deliberate precision.
She stumbled back a step, her brows snapping together in anger, but I had already lost interest.
I turned and walked out, leaving her standing there.
The air outside was crisp, cutting through the heat that had settled in my chest.
My fingers found the pack of cigarettes in my pocket, and I pulled one out, lighting it with a sharp flick of my lighter.
The first inhale burned, but it grounded me.
What the fuck just happened?
I exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl in the air, disappearing into the night.
I let myself slip. In front of a little girl.
Why?
I don't get distracted. I don't let my mind wander.
Yet, somehow, she had made me lose control for a second— just a fucking second— but it was enough.
Enough to make me restless.
Enough to make me wonder.
Am I attracted to her? No. That's not possible.
I've been with women who are leagues above her in experience, in confidence. Women who knew how to play this game, who understood the rules.
Athena is one of them.
If I put Athena and Iris in a room, every man with half a brain would choose Athena.
Write a comment ...