If I hadn't touched his tattoos, none of this would have happened.
I knew the moment my fingers brushed against his skin that I had made a mistake.
A deep, gut-twisting kind of mistake.
But God— did you see his body?
Carved like stone, muscle taut beneath intricate ink.
And yet, despite the awe, I was terrified.
My mother once told me those marks were a disease.
A disease that spread through the body whenever we sinned, growing darker with age.
(*A/N:- A lie based on true events and experience.)
I had spent my entire life dreading them. And yet, after Ace's explanation, it seemed my mother had lied.
That was the only reason I had asked him.
Otherwise, why in my right mind would I ever do something so reckless?
I had spent the entire day avoiding him. Avoiding Athena. Paralyzed by a gnawing mix of fear and guilt.
The image of my hand on his bare skin replayed in my mind like a broken record.
How could I have been so foolish?
How could I forget my place?
Even though I had known him for years, that didn't give me the right to touch him— especially not like that.
Not when he wasn't even wearing a shirt. Bad girl.
Athena's likely reaction was the source of my dread.
I was certain she would claw her nails into me, long and sharp, seething with fury.
Facing her anger alone was enough to send a shudder down my spine.
So I decided to face the boss directly.
It seemed safer—even if it was a long shot.
It was late, almost midnight. He was probably still awake. I needed to do this before the anxiety consumed me whole.
Taking a deep breath, I climbed the stairs, my footsteps barely audible against the silence.
Each step felt heavier, the weight of my own dread pressing down on my chest.
Then, just as I reached the hallway leading to his room, a voice stopped me.
"What are you doing here?"
A guard. His voice was firm, suspicion laced in every syllable.
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my nerves. "Oh, sir, I was going to see the boss."
He didn't move. He studied me, expression unreadable, then pulled out his walkie-talkie and murmured something in a language I didn't understand.
My heart pounded as I stood there, every muscle in my body coiled tight.
A beat passed. Then another.
Finally, he gave me a stiff nod. "Follow me."
I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and followed him through the dimly lit corridor.
The closer we got to Ace's room, the more my pulse quickened.
By the time we reached his door, my hands were trembling.
The guard didn't acknowledge me further.
He simply turned and walked away, his silence heavier than any words.
I murmured a quick, "Thank you, sir," bowing my head out of habit, but he was already gone.
My mother would have smacked me for turning my back on someone before they finished speaking.
Shaking off the nerves, I turned toward the door.
With a trembling hand, I raised my knuckles to knock on the heavy wooden door, but just as I was about to make contact, the door swung open abruptly, startling me.
My breath caught in my throat.
Ace stood before me—partially naked.
Every thought in my head shattered into oblivion.
Heat flooded my face so fast it felt like my skin would combust.
My gaze instinctively dropped to the floor, locking onto a single point just above his collarbone.
My heart pounded so violently it made my ribs ache.
"Ummm... boss... Iwanttoapologizeforwhathappenedyesterday," I blurted out, my words tumbling over each other in a frantic mess.
My voice was barely a whisper, breathless and shaky.
Silence. Thick. Unbearable.
I could feel his gaze on me, burning into my skin.
I didn't dare look up.
Every second felt agonizingly long as I waited for him to respond.
Had I made things worse by coming here?
Was he angry with me?
Finally, he spoke, his voice cold and detached. "Iris."
A shiver ran down my spine at the way he said my name. I instinctively stepped back, my fingers curling against my hoodie.
"Okay, boss. Good night. I'm sorry for disturbing you, and please—" I mumbled, already turning to flee, desperate to put space between us.
But before I could take another step, he lifted a hand, index finger pressed against his lips.
A silent command.
A heavy silence stretched between us before he finally spoke again.
"Do you know how to massage?" His voice was lower this time, edged with exhaustion as he ran a hand over his temple.
I blinked, completely caught off guard. Of all the things he could have said, this was the last thing I expected.
The shift in conversation left my mind reeling, struggling to grasp his intent.
Was he serious?
Was this some kind of test?
"Uhh...Yes, boss," I replied hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper.
He turned away without another word, walking further into the room as if my answer had already sealed my fate.
"Then massage my back," he commanded, his tone final, brooking no argument.
I hesitated, my body resisting the impulse to follow.
Every instinct screamed at me to turn and leave, but my feet betrayed me, carrying me forward in a daze.
The dim lighting in the room cast flickering shadows along the walls, the muted glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the strong lines of his scarred back as he reached for the waistband of his pants.
My breath hitched in panic.
Oh God... He's so shameless.
I slapped a hand over my mouth on instinct, heat rushing to my face. The sound of fabric rustling made my stomach twist in anxiety.
"Oil. Second drawer," he directed lazily, as if completely oblivious to my internal crisis.
He gestured toward the dressing table without even glancing my way.
"And don't just stand there unless you want me to take off my boxers too," he added gruffly.
"No, no!" I blurted, my voice embarrassingly shrill.
Scrambling to comply, I rushed to the dressing table, yanking open the second drawer with trembling fingers.
My hands fumbled over the small glass bottle inside, nearly dropping it in my haste.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to calm down.
This wasn't a big deal. I just needed to get through this, then I could leave and forget it ever happened.
Turning back to him, my breath caught.
He was already lying face down on the bed, his head turned slightly, eyes watching me.
This is fine. Totally fine.
Just a massage.
For my terrifying, half-naked boss.
God help me.
Returning to his side, I felt my face flush even deeper with embarrassment. This was so far outside my comfort zone, I could barely think straight.
The whole scenario felt surreal, like I was watching someone else go through it.
"Iris," he murmured into the pillow, his voice muffled but still audible, breaking the silence that had settled between us.
I carefully climbed onto the bed, trying to maintain my balance as I positioned myself above him.
My knees sank slightly into the soft mattress, and I could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
With a sense of hesitancy, I finally sat down on his back, positioning myself so that my bum-bum rested on his.
His muscles were firm beneath me, providing a contrast to the softness of my own body.
His butt was hard, but still, there was a slight give when I settled in. Maybe not squeezy, but certainly not unyielding either.
Mine, on the other hand, was all squeezy-squeezy— a thought that made me blush even harder, if that was even possible.
He remained silent, showing no signs of discomfort or protest, so I began to massage his back.
I poured a small amount of oil into my palms, rubbing them together to warm it before pressing my hands gently against his skin.
His back was rough, the muscles beneath tense and knotted from the day's stress.
I started with slow, deliberate strokes, applying light pressure as I moved my hands across his broad shoulders.
The oil made his skin slick and smooth, allowing my hands to glide easily over his muscles.
As I worked, I focused on easing the tension that had built up in his back, pressing my thumbs into the tight knots and rubbing in small, circular motions.
I could feel the resistance in his muscles at first, but as I continued, they began to soften under my touch.
The awkwardness of the situation didn't entirely fade, but I was able to push it to the back of my mind as I concentrated on the massage.
"My dad also has a back like yours, boss. Muscular, but yours is a little bit rough," I murmured softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
He remained silent, not acknowledging my comment, and I wondered if he had fallen asleep.
The room was quiet except for the sound of my hands moving over his skin, the soft rustle of the sheets beneath us, and the faint hum of the air conditioning.
The stillness was almost comforting, allowing me to focus solely on the task at hand.
I shrugged my shoulders and continued the massage, determined to do a good job despite the strange circumstances.
My dad had taught me how to massage when I was young, showing me how to work out the knots and ease the pain in his back after long days of hard work.
It was a skill I had never expected to use in a situation like this.
Hmm.. I miss you Papa.
Ace POV:
The obnoxious blare of my phone ripped me from the depths of sleep, shattering the fragile silence of the morning.
My brain felt sluggish, trapped in the fog of lingering exhaustion, and the relentless noise drilled into my skull like an ice pick.
With a groan, I reached out blindly, my fingers fumbling across the cool surface of the nightstand until they finally closed around the vibrating device.
"What?" My voice came out rough, thick with sleep, a warning laced into the single word.
Aiden's voice poured through the speaker, irritatingly upbeat for the ungodly hour. "Turn around."
I blinked, confusion threading through the haze in my mind.
Turn around?
What the fuck was he talking about?
With a reluctant sigh, I rolled over, my vision still adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains.
And there he was—Aiden, standing at the foot of my bed, grinning like a cat that had just swallowed the canary, all thirty-two teeth on full display.
The sheer smugness of his expression made my fingers twitch with the sudden urge to knock out a few of those perfectly aligned teeth.
"What the hell are you doing here?" My patience was already running thin, and I hadn't even been awake for a full minute.
Aiden rocked back on his heels, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "Not just me. The boys are here too."
The words slammed into my chest like a sledgehammer, my heart stuttering before it picked up an erratic pace.
No.
No fucking way.
"WHAT?!" The shout tore from my throat, sharper and louder than I'd intended, but the sheer panic overrode any concern for volume control.
Aiden's eyebrows shot up, surprise flickering across his face before amusement settled right back in.
Iris— did any of them find out about Iris.
Ignoring his reaction, I bolted out of bed, my feet hitting the floor with a thud as I stormed toward the living room.
My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out any rational thought.
I barely noticed the cold air biting at my skin, barely registered the fact that I was still in just a pair of boxers.
My focus was singular, my movements driven by a visceral need to control the situation before it spiraled beyond my grasp.
As I rounded the corner, my breath hitched in my throat.
The boys.
Athena.
Sitting around my living room, completely at ease, laughing like they didn't have a care in the goddamn world.
A slow exhale left my lungs, the tension easing— just a fraction.
Iris wasn't here.
I caught Athena perched on the couch, her laughter mingling with the others', her long nails drumming absentmindedly against the armrest.
The sight of them all so casually invading my space, making themselves at home without a second thought, grated on my nerves.
"Why are you all here suddenly?" My voice came out clipped, my irritation barely contained.
All conversation ceased.
Several pairs of eyes turned toward me, their expressions ranging from mild confusion to thinly veiled amusement.
It was only then that I registered how I must look— half-dressed, hair a mess, still shaking off the remnants of sleep.
And then, because the universe had a sick sense of humor, Alex decided to open his damn mouth.
"Gosh! Ace didn't know your girl would be living with you already."
A muscle ticked in my jaw. My fingers curled into fists at my sides.
"She's not my girl. Just a fuck," I said, my voice an icicle, each word sharp enough to cut.
Silence fell over the room like a heavy weight.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Athena's expression falter, a flicker of something—hurt?—crossing her face before she masked it with indifference.
Not my problem. Truth hurts like a bitch if you don't accept it at the beginning.
With a sharp exhale, I turned on my heel and strode back toward my room.
The moment I was out of their sight, I let out a low curse under my breath.
I needed a damn shower.
Hot water cascaded over my shoulders, the steam curling around me, seeping into my skin.
I braced my hands against the cool tiles, head bowed as the water pounded against the knots in my back.
Iris.
The thought of her being under the same roof while those idiots were here—it unsettled me in a way I couldn't quite explain.
Shoving the thoughts aside, I finished up, dried off, and threw on a pair of jeans and a plain T-shirt.
Running a hand through my damp hair, I exhaled, grounding myself before stepping out of the bathroom.
A sharp knock at the door. Then the unmistakable creak of it swinging open.
I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.
When I caught sight of Ivan's reflection in the mirror— leaning lazily against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smug grin already stretching across his face— I knew whatever came next was going to be fucking annoying.
"Hello, boss," he greeted, his tone dripping with unspoken mischief.
"What?" I asked, my voice edged with suspicion.
I narrowed my eyes at his reflection in the mirror.
"What happened last night between you and that shortie?" Ivan asked, his voice laced with unfiltered amusement.
I exhaled sharply, rolling my shoulders. Here we fucking go.
"Nothing." My response was clipped, dismissive. I didn't even bother turning to look at him. "Did you tell them about Iris?"
Ivan's smirk deepened, slow and deliberate. "No, boss. Your dirty little secret is safe with me."
Now I am going to kill him.
My fingers twitched with the urge to wipe that smug look off his face—with a fist, preferably.
I exhaled through my nose, forcing the irritation down.
"She gave me a massage. That's it." I kept my tone level, cool, as I finally turned to face him.
Ivan's eyebrows shot up, and for once, his grin faltered.
Genuine surprise flickered across his face before intrigue took over.
"She gave you a massage?" He repeated, as if he needed to hear it again to believe it.
I didn't answer, just held his gaze, jaw tightening.
He studied me, his playful amusement shifting into something sharper.
"You let her into your room..." His head tilted slightly. "But not Athena?"
I paused, the weight of the question settling on me. My eyes drifted back to the mirror, catching my own reflection.
The flicker of uncertainty in my own expression irritated me more than Ivan ever could.
"I don't know," I muttered, my voice quieter than I intended.
That was the damn problem— I didn't have an answer.
And that unsettled me.
I could feel Ivan's gaze pressing into me, but he didn't push—not yet.
Instead, he exhaled through his nose, then casually said, "Athena saw Iris leaving your room late at night."
That made me turn. My eyes snapped to him.
Ivan's smirk returned, but this time, there was something else behind it.
"She asked me," he continued, "why she wasn't allowed in your room, but an—" he made air quotes "—ugly cheap maid was."
The words sent a slow, simmering burn through my veins.
I didn't react outwardly. Not at first.
But in my head, I was already seething.
Athena. Judgmental. Entitled. A fucking whore.
And more than that—who the fuck was I to let Iris in, to give her that level of closeness, when I kept everyone else at arm's length?
Before I could respond, Ivan's phone rang, the shrill sound cutting through the tension in the room.
He held up a finger, signaling that he needed to take the call, and sauntered out, leaving me alone with the thoughts gnawing at the back of my mind.
My jaw locked. My pulse felt heavier, more deliberate.
Why had she stayed so long?
A massage couldn't have taken half the damn night.
The curiosity itched, dug deep, wouldn't leave me the fuck alone.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached for my phone. A few taps later, security footage from the previous night filled the screen.
The video played. And I watched.
There she was.
After the massage, she hadn't just left.
She'd taken her time, moving quietly around the room, laying hot towels on my back with careful, practiced hands.
Not rushed. Not careless.
She moved with precision, smoothing out the cloth, pressing gently into the knots she'd worked to loosen.
Every action was intentional, methodical.
She hadn't just been doing her job—she had been... taking care of me.
My stomach tensed.
I leaned in, watching as she hesitated for a moment, standing beside me, her expression unreadable in the grainy footage.
Then, finally, she turned and left, slipping out of the room as quietly as she had come.
The screen went dark.
I exhaled slowly, tapping my thumb against the phone.
My back had felt good this morning—better than usual. Not stiff. Not aching. I hadn't even noticed.
She wasn't what I had expected.
Not just a pretty face. Not just a quiet, obedient presence in the background.
There was something else beneath the surface.
Something I couldn't quite put my finger on.
Why did she care that much?
As I headed downstairs for breakfast, my mind kept wandering back to Iris.
My friends were already gathered around the dining table, laughter spilling into the halls.
My gaze flickered around the room, searching.
For her.
I told myself it wasn't intentional, that it was just a passing glance, but the tightening in my chest said otherwise.
But Iris was nowhere to be found.
A flicker of irritation sparked. Where is she?
Had something happened?
The unease was foreign, unwelcome, and yet, it gnawed at me.
"Ace, are you done with Noah?"
Alex's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, his tone edged with impatience as he stabbed his fork into his food.
I turned my attention to him, my mood souring further.
"No, not yet," I said coldly. "He's still breathing. Lucky bastard."
Alex's eyes narrowed slightly at my tone, but he didn't push. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable.
"Finish it," he said flatly. "Stop dragging this mess out. Next week, you need to be in Italy."
His words were a sharp reminder of the looming deadline. One I couldn't ignore.
If Noah's father paid the remaining amount, then Iris would leave.
The thought hit harder than I expected.
I forced my face to remain impassive. It doesn't matter.
Nothing would change.
Just another face disappearing. A shadow swallowed by the walls.
And yet, as I left for work, the irritation simmering beneath the surface had nothing to do with business and everything to do with her.
Athena was suffocating.
She clung to me like a parasite, her presence a constant demand for attention I didn't have the patience for.
But worse than her was the absence.
Iris's absence.
By the time I returned home, it was already past eight.
Exhaustion clung to my bones, but instead of heading inside, I made my way to the backyard, seeking solace in the ritual of a cigarette.
The first drag burned through my lungs, the smoke curling into the night air, but before I could fully enjoy the quiet, Athena's voice cut through it like a dull blade.
"Can I call you something else rather than 'Sir'?" she asked hesitantly.
I barely acknowledged her, my mind still tangled in the restless thoughts that had plagued me all day.
"Call me whatever you want," I muttered, my gaze fixed on the horizon.
Athena, predictably, took that as an invitation.
"Acey," she tested, her voice playful. "It's cute, isn't it?"
The sound of it grated.
Cute?
Disgusting.
I exhaled slowly, patience snapping like a frayed thread.
"Stop talking," I said curtly. "Or leave."
I didn't look at her. Didn't need to. The silence that followed told me she had finally taken the hint.
I took another drag, exhaling harshly, but it did nothing to settle the restless coil in my chest.
Had I done something to upset Iris?
Was she avoiding me?
Had she started to fear me?
It wasn't like I liked her. I barely knew her.
This was just lust. That's all.
A simple attraction. A passing desire. Nothing more.
And yet...
All I wanted was to see her again.
To catch that look she gave me when she thought I wasn't paying attention.
Author POV:
Iris lay curled on her bed, her fingers clutching at her scalp as a sharp, relentless ache pulsed through her skull.
A single tear slipped free, tracing a silent path down her cheek before vanishing into the pillow beneath her.
Her entire body throbbed, a dull, insistent pain settling deep into her bones, refusing to be ignored.
The past few days had been a ceaseless blur of exhaustion and agony, her strength sapped by the cruel demands Athena had piled onto her.
There was no rest.
No mercy.
From the moment she woke to the late hours of the night, Athena had kept her running like a machine, forcing her through an endless cycle of backbreaking tasks.
Every surface had to be scrubbed until it gleamed, every floor mopped until it was spotless, every speck of dust erased before it could even settle.
And if Iris so much as faltered—if she so much as breathed wrong—Athena's cold, cutting words lashed at her like a whip.
It was deliberate.
Calculated cruelty, designed to break her down piece by piece.
Iris's stomach twisted painfully, the hollow ache of hunger gnawing at her insides.
It was already past 11 PM, and she hadn't eaten a single bite since morning.
But the hunger was nothing compared to the sheer physical torment.
Her limbs felt like lead, her muscles burning with every slight movement, her hands raw from hours of scrubbing.
Her knees ached from kneeling, her back screamed in protest, but there was no reprieve.
Athena had ensured that.
"You can rest when you finish all of it," she had sneered, watching Iris struggle beneath the weight of yet another impossible demand. "Or maybe I'll just tell Ace you're slacking. I'm sure he'd love to handle you himself."
The threat had sent a shudder through Iris, her breath catching in her throat.
She didn't fear losing this job.
No, she welcomed the thought of walking away from this place.
But the idea of Ace—of his temper, his unpredictable nature—fixating on her in anger?
That thought terrified her.
She had seen the way his fury could burn, the cold, calculated violence lurking just beneath his control.
She didn't want that turned on her.
So, she worked.
And worked.
And worked.
Melinda had noticed—of course she had.
The older maid's gaze had lingered on Iris's trembling hands, her sluggish movements, the way her once-bright eyes had dulled with exhaustion.
But she could do nothing.
Athena had made sure of that.
None of the maids were allowed to help. No one could lighten Iris's burden without risking their own job.
Iris had worked in various cafes and restaurants before, where breaks were part of the routine, a moment to catch her breath.
But this was different.
Melinda had only managed a fleeting glance of sympathy, and whispered "It will be fine soon."
But words didn't ease the pain.
Words didn't fill her stomach.
Words didn't stop the unbearable weight pressing down on her, suffocating her inch by inch.
That night, Melinda stood outside Iris's door, a tray of food in her hands.
Her heart clenched as she hesitated, her fingers tightening around the tray's edges.
She shouldn't be here—Athena's threats had made that abundantly clear.
Stay out of it, or you're next.
The warning echoed in her mind like a sinister whisper, but she couldn't ignore the image of Iris from earlier— the way she had dragged herself from one task to another, her steps sluggish, her fingers trembling.
With a deep breath, Melinda gently nudged the door open and peeked inside.
Iris lay crumpled on the bed, her frail form curled in on itself as if trying to disappear.
Even in sleep, her exhaustion was palpable— her breath shallow, her face unnaturally pale against the dim glow of the bedside lamp.
Melinda's throat tightened.
This isn't right.
Stepping in quietly, she placed the tray on a small table near the bed.
The scent of warm bread and soup lingered in the air.
She lingered for a moment, watching the girl who had been pushed beyond her limits.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she turned on her heel, her resolve solidifying with each step.
She would go to Ace. If anyone had the power to stop this, it was him.
But as she made her way through the dimly lit corridors, a sound froze her in place.
Soft moans. Muffled grunts.
The unmistakable rhythm of pleasure seeped through the walls of a nearby guest room.
Disgust coiled in Melinda's stomach like a writhing serpent.
She swallowed hard, her lips pressing into a thin line as the realization settled in.
Ace was busy.
A sharp exhale left her lips as she averted her gaze, forcing her feet to move again— faster this time.
She had been ready to plead for Iris's sake, to tell Ace that Athena had gone too far.
But now?
Now, the very idea of knocking on his door made her sick.
He doesn't care.
Not about Iris.
Not about the cruelty happening under his own roof.
Her shoulders sagged, her determination crumbling under the weight of reality.
By the time she reached her own quarters, her heart was a leaden mass of guilt and sorrow.
She had failed.
And tomorrow, Iris would wake up to another day of suffering.
Andrew stood before Ace, his hands clenched into trembling fists, his desperation laid bare in every line of his face.
"I handed you the remaining amount, boss. Can I take him from here?" His voice wavered, thick with pleading, his gaze darting to Ace, searching for mercy where there was none.
Ace leaned back against the couch, a slow, satisfied smile curling at his lips.
There was something intoxicating about this moment— the raw vulnerability, the way Andrew's voice cracked under the weight of fear.
It was a familiar thrill, the kind that stirred something dark and primal within him.
Power. Control.
The unshakable certainty that this man's entire world hinged on his next decision.
"Ivan."
The single word cut through the air, sharp and absolute.
The room seemed to grow colder as Ace's voice echoed, sending a shiver down Andrew's spine.
Ivan gave a curt nod before turning on his heel and disappearing down the hall.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Andrew swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. He was waiting—dreading—but he didn't dare speak.
When Ivan returned, he wasn't alone.
Noah stumbled into the room, dragged forward like a lifeless marionette.
His face was nearly unrecognizable— swollen, battered, one eye completely gone, the other barely open beneath layers of bruises and blood.
His breath hitched in weak, uneven gasps, but he didn't make a sound.
Andrew's body stiffening as his gaze swept over his son. But he didn't look away. He couldn't.
Then his eyes found Noah's hand—or what was left of it.
A mangled ruin of flesh and bone. Cut in half.
Andrew inhaled sharply, but no words came.
There was no outburst, no begging, no collapse into grief. He knew better.
He had made his choices long ago. And he understood the price of making deals with Ace.
Ace observed him, his sharp gaze dissecting every twitch, every breath, every subtle shift in his expression.
"Boss... the girl?"
Ace's smirk faded, his amusement replaced by something colder.
"What girl?" His tone was gruff, indifferent, though his fingers flexed slightly against the armrest.
Andrew hesitated, but only for a second. "I heard that he gave you a girl. Iris."
Ace said nothing, his expression unreadable.
Iris was supposed to leave today.
That had always been the plan.
A transaction completed, a deal settled.
She was never meant to be anything more than a fleeting shadow within these walls.
So why did the thought of letting her go leave an unfamiliar weight in his chest?
"Sir, please," Andrew pressed, his desperation mounting. "That girl is innocent. She has nothing to do with any of this. I swear she won't say a word. Even if she's not in... good condition, I will take her."
His voice cracked on the last part, his concern unmistakable.
Ace's jaw tightened.
He glanced at Ivan, giving him a single nod. Nothing left to say.
The deal was done.
A deep breath left his lips, slow and measured, as the seconds dragged by in suffocating silence.
A couple of minutes later, Ivan walked in, and Iris appeared.
She was wearing the same dress from the day she arrived, but it no longer fit her the same way.
It hung loosely from her frame, the fabric swallowing her, emphasizing how much she had withered.
The softness in her cheeks was gone, her face gaunt, her golden-flecked eyes dull with exhaustion.
The weariness was etched into every line of her expression, making her look more tired than she was.
Ace remained still, his posture deceptively relaxed, but inside, something twisted and burned.
She stood before him, a ghost of the girl who had first entered his world— so fragile and yet still standing.
There was something haunting about her silence, the way she moved without protest, without question.
Andrew stepped forward cautiously, his tone careful, almost reverent, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the frail girl before him.
"Sweetheart, are you okay? I apologize for what happened to you." His voice was soft, brimming with concern. He reached out, a fatherly instinct compelling him to offer comfort.
Iris didn't move.
She didn't flinch, didn't lift her head, didn't acknowledge his words.
She simply stood there, staring at the floor with a vacant expression, her features eerily blank.
Not relieved. Not angry. Not even sad.
Just... empty.
That emptiness gnawed at something inside him, something he wasn't ready to name.
"I think we should go now," Andrew murmured, moving to Noah's side and helping him up.
Iris followed.
Slow. Methodical. Silent.
As she passed Ace, he felt it again—that inexplicable, suffocating tightness in his chest.
A part of him—one he barely understood—waited.
For what, he didn't know.
Maybe a glance back. A hesitation.
But she never looked back.
The soft click of the door shutting behind her echoed through the room, a quiet, final sound.
Ace remained where he was, his gaze locked on the now-empty hallway, his mind circling a realization that hit harder than he cared to admit.
She was gone.
For good.
His fingers curled into his palm, nails biting into his skin, but the ache in his chest didn't ease.
There should have been satisfaction— a familiar rush of control, the finality of a deal completed.
He had won. Dominated. Taken and discarded, just as he always did.
So why the hell did it feel like something had been ripped out of him instead?
The silence pressed against his ribs, growing heavier by the second.
It wasn't supposed to feel like this.
And yet, as he sat there, staring at the empty space she had left behind.
Ace POV:
One Month Later
Italy had been a fucking drag.
One month buried in work, drowning myself in distractions, trying to outrun the gnawing emptiness clawing at my chest.
It hadn't worked.
And now that I was back, my own house felt foreign, like a place I no longer belonged.
So, I stayed at Hudson's.
For weeks, I holed up there, trying to get my head straight, to shake off whatever the fuck had been haunting me.
But no matter how much I drank, no matter how many deals I closed, or how many people I put in their place—nothing helped.
Every day was the same suffocating drag.
And to make things worse, Athena had taken it upon herself to show up daily, her presence a constant irritation.
Hudson hated it even more than I did.
The old man had never had patience for unnecessary company, and Athena's insistence on lingering like a bad perfume was enough to drive even him up the wall.
But it wasn't her that was the real problem.
It was Iris.
It had been a month, and still, something felt off.
I didn't believe in love or any of that sentimental bullshit, but whatever she had done, it had tangled itself inside my head like a parasite I couldn't cut out.
She wasn't like the others.
She hadn't begged. She hadn't tried to seduce me. She hadn't even fought back properly.
She had just... been. A quiet presence, slipping under my skin before I even realized it.
I hated it.
Why couldn't she just be like the others?
Maybe I should have just killed her.
But I couldn't.
The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.
She had to be difficult, had to worm her way into my mind and stay there, no matter how hard I tried to erase her.
"Man, are you okay?"
Alex's voice cut through my thoughts like a blade, snapping me back to the present.
I exhaled sharply, nodding once. We were in the middle of a meeting, but I wasn't really there.
I hadn't been anywhere since she left.
The day dragged. The hours bled into each other, a slow, monotonous torment, until finally, I found myself back at the mansion.
It was already seven in the evening.
The others filtered toward the kitchen, the clinking of glasses and murmured conversation filling the space.
I wasn't in the mood to join them.
Not when Susan's voice sliced through the room, laced with biting sarcasm.
"I heard a girl is messing with you. Are you in love~~?"
The teasing lilt in her tone, the way her gaze gleamed with amusement—it made something sharp coil inside me.
The others laughed. I didn't.
I kept walking, ignoring the smirks, the knowing glances, the laughter that chased me down the hall.
I wasn't in the mood for their games.
The door to my room clicked shut behind me, sealing me in.
Alone at last.
But the silence offered no relief.
If anything, it only made the storm in my head rage harder.
I stripped off my suit, barely paying attention as I tossed it into the hamper.
The bathroom light flickered on with a low hum, and I stepped into the shower, letting the scalding water hammer against my skin.
Steam curled around me, thick and suffocating.
I pressed my forehead against the cool tile, closing my eyes, willing the heat to burn away the restless frustration coiled in my chest.
It didn't.
No matter how long I stood there, I couldn't stop thinking about her.
Iris.
Her name alone felt like a fucking brand against my skin.
Her image was burned into the back of my mind, refusing to be erased.
Those eyes— large, brown, flecked with gold. Wide and wary, but not afraid.
At least, not in the way I expected.
The way she had looked at me that night, her fingers soft against my skin... Fuck.
I turned off the water abruptly, running a hand down my face in frustration before stepping out.
I dried off, threw on a pair of boxers, and collapsed onto the bed, dragging a hand through my damp hair.
But sleep wasn't happening. Not when my mind was stuck on her.
I reached for my phone before I could stop myself, swiping through my photos until I found the only one I had of her.
She filled the screen— those dark lashes framing wide, brown eyes, the soft strands of black hair curling around her face. Hunting and beautiful.
I stared.
Like a fucking idiot, I just stared.
What the hell had she done to me?
I was Ace Salvatore. Ruthless. Collected. Always in control.
And yet, here I was, restless, burning, unable to shake the memory of her.
It made no sense.
She wasn't supposed to matter.
She should have been like the others— just another body, another face that faded with time.
So why couldn't I forget her?
Why did I keep thinking about the way she looked when she walked away?
The way she didn't look back.
"Get a grip on yourself, Ace," I muttered, tossing the phone onto the nightstand with a little too much force.
But the moment it left my hand, another thought crept in, unwelcome and vicious.
What if she had moved on?
What if, right now, she was with someone else?
The idea of another man touching her, hearing the soft sounds of her laughter, seeing those cheeks flush beneath his fingers—
A slow, dark rage twisted through my gut.
My jaw clenched. My fists curled against the sheets. The weight in my chest tightened, pressing against my ribs like a vice.
I exhaled sharply.
I needed out. I couldn't fucking sit here anymore.
Throwing on a shirt and jeans, I grabbed my keys and stormed out of the mansion.
The night air was sharp against my skin, a brief reprieve from the suffocating heat of my thoughts.
I hopped into the car and started driving, my grip on the wheel tight, knuckles aching from the pressure.
The streets blurred past, neon lights streaking through the windshield in a smear of color.
I had no destination—just an overwhelming need to move, to escape the thoughts clawing at my mind.
But no matter how fast I drove, no matter how much distance I put between myself and the mansion, I couldn't outrun the ghosts in my head.
My foot pressed harder on the gas.
And then— Screech.
The tires skidded against the pavement as I braked abruptly, the car jerking forward before settling into an uneasy stillness.
I exhaled sharply, my pulse hammering against my ribs as I looked up.
A park.
It stretched out before me, a stark contrast to the chaos twisting inside my head.
The faint glow of streetlights cast long shadows over the worn pathways, illuminating the soft, shifting silhouettes of trees.
Without thinking, I stepped out of the car, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension knotted there.
I signaled for the guards to stay behind.
I needed space. Needed air.
My steps were slow, measured, but heavy with frustration as I wandered through the park.
Loose stones crunched beneath my boots, and I kicked at them absently, my jaw clenched tight.
The air was cool against my skin, but it did nothing to soothe the heat burning inside me.
As I walked, laughter rang through the night.
A group of kids ran past, their carefree voices echoing in the quiet. Their tiny hands clutched at flower crowns, bright and delicate against the darkness.
My gaze followed them—until it landed on someone sitting beneath a large tree.
My breath hitched.
For a fleeting moment, time froze.
She was sitting there, knees drawn to her chest, dark hair cascading over her shoulders.
The soft curve of her profile, the way she tilted her head just slightly, like she was lost in thought— Iris.
My pulse slammed into my throat as I took a step forward.
Another.
And then— She turned.
The world tilted.
It wasn't her.
A random girl. Just another stranger.
The air in my lungs turned stale, the weight in my chest pressing down with a suffocating force.
Pathetic.
I cursed under my breath, raking a hand through my hair, the wave of frustration hitting me like a fucking freight train.
How had I let it come to this?
How had I let her get under my skin so badly that I was now seeing her in every dark-haired girl who so much as looked lost in thought?
Disgusted with myself, I turned away, shoving my hands into my pockets as I stormed deeper into the park.
But no matter how much distance I put between myself and that tree, the ache inside me didn't fade.
Eventually, I found an empty bench and dropped onto it, my body sagging under the weight of my thoughts.
I leaned back, tilting my head toward the sky.
The stars blinked down at me, indifferent.
The leaves rustled gently, the night breeze whispering through the trees.
Somewhere in the distance, crickets chirped, filling the silence with their rhythmic song.
It was peaceful.
And yet, I felt anything but at peace.
For what felt like an eternity, I sat there, lost in the chaos of my own mind.
The park, with its quiet serenity, offered no answers— just a temporary lull in the relentless storm raging inside me.
But just as I was beginning to drown in my thoughts, a voice shattered the stillness.
"What? Hello! Hello! Can you hear me now?"
The voice was unmistakably girlish—frantic, urgent. Familiar.
"I am scared, Helen... please. I am still waiting."
My spine stiffened. A cold, unwelcome sensation slithered down my back.
Great. Fucking great.
Now I was hearing her voice?
It had finally come to this—Iris haunting me even in places she had no business being.
I dragged a hand down my face, exhaling sharply. But just as I was about to dismiss it as my mind playing cruel tricks.
I turned— And froze.
A girl stood with her back to me, phone pressed to her ear, the soft glow of the streetlights outlining her delicate frame.
The long, dark hair. The way she shifted on her feet. That slender posture—
Fucking hell.
I forced myself to blink, trying to shake the illusion.
It wasn't her. It couldn't be.
Iris wouldn't be here—especially not in this part of town, not at this hour.
But then—
Movement.
From the shadows, a group of men slithered forward.
Their eyes latched onto her like wolves scenting weakness. Their postures dripped with something dark, something predatory.
I stood up and started to walk away.
I knew this dance. I'd seen it before— right before things turned ugly.
What the fuck was she thinking, wandering into a place like this at night?
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
The air split with a scream—sharp, raw, desperate.
I turned, my body already moving before my mind caught up.
They had grabbed her.
Her struggle was wild, frantic, but useless against the sheer force of their grip.
One of them yanked her forward, another tried to clamp a hand over her mouth.
She kicked, twisted, her voice cracking as she screamed for help.
My jaw clenched. I rolled my eyes and pulled out my gun, the weight of it familiar in my palm.
Fucking amateurs. Retards.
But just as my finger hovered over the trigger, she moved.
A sharp shove. A wild twist.
And suddenly—she was running.
Straight toward me.
The dim park lights hit her face, and time fractured into something unrecognizable.
My pulse slammed against my ribs, my grip tightening around the gun.
Because it wasn't just some random girl.
It wasn't some idiot who had wandered into danger.
It was her.
Iris.
Real. Here. In this fucking moment.
My world tilted, the air in my lungs vanishing like a cruel joke.
And for the first time in my goddamn life, I didn't know if I wanted to kill the bastards chasing her—
Or drag her into me and demand why the fuck she was tearing my world apart all over again.
Write a comment ...