My body moved before my brain caught up, striding forward as Iris ran straight toward me.
Then—she stopped.
The second her eyes landed on mine, her entire body froze.
She stumbled back, her breath hitching, her chest heaving like a cornered animal.
Terror.
Not at them.
At me.
I felt it like a slap across the face.
A sharp, ugly thing that I had no business feeling.
The distant shouts from the men behind her barely registered.
My focus was locked on her, on the way she trembled, on the sheer fucking fear in her wide brown eyes.
Fucking hell, Iris.
Then one of them grabbed her.
Yanked her back by the hair.
Slapped her hard.
A sharp crack rang through the air, reverberating through my skull like a detonated bomb.
The sickening sound of skin colliding with skin ignited something deep, something dark inside me.
My grip on my gun tightened, my fingers curling around the smooth metal with a rage so potent it made my vision blur at the edges.
My jaw clenched. My breathing slowed. My eyes darkened as I exhaled, my mind turning eerily silent in the face of raw, unfiltered fury.
In a single, precise movement, I drew my gun and fired.
The sharp pop of the bullet slicing through the air was almost anticlimactic.
The bastard hit the ground, lifeless before he even realized he was dead.
Iris's body jerked violently, a scream tearing from her throat so raw, so broken, that it made my chest tighten against my will.
She stumbled back, her legs buckling beneath her as she crumpled to the pavement, shaking uncontrollably.
I turned my gaze back to her, my rage barely contained.
What if I wasn't here? This idiot.
The thought was unbearable.
It sent an ice-cold wave of nausea rolling through me, though I masked it behind a hardened exterior.
She would've been—
No.
I cut off the thought before it could fully form, but the sheer fact of it was enough to make my fingers flex around the gun in my grasp, my knuckles whitening.
Without thinking, I shoot all of them, gritting my teeth.
"Boss!"
Ivan's voice snapped me out of it.
I glanced around, my men already moving, already securing the area with ruthless efficiency.
They knew what to do. They'd done this before.
"Clean it," I ordered, my voice a low growl as I shoved the gun back into its holster.
Then, I turned to her.
She flinched when I stepped forward.
A flicker of something sharp and unwanted lanced through my chest, but I ignored it, grabbing her forearm and hauling her up.
My grip was unyielding, my frustration spilling over in every movement.
"Are you an idiot?!" I snapped, my voice edged with flared up anger.
"Do you have anything up here, moron?!" I tapped the side of my head harshly, glaring at her.
She sucked in a sharp, broken breath, her entire body trembling as her wide, tear-filled eyes met mine.
"P-Please leave me..."
Her voice was barely a whisper, cracked and trembling, the words stumbling out between gasps of breath. Her pupils were blown wide with fear.
I forced in a deep breath, wrestling with the storm inside me, forcing myself to think.
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath. My jaw twitched.
She was spiraling fast. Too fast.
She wasn't just afraid. She was fucking terrified.
I led her away from the scene, my grip on her arm firm but careful.
She didn't fight me. Not really.
She was too weak for that, her entire body quivering, her legs barely supporting her weight.
We stopped beside a tree. I turned her toward me, my hands moving to grip her waist instinctively, steadying her as she swayed.
"Iris," I ground out, my voice laced with something raw. "Look at me! Fucking calm down!"
I rubbed my thumbs against her waist in a futile attempt to ground her.
She didn't respond.
Her hands flew up to her eyes, rubbing them roughly, almost violently, as if she didn't want to see where she was.
Then a broken, gasping sob tore from her lips.
It was small, barely a whisper against the night air, but it hit me like a punch to the gut.
"Sh... Sh..." My voice came out strained, hoarse.
Without thinking, I caught her hands, gripping them tightly before bringing them to my mouth and blowing on it.
She stiffened.
Her entire body froze as if she had been turned to stone.
Then she struggled.
Weakly, but she tried to pull away, her legs staggering backward, her eyes squeezing shut even harder.
"Iris," I murmured, her name slipping from my lips before I could stop it.
Releasing her hands, I slid my fingers into her hair and pulled her close, pressing her forehead against my chest.
Holding her there.
She whimpered, a fractured little sound, and her hands pushed against my chest, trying to escape.
But she was weak.
She was so fucking weak.
And I wasn't letting go.
Minutes passed. Maybe more.
I could feel her trembling gradually subside, feel the erratic rise and fall of her chest slowing as she slumped against me.
Her hands curled into the fabric of my suit, small fists grasping onto me as if I was the only solid thing in the world.
I swallowed hard.
Sliding my hand from her hair, I grasped her face in my palm, tilting her chin up.
Her lips were trembling. Her cheeks were stained with tears, the faint imprint of fingers still lingering against her soft skin.
Her damp lashes clung together, her face so utterly fucking vulnerable it made something twist in my gut.
I should've made that bastard suffer more.
The thought burned through me like a white-hot brand. Shooting him had been too easy. Too merciful.
I brushed my thumb over her cheek, wiping away a lingering tear.
She leaned into the touch unconsciously, her skin warm beneath my fingers. A soft sniff escaped her.
"Look at me," I commanded, though my voice had lost its usual sharpness.
I continued stroking her cheeks, my thumb brushing against the faint finger marks left by the nitwit who dared touch her.
My eyes roamed over her, cataloging everything—the way her damp lashes clung together, the disheveled strands of her black hair that framed her face, the way exhaustion and fear clung to her like a second skin.
She was smaller than I remembered.
Or maybe, for the first time, I was truly seeing her.
Not just some girl who had tangled her way into my life, but Iris— fragile, lost, and so goddamn human.
And it unnerved me.
I barely knew her, yet something about her presence unsettled me in ways I couldn't explain.
Why did this shake me? Why did I care?
Then, after what felt like an eternity, she cracked her swollen eyelids open and met my gaze.
Her brown eyes, flecked with gold, flickered were not filled with spark instead of emptiness and fear.
I tightened my arm around her waist, pulling her close, as if proximity alone could shield her from what had just happened.
My throat went dry. My past clawed at me, the weight of old memories pressing against my chest.
My grip on her instinctively tightened, my body reacting before my mind could catch up.
Leaning down, I placed my lips on her jaw—soft, lingering.
Not a demand, not a claim, but something else entirely. Something I couldn't define.
Dragging my lips to her reddened cheek, I licked the tender skin, as if soothing it, as if erasing the pain inflicted upon her.
Her breath hitched.
Then—suddenly—she broke free.
One step back.
Then another.
Her wide, terrified eyes locked onto mine, as if seeing me—truly seeing me—for the first time.
Her entire body trembled, as if she had just woken from a nightmare and realized she was still trapped in it.
"You... you," she stammered, barely a whisper, before turning on her heel and fleeing into the night.
I watched her go, my jaw clenched so tight it ached.
She ran.
Again.
Always fucking running from me.
"Boss, what happened here? What is she doing here?" Ivan's voice broke through my haze, cautious yet curious.
I turned to him, my expression unreadable, my emotions tangled in a mess I had no patience for.
"I want to know everything about her." My voice was rigid with command, leaving no room for argument. "Every single fucking thing by tomorrow. Even if it's useless or not important, I want every goddamn detail."
Ivan hesitated for a fraction of a second, studying me with something that resembled confusion.
He was waiting for an explanation.
He didn't get one.
I turned away, my blood still simmering with anger.
Back at the mansion that night, sleep eluded me.
The nightmares, which had been absent for months, returned with a vengeance.
And I knew exactly why.
Author POV:
Iris was utterly exhausted from everything.
It had begun with the shattering loss of her parents, their deaths unfolding before her eyes in a cruel instant.
One moment, they were there— warm, alive, familiar.
The next, they were gone, leaving behind an emptiness so vast that it felt as though she had been ripped from the very fabric of her own existence.
The grief was relentless, a tide that never receded, and the guilt—God, the guilt—was even worse.
It gnawed at her, whispering of all the things she should have done, all the words left unsaid.
In the wake of their passing, Iris found herself thrust into a world she was woefully unprepared for.
Her parents had built walls of protection around her, crafting a small, safe haven where she never had to confront life's harsher realities.
When those walls crumbled, the outside world was not just unfamiliar—it was cruel, indifferent, and unyielding.
Her brother's departure deepened her sense of abandonment.
He left without so much as a backward glance, as if she were an afterthought, a loose end in his life that he had no desire to tie up.
He had placed her in Helen's care and disappeared, leaving her to fend for herself.
She had no way of reaching him, no idea where he was, and the silence stretched endlessly between them, confirming what she feared most— he wasn't coming back.
She was losing hope now.
Her parents' overprotectiveness had shielded her from the world's brutality, but in doing so, they had left her defenseless.
She didn't know how to survive.
Every step she took felt like walking blindfolded into a storm, battered from every direction.
The jobs she managed to find were meager, degrading, and barely paid enough to scrape by.
Employers dismissed her as inexperienced or simply took advantage of her desperation, withholding wages or giving her only scraps of work.
Some days, she ate. Some days, she didn't.
Eventually, Helen had allowed her to stay in her home.
It was more out of obligation than kindness, but it was shelter, and that was more than Iris could afford on her own.
The room—if it could even be called that—was little more than a glorified cupboard, just large enough to fit a rusted steel bedframe that did little to keep the cold away.
The blanket Helen had given her was rough and threadbare, barely sufficient for warmth.
In the winter months, she curled in on herself, layering what few clothes she had just to keep from shivering through the night.
Bathing was another ordeal.
The water was always ice-cold, sending violent shudders through her thin frame every time she forced herself under the stream.
She had no choice.
If she wanted to stay, she had to follow Helen's rules— pay rent, clean up, and not be a burden.
The food she ate was whatever was left over after Helen had finished her meals.
Some days, that meant cold scraps from the night before; other days, it meant nothing at all.
Despite Helen's harsh and often dismissive nature, Iris was grateful.
She had a roof over her head, which was more than many in her position could say.
But the cost of survival was high.
Her days were spent scrubbing floors, washing dishes, and cooking meals she never got to enjoy herself.
Every penny she earned was accounted for— rent, food, and the barest essentials of health.
There was nothing left over for herself.
Her clothing situation was dire.
She had never bought herself a dress; she hadn't the luxury of thinking about such things.
The clothes she wore were the same ones she had before her parents died— thin, worn, and steadily falling apart.
She sewed what she could, patching holes with unsteady hands, but fabric had a limit, and after four years, hers was reaching its breaking point.
The weight of it all was crushing.
Every day was a battle, and there were no victories, only moments of temporary relief before the struggle resumed.
She had once thought of the world as a vast, beautiful place, full of wonder and magic.
Now, she saw it for what it was—harsh, unforgiving, and indifferent to the suffering of those too weak to fight back.
Adapting to her new life was an unrelenting battle, a cruel joke that seemed to stretch endlessly.
The city was foreign to her— loud, indifferent, and suffocating.
It was nothing like the home she had lost, nothing like the warmth she had once known.
Her parents had shielded her from the world's ugliness, cocooned her in their love and overprotectiveness, but now, that cocoon was gone, leaving her exposed to the sharp edges of reality.
She had never been comfortable around people, and the bustling, impersonal nature of her new existence only deepened that discomfort.
Crowds pressed in from every direction, their presence overwhelming, their voices a dull roar in her ears.
But time had forced her to adapt, to suppress the fear, to build an armor of indifference just to survive.
Her solace came in the form of the elderly customers she served in the small café where she washed dishes and cleaned tables.
They were kind, offering fleeting moments of conversation that, though brief, made her feel a little less invisible.
But their kindness did little to mend the fractures in her spirit.
Hope was slipping away, and she could feel it— bit by bit, day by day.
Her brother's absence carved an unfillable void inside her. He had sworn to take care of her, to be her guardian, her family.
But his promises were as empty as the silence he left behind.
And now, tonight—tonight had been the worst of it all.
A nightmare that had nearly consumed her.
She had almost faced something worse than death. She had almost been defiled by the hands of monsters.
And Helen? Helen had barely reacted.
"You came back without my medications!" Helen's shrill voice had sliced through the suffocating silence of the tiny apartment.
It wasn't medication—it was the drugs Helen procured illegally, using Iris as an unwitting pawn in her transactions.
Iris had tried to explain, her voice shaking, her body still reeling from the attack in the park.
But Helen had silenced her with a dismissive wave, her eyes flashing with irritation rather than concern.
"Oh, shut it! They tried to touch you, right? So what? I mean, come on, don't be a baby now, Iris. You're a grown woman," she scoffed before storming away, leaving Iris standing there, hollow and shaking.
Her legs barely carried her to her bed, and the moment she sat down, the weight of everything collapsed onto her.
She had nothing. No family. No future. No way out.
Her chest ached, tight with emotions she refused to name.
The urge to cry was strong, but no tears came.
Her emotions were so deeply suppressed that her eyes remained dry, despite the overwhelming sorrow she felt.
The dim flickering light from outside cast eerie shadows on the ceiling, and she stared at it blankly, as if searching for an answer in its glow.
Would things ever get better?
Would there ever be a day when she didn't have to fight just to exist?
As exhaustion finally overpowered her, she drifted into a fitful sleep, haunted by flashes of memories she wished she could forget.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sharp, relentless blaring of her alarm cut through the silence, jolting her awake.
She turned it off mechanically, her body heavy with fatigue.
4 a.m. Too early, yet too late.
The night had offered no rest, only the illusion of it.
The ceiling above her, marked with tiny cracks and shadows cast by the flickering streetlights outside, felt like a barrier—one separating her from a world she no longer understood.
Her fingers twitched against the thin, scratchy blanket before she slowly raised her hand in front of her face, inspecting the pale skin, the faint tremor she couldn't suppress.
She could still feel it— his breath, warm and steady, ghosting against her palm. Ace.
The sensation wasn't real anymore, but it lingered as if seared into her skin, impossible to shake.
Curling her fingers into a loose fist, she pressed it against the center of her chest.
A slow, steady ache pulsed beneath her ribs, deeper than exhaustion, heavier than mere fatigue.
It was something unnameable, something raw.
Why?
Why had he looked at her like that? Why had he... cared?
It didn't matter. None of it did.
She couldn't afford to dwell on things beyond her control.
She had another day to survive.
Forcing herself to move, she climbed out of bed, each step an effort.
Her body ached, but she ignored it.
She freshened up quickly, pulling on a simple hoodie and pants—clothes that reflected the numbness she carried inside her.
As she prepared to leave for work, she paused for just a moment, gripping the edge of the doorframe for support.
"God, please help me," she whispered, the words barely a breath, spoken to no one and nothing.
Then, she stepped out into the world once more, bracing herself for whatever it had in store for her.
Ace POV:
Ivan placed the file in front of me with a heavy sigh, the thick folder landing with a dull thud against my desk.
The weight of it should have satisfied me, but instead, it only fueled my frustration.
"She works at a café as a cook and cleaner, and she washes dishes at a restaurant. Helen, her roommate, seems to be a bit of a burden. Iris starts work at five in the morning and doesn't get home until eight at night. Homeschooled. She dropped out of her online college course after her parents' death. That's pretty much it."
I dragged my fingers through my hair, exhaling sharply as I processed the information. "That's it? Nothing else? What about her friends, her boyfriend? What about her brother?"
Ivan shrugged, his tone indifferent.
"Her brother hasn't been around for a long time. It's like he just disappeared from her life. As for friends and boyfriends, she has none. Looks like she's a sincere introvert, doesn't really socialize much." He chuckled lightly, as if her loneliness amused him.
It didn't amuse me.
I picked up the file, flipping through the documents.
The paper felt rough beneath my fingertips.
There were photographs— blurry shots of her leaving work, crossing streets, sitting alone on a rusted park bench, eating ice cream with an elderly couple.
A girl like that had no place in a world this cruel. Yet, somehow, she had survived.
It didn't make sense. She should've been swallowed whole, yet she remained untouched. Untainted.
"Boss, why the sudden interest in her?" Ivan asked, his voice carrying a casual tone.
I slammed the file shut. "None of your business."
I could see the way his jaw ticked, the way he wanted to press for answers.
But why?
Why did he always press for answers when it comes to Iris?
"I want her at the mansion by seven in the evening," I instructed, my voice a firm command that left no room for argument.
Ivan blinked. "What?"
I met his gaze, my expression cold, unyielding. "Tell her to pack some clothes this time."
He hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"Okay," he mumbled before turning on his heel and walking away, still uncertain but smart enough not to question me further.
By the time I arrived at the mansion, the night had settled in, wrapping the world in silence.
The air was crisp, carrying the scent of rain that hadn't yet fallen.
As I stepped inside, I shrugged off my coat, tossing it onto the couch before sinking into its depths.
She was here again.
That knowledge settled something inside me, yet at the same time, it ignited something else— something restless.
Would she tremble at my presence again?
Would she look at me with those wary, questioning eyes, the ones that stirred something unwelcome in my chest?
Before I could dwell on it further, a voice shattered my thoughts.
"Acey!! Why is she here again?" Athena's voice cut through the quiet, sharp and dripping with irritation.
I turned my head lazily, barely sparing her a glance.
She stood there in shorts and a top that I found far from flattering, her arms crossed over her chest like a spoiled child denied attention.
"None of your business, Athena. Just stay away from her," I snapped, my voice tinged with annoyance.
Her expression twisted, a mix of disbelief and frustration. "Seriously? You—"
"Athena." My tone was final.
She tossed her hands up in exasperation, muttering under her breath as she stomped away. Cretin.
I stood up and made my way toward the bedroom, a sense of excitement building inside me.
As I reached for the door, I turned the knob silently, stepping inside without a sound.
The sight before me was both familiar and unexpectedly raw.
She was perched by the glass, her fingers drawing idle patterns over the fogged-up glass.
Her breath created a soft mist against it, fading and reforming as she exhaled.
A weirdo, really.
And yet, something about it made me pause.
She must have sensed me because her posture stiffened, her reflection catching mine in the dim light of the mirror.
The instant her eyes met mine, she spun around, retreating a few steps, her movements jerky with panic.
"Hey... Iris," I greeted, my voice slow, deliberately casual, a smirk tugging at my lips as I leaned against the wall.
I knew my presence unsettled her.
I enjoyed watching her react to me— wide-eyed, uncertain, so easily spooked.
Erm...ah," she stammered, her gaze darting toward the couch, the same one where I had first commanded her to stay all those nights ago.
Like an obedient little thing, she instinctively gravitated toward it. If not, like I would yell at her for roaming around my room.
"I want t-to go home... please. I didn't tell anyone anything," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.
The way her fingers twisted together in desperation was almost endearing. Almost.
I tilted my head, amused by the tremor in her voice.
"Calm down, Bambi. You're not here because you did anything wrong." My smirk deepened as I pushed off the wall, taking a slow step closer. "I was just bored. Thought I could use some company. Consider this a chance to make a new friend."
Her retreat was immediate.
Her steps faltered as she backed away too quickly, and she lost her balance, landing on the couch with a soft thud.
I prowled toward her, kneeling slightly so I was at her level.
The air between us was charged, her breaths shallow and rapid.
I reached out, my thumb barely grazing her chin before she flinched violently, wrenching her face away as if my touch burned.
I hated that.
"Did you eat something?" I asked, my voice quieter now, almost coaxing.
She shook her head, gulping, her throat moving with the effort to suppress whatever emotions she refused to let spill.
"Bambi," I said, my tone holding a warning laced with something softer, "when I ask you something, I expect a verbal response."
My fingers found the faint mole on her cheek, tracing it absently.
"...O-OK," she finally whispered, and I smirked at how easily she folded. Such a good girl.
Standing up, I started to unbuttoned my shirt as I exhaled. "Get freshened up. I'm hungry."
The shift in her expression was instant—her eyes flared with alarm, her panic palpable.
"Boss... I... am still here," she stammered, her voice small, uncertain.
"I'll use the other restroom," I said, amused. "You can clean yourself up here."
"No! It's your room, boss, and... I want to... go home," she murmured, the last part barely audible, as if saying it out loud might break whatever fragile hold she had on herself.
Her desperation made me chuckle softly.
"It's okay, Bambi. I want you to be comfortable here." I met her wide, panicked eyes, my voice taking on a quiet command. "You're going to stay with me for a little while."
I left her with that, disappearing into the other restroom.
By the time I returned, now dressed only in my trousers, she had backed herself into the armrest of the couch, looking anywhere but at me.
The sight was entertaining.
"Don't you have any other clothes to wear?" I asked, pulling a shirt from the closet and sliding it on. "Ivan mentioned you packed this time."
"I don't own that many dresses, boss," she mumbled. "Or stuff."
A sigh escaped my lips as I turned back to the closet, rummaging through my own clothes.
"Boss... you have Athena and Ivan, sir. You have friends... already," she said as if trying to convince herself, and perhaps me, that she didn't need any special attention.
Her voice was small, uncertain, like she was afraid of what my response would be.
I pulled out a pair of the smallest trousers and a shirt I owned, tossing them toward her.
She caught them clumsily, her delicate fingers gripping the fabric like she wasn't sure what to do with it.
She pouted, her lips pressing together as she began to fold the clothes neatly.
Don't tell me she thought I was giving her work instead of helping her.
"Boss, your dress," she said, standing in front of me, still holding the clothes I had thrown.
I just stared at her, trying to read her.
She's like a puzzle, some parts about her still making me suspicious and confused.
"It's for you to wear," I said gently.
"Your clothes are not quite suitable. They're a bit smelly— probably from all the oil and sweat." I lifted my hand, lightly rubbing the back of my knuckles against her cheek.
Her eyes darted down to my hand, her throat moving in a slow gulp.
"No, boss, but thank you," she protested, her voice filled with embarrassment. "I'm sorry if my smell made you uncomfortable."
"It's okay," I said, trying to reassure her. "I actually don't mind your smell, but I'd rather you wear something that makes you more comfortable and keeps you warm."
Her hoodie and pants were worn thin, faded, barely holding together.
The material looked so fragile, like one wrong move would tear it apart.
The thought of her walking around like this every day— cold, barely protected from the elements—agitated me in ways I didn't expect.
She looked at me in disbelief, her wide eyes brimming with shock.
Like I told her to strip here and wear it in front of me.
I mean, I wouldn't mind.
"Wear it, Bambi," I said firmly, stopping myself from stroking her face further.
Her softness was almost overwhelming. God!
"No, boss. I can't... Ah~" she yelped as I picked her up, her small frame barely weighing anything in my arms.
Her grip on my shoulder was tight, her fear evident in the way her fingers lightly dug into my skin.
I tightened my hold around her waist and pressed her against the closet door, her legs dangling in the air.
The contrast between her small stature and my height was striking.
She wiggled, trying to push me away, but it didn't work.
She was too small, too fragile against me.
My eyes dropped to her lips. So fucking tempting.
Leaning down, my breath fanned against her hot, red ears.
"Wear it," I commanded, my voice low, edged with something darker."Or I'll rip off your dress and make you wear it myself."
A smirk played on my lips as I felt her breath hitch. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her body stiffening.
"Liar," she whispered, blinking rapidly as she looked at my lips, then back up at my eyes.
"Boss, your girlfriend...will be angry if... she saw us l-like this...p-please put me down," she said nervously, pressing her head back against the door, trying to create distance between us.
I clenched my jaw, my smirk disappearing.
"For fuck's sake! Stop calling her my girlfriend because she's not," I snapped, my patience wearing thin.
She frowned in confusion, tilting her head in a way that made her look like an abandoned puppy.
"Whatever people say about me, don't believe it, stupido," I said, my tone firm, making sure she understood.
She nodded, her gaze lowering, though she still glared at me, likely upset about the 'stupido' comment.
"Now, you will stay with me here for a month. End of discussion." My voice was firm, absolute, a command carved into stone.
Before she could stammer out another weak protest, I leaned in, pressing a fleeting, almost cruelly soft kiss against her cheek.
I set her down with deliberate care, watching her as she instinctively touched the spot where my lips had been.
Her lips parted, a whisper of disbelief slipping out.
"For a month," she echoed, her voice quiet, distant, as though she had to convince herself she'd heard me correctly.
Her eyes, hesitant and doe-like, flickered downward, staring at my feet as if looking at me directly might solidify the reality of my words.
"Yeah." My voice was cold, unwavering. "We have to know about each other. Then we will be friends."
A lie. I had no intention of friendship. I didn't need friends.
I needed her here, within reach, under my gaze, where I could strip her down—layer by layer—until I had her bare in every way that mattered.
I turned away, feigning indifference, though I felt the heat of her presence like a pulse in the air.
"Go on and change into this dress. I'm starving." I patted her back, nudging her forward.
She hesitated for just a second before scampering off to the bathroom, sliding the door shut with an urgency that almost made me laugh. Shy little thing.
Moments later, she emerged, drowning in the oversized T-shirt I had given her.
The fabric draped over her small frame, brushing against her clothed thighs.
The shorts were unnecessary— completely hidden beneath the shirt's length.
I tilted my head, watching her cheeks turn red as she tugged at the hem, futilely trying to make it longer.
Adorable.
I began walking toward the dining area, and she followed, her tiny footsteps a nervous echo behind me.
I stopped abruptly at the stairs and turned sharply, forcing her to halt just inches from my chest.
She flinched.
One hand was folded behind her, the other gripping the shirt, her fingers curling into the fabric as if it were armor.
Her eyes lifted to mine, nervous, uncertain.
I reached out, grasping the hem of her shirt and raising it a bit in a swift motion.
"Yahh!" she yelped, recoiling.
"Your trousers are slipping down, aren't they?" I asked, my voice calm, almost amused.
My eyes drifted down to where her other hand gripped the waistband tightly behind her back.
The way her shoulders slumped in reluctant defeat confirmed my suspicion.
"Kind...of," she whispered, barely audible.
I exhaled sharply, grasping her hands before she could react.
As expected, the moment I did, the loose trousers sagged, slipping dangerously low on her hips.
The shirt hid everything, but that didn't matter.
Her reaction— That mattered.
Her breath hitched, her eyes widening in shock as if I had stripped her bare.
"Grip the shirt," I instructed.
She obeyed without question. She didn't have a choice.
Her fingers clutched the fabric, raising it slightly, revealing the soft curve of her stomach, the delicate line of her hips.
Just above the waistband, I caught a glimpse of pink strawberries printed along the hem of her panties. Adorable.
A smirk tugged at my lips as I reached down, my fingers grazing the drawstring.
She shivered, her breath uneven as I tightened the knot, securing the trousers around her waist.
She wasn't breathing.
I wanted to see how long she could hold it.
Her gaze remained fixated on my hands, her lips trembling slightly, her ears burning red.
Straightening up, I released her. Instantly, she dropped the shirt back down, swallowing hard.
"You can ask me anytime to tie your drawstrings," I said, unable to resist teasing her further.
I wonder how she would look with only her strawberry panties.
Her reaction was expected—flustered, defensive, avoiding my gaze.
"I know how to tie it," she snapped, hastily stepping away, putting as much distance between us as possible.
"You're hungry," she added quickly, pointing toward the stairs in a desperate attempt to shift the conversation. "So let's go."
I let her have that victory. For now.
As I walked forward, I could feel her glare drilling into my back, her huffs of irritation barely concealed.
She struggled to keep up with my pace, her shorter strides forcing her into an almost comical effort to match me.
When we reached the dining table, the air shifted. The reactions varied, subtle yet loud enough for me to hear.
Athena and the maids paused, their gazes flitting between me and the girl beside me.
Some curious, some disapproving. Athena, however, glared openly, her fingers curling into a fist on the table.
Melinda, ever the motherly type, seemed pleased, though concern flickered in her eyes.
Iris hesitated, lingering awkwardly, unsure where to sit.
"Sit, Bambi or would you prefer somewhere else?," I said smoothly, patting my lap.
The silence was immediate.
Melinda cleared her throat. Athena's eyes burned holes through my skull, but Iris just stood there, dumbfounded.
"Huh... No, it's okay. I will sit on the chair. I'm not that short to sit on the table," she grumbled, offended.
I smirked, motioning to the seat beside me. "Sit here, then."
Athena's jealousy was palpable, simmering beneath her carefully controlled exterior. I ignored her.
As Melinda served dinner, the girl beside me hesitated.
She barely touched her food at first, sneaking glances at Athena every few moments.
I could see the tension in her posture, the way she kept her hands delicately folded in her lap, unsure.
And then— Her stomach growled. Loudly.
She sniffed at the food, her lips parting, her tongue darting out to wet them.
But she still hesitated, looking at me like I'd punish her for eating. Ridiculous.
If I wanted to hurt her, it wouldn't be through starvation. That was a cheap man's cruelty.
After a few more minutes of restraint, she gave in.
Then she was shoveling food into her mouth, chewing loudly, devouring every bite with an almost primal hunger.
She tried to eat slowly, she really did, but her body betrayed her. Such a good girl.
After dinner, I retreated to my office, drowning myself in paperwork and the dull hum of numbers and contracts, but my mind wasn't in it.
I should have been focused, yet my thoughts strayed to the girl sleeping on the couch even though I said to lay on the bed.
The knock on the door interrupted my thoughts, and I called out, "Come in."
Athena strode in, locking the door behind her with deliberate ease, her manicured nails clicking against the metal.
A smirk played on her lips, eyes dark with mischief. She perched herself on the edge of my desk, her dress riding up to reveal toned, honeyed thighs.
"I was waiting for you in the room, but you never came," she murmured, tilting her head, her voice thick with something between amusement and irritation. "I have a surprise for you."
I barely looked at her.
After Iris, I hadn't even touched Athena, hadn't so much as thought about her.
It was like she had ceased to exist until she forced herself back into my line of sight.
"Not today, Athena." My voice was cold, final. I wanted no distractions.
"Come on," she cooed, leaning forward, her fingers grazing my shirt buttons. "I can give you more than... she can."
Her touch barely registered. I stared at her hand, at the intrusive boldness of it, and disgust curled in my stomach.
"Athena," I said, voice eerily soft, "if you want money, take it. But don't nag me. It disgusts me."
She stilled. For a flicker of a second, something vulnerable crossed her face.
I stood up and walked out of the room, determined not to waste any more time.
When I entered my room, Iris was sprawled on the couch, her chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.
Her lips were slightly parted, a hint of moisture glistening on them.
Peaceful. Vulnerable. Unaware.
I hovered over her, the shadow of my frame casting over her delicate features.
Just as my fingers brushed the loose strands from her face, her eyes flew open.
Fear bloomed in them, raw and instinctive, before she registered who I was.
"B-Boss..." she stammered, voice thick with sleep, her hands pressing weakly against my chest. "I-It's inappropriate if someone saw us like this. They would think bad things about us."
I smirked, trailing my fingers along the moles on her cheek, tracing the soft curve of her jaw. She shivered.
"I thought that's how friends behave," I murmured, lowering my head until my breath fanned over her lips.
"Didn't you say friends sit in each other's laps? Then what's the problem if we cuddle together?"
My lips brushed against her cheek, a slow, deliberate press.
She turned her face away, creating a sliver of space between us.
That reaction stirred something dark inside me— irritation, intrigue, possession.
"No, they don't do this," she whispered, voice laced with something close to frustration.
"Just sitting in each other's lap... Even if they do, I don't want to do that anymore. I think Helen lied to me about that part."
"Why?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
Instead of answering, she mumbled about how late it was, insisting I go to bed.
I ignored her.
My hands caught hers, pinning them gently beside her head, my body hovering just above hers.
"Why, Bambi?" I murmured, my voice a low rasp.
Her brown eyes darted to mine, wide and uncertain. "Because... I-I want to save myself for my... husband. Everything," she confessed, voice trembling. "I mean, if I'm lucky to get one."
I stilled.
Her words dug under my skin, settling there, foreign and perplexing.
I searched her face for any trace of deceit, but all I found was raw, unfiltered sincerity.
"You've never touched or kissed another man?" I asked, amusement curling my lips. "Except your father or brother?"
"No... I mean, I did touch your chest," she admitted, her brows furrowing as though that, too, was a significant offense. "And you've kissed my cheek so many times since I've known you. So, I am kindly asking you not to do that... please."
A rejection. A firm one.
I didn't know whether to be enraged or fascinated.
"What's the real reason that I am here?" she suddenly asked, her voice small.
I sighed, settling beside her on the bed, though I remained close, close enough that she could still feel the heat of me.
"I didn't want to see you getting hurt," I admitted, my thumb brushing absently along her cheek.
"No one is hurting me," she insisted, but the moment those words left her mouth, I scoffed.
"Oh yeah? Yesterday, I saw someone slap—"
"Okay, okay," she cut in hastily, as if she wanted to erase the memory before it could solidify in her mind.
My gaze sharpened. "Why were you there in the first place?"
She hesitated, then sighed. "Helen told me to buy her medicines from them. She said it was for her health, and I couldn't refuse her request."
I let out a humorless laugh.
"It was drugs, Bambi." My voice was cold. "When my men disposed of the bodies, they found cocaine packets in their pockets. Not health supplements."
Her eyes widened. Her face drained of color.
"I wonder how you managed to survive in the outside world for this long without dying," I muttered, pinching her nose lightly.
But she just looked at me with those wide, hauntingly soft eyes.
"I tried to die," she said quietly, voice devoid of emotion. "But someone saved me."
"Oh really? And who was that?" I asked, my voice dipping into dangerous amusement.
She snorted. "A jerk, who wouldn't let me live and wouldn't let me die."
My lips twitched. A lie. And an insult.
I lifted her up, her surprised yelp echoing through the dimly lit room.
Her fingers instinctively grasped at my shoulders, her fingers barely grazing my skin as though she feared falling despite the steadiness of my hold.
She was so light in my arms, so delicate— almost fragile.
The heat of her body seeped into mine, stoking something restless inside me.
Gently, I placed her on the bed, watching as her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath shallow with tension.
The moment I pulled back, she shrank away, curling in on herself as though trying to disappear.
I shed my shirt, the soft rustle of fabric filling the silence, then lay beside her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her lashes trembling against her cheeks.
"Please... leave me," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, each syllable carrying a fragile plea.
"Iris... shh..." I murmured, my voice thick with something even I couldn't name.
She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening against the blanket.
"Why me? You have Athena. You could be friends with her, cuddle with her," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Athena wasn't her. Athena didn't unravel me like this, didn't make my control feel razor-thin.
When I opened my eyes again, she had turned her back to me, her small frame curled into a defensive huddle
I moved closer, my chest pressing against her back, wrapping my arms around her in a slow, unyielding embrace.
Her body tensed at first, every muscle coiled tight like a frightened animal ready to bolt.
I dipped my head, resting it in the crook of her neck.
The scent of fresh jasmine clung to her skin, weaving its way through my senses, grounding me in a way that was almost cruel.
A soft whine escaped her lips as she squirmed, struggling to put distance between us, but I tightened my hold, fingers splaying against the softness of her stomach.
She shivered beneath my touch, her breathing erratic, uneven.
"It's okay," I whispered, my voice softer now, nearly coaxing.
My palm moved in slow circles over her clothed belly, feeling the way she trembled under my touch. "Just breathe."
Her breath hitched, a quiet, helpless sound slipping past her lips.
She was more terrified of me now than ever before. I knew it.
Felt it in the rapid pulse beneath my fingertips, in the way her hands clutched at the sheets as though they were the only thing tethering her to safety.
Especially after what I had done. Especially after I shot people in front of her.
I stared at the delicate line of her neck, the way her skin pebbled with goosebumps beneath my breath.
Maybe if she slept with me, if I drowned myself in her warmth, my curiosity and restless thoughts would finally die down...
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