The only thing left behind was the lingering warmth trapped in the blankets, the ghost of his presence clinging to the fabric.
I curled deeper into the covers, inhaling the faint scent of him— vetiver and musk, unmistakably Ace.
God, please don't let me get my hopes up again.
Our worlds were different. I knew that.
And yet, the irrational part of me clung to these small remnants of him as if they meant something.
I forced myself to sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
That's when I saw him.
Ace emerged from the adjacent room, looking immaculate— flawless, like always.
Every strand of his hair was neatly in place, his jaw freshly shaven, his presence commanding without a single word.
He looked... untouchable.
Someone like him could make anyone feel unworthy just by existing.
I swallowed hard, my nerves tightening like a noose around my throat.
"Sir, can I go to work?" The words barely scraped past my lips.
Ace didn't answer right away.
His gaze lingered, heavy and unreadable, scanning me. It felt like he was studying every inch of me, though he didn't blink or move.
My fingers curled around the sheets as I forced myself not to squirm under his scrutiny.
Seconds stretched.
Then, finally—
"OK."
Indifferent. Detached. Like I was a passing thought in his mind.
Without another word, he turned and walked away, his presence vanishing as swiftly as it had arrived.
I moved quickly, after freshening up and throwing on my jeans and hoodie, ignoring the tight coil of unease in my stomach.
I needed to get out. I needed distance.
The air inside the mansion felt suffocating, thick with something unspoken—something that clung to my skin like static.
My shoes barely made a sound as I hurried down the grand hallways, my pulse hammering in my ears.
I passed gilded chandeliers, fireplace and leather couches, their elegance mocking me, reminding me how misplaced I was in this world.
As I hurried through the hallways, practically running to escape the mansion, I couldn't shake the feeling of his penetrating gaze from my mind.
But no matter how fast I moved, I couldn't shake the weight of his gaze from my mind.
"Bambi."
I froze mid-step.
God. Damn. It.
His voice, deep and smooth like a blade wrapped in silk, sent a shiver down my spine.
I turned hesitantly, already knowing what I'd see.
Ace was lounging in the hallway, effortlessly poised in one of the velvet armchairs, his long legs crossed at the knee.
His suit, crisp and dark, fit him like a second skin. His expression was unreadable— casual yet commanding.
Athena sat beside him, seemingly engaged in conversation, but it was clear Ace's attention had shifted.
To me.
I swallowed hard. "Yes... boss." My voice came out awkward, brittle.
Ace studied me with that same quiet intensity that made my stomach clench.
Then, with deliberate ease, he asked, "What's your dress size?"
I blinked, caught off guard. "Huh?"
The question felt so out of place that for a second, I thought I had misheard him.
His gaze didn't waver. He was waiting.
I shifted uncomfortably under his stare.
"I... I don't know, boss." My voice was barely above a whisper. Embarrassment crawled up my spine.
I had never cared enough to check.
Clothes were just clothes— I wore whatever fit, whatever I could afford.
Ace exhaled slowly through his nose, his disappointment clear.
Then, without looking away from me, he called out, "Melinda."
Dread curled in my stomach as I saw her approaching.
Why was he involving her?
I was already late for work, and now this? I clenched my fingers into fists, fear bubbling beneath my skin.
"Sir... Can we talk about this later?" I tried to keep my tone neutral. "You're busy, also. We both have things to do."
Athena, thankfully, nodded in agreement. Maybe she saw the desperation in my face.
But Ace didn't budge.
And neither did Melinda.
Before I could protest further, she had a measuring tape in her hands, her fingers cool and methodical as she took my measurements with professional efficiency.
The whole thing felt intrusive. Embarrassing.
I stood there, rigid, forcing myself to stay still while Ace sat there and watched.
When she was finally done, I bolted.
I ran out of the mansion as fast as I could, ignoring the heat burning beneath my skin.
The familiar scent of baked goods should have been comforting.
It wasn't.
I had refused to use Ace's car for personal errands.
But the moment I stepped into the café's staff room, a sharp slap cracked against my cheek.
Pain exploded across my face.
The impact sent my head snapping to the side, my vision momentarily blurring.
A loud, high-pitched ringing filled my right ear, drowning out every other sound. damn!
For a moment, all I could register was the sting— sharp, biting, unforgiving.
Then came the voice.
"You think you can just waltz in whenever you feel like it?!"
Jeremy.
His fingers curled around my collar, yanking me forward, his breath hot and sour against my skin.
His voice was a vicious snarl, words laced with contempt.
"You irresponsible little—!"
His shouting blurred into a haze, merging with the ringing in my ears.
I kept my face blank, staring at a fixed point behind him, focusing on the chipped paint of the wall rather than the anger in his eyes.
This wasn't the first time.
Twice a week. That was the routine now. A slap for being late. A slap for an order mistake.
And I took it.
Because I needed this job. Because I needed the money.
Because if I lost this, what did I have left?
When he was finally done, he shoved me away.
My feet stumbled, but I caught myself before I could fall.
Then, like nothing had happened, I turned and went to work.
I cooked. I washed dishes. I scrubbed counters until my fingers ached.
I ignored the throbbing pain in my cheek, ignored the burning humiliation curling inside me.
By the time my shift ended, I was exhausted.
I should have gone home. But I didn't want to.
Because home meant Ace.
And no matter how far I ran, he would always find me.
I wasn't stupid. I knew that much.
If he had found my address once— if he had sent Ivan to drag me into his world— he could do it again.
The cool evening air felt like a balm against my burning skin.
I stepped outside, inhaling deeply, trying to shake off the lingering remnants of the day.
As I turned toward the street, a familiar figure caught my eye.
Brent.
He was leaning against his bicycle, waiting.
Brent worked at the café with me— always smiling, always carrying an easygoing energy, always somehow making the worst days feel a little less terrible.
He wasn't just a coworker. He was like a cheerleader.
"Hey, Iris." He waved as he walked toward me.
I frowned, puzzled. "What... are you doing here?"
Brent never waited for me after work and we hadn't really talked much to each other also. This was unexpected.
He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, I got you something."
Before I could respond, he reached into his bag and pulled out an ice pack.
I froze.
My hoodie was pulled low, the cap shielding most of my face, but Brent had noticed anyway.
For a moment, I could only stare at the ice pack in his outstretched hand.
"Oh." The word tumbled out, small, uncertain.
"Thank you," I murmured, accepting the ice pack from Brent.
The cool plastic pressed against my bruised cheek, sending a sharp contrast of relief and lingering ache through my skin.
Brent hesitated before speaking, his voice gentler this time. "Can I see it, if you don't mind?"
I hesitated.
He had gone out of his way to bring me this— to notice, to care.
The least I could do was let him see what he was worried about.
Slowly, I pulled down the cap of my hoodie, revealing the faint, reddened marks that Jeremy had left behind.
Brent's face immediately showed a mix of worry and sadness. He gently touched the bruised area with his fingertips.
"Did you put anything on it?" he asked softly.
"Yeah... just a hot pack," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
It was all I could afford at the time. Not that it helped much.
Brent exhaled, shaking his head. "Heat's not the best for bruises. Ice works better."
He looked at me over again, relief flickering in his expression. "It looks better than before, though."
I gave him a small, grateful nod, pressing the ice pack a little more firmly against my skin.
Then, with an almost awkward shift, Brent rubbed the back of his hand. "Do you wanna grab dinner? There's a place just around the corner."
I blinked.
Dinner?
It caught me off guard. I wasn't used to people offering things like this—normal things like inviting me somewhere.
"Okay, I was hungry too," I agreed.
I had some money tonight, and the place he was suggesting was affordable and nearby, so it seemed like a good idea.
The small corner shop smelled like freshly fried food and warm spices, though nothing too overwhelming.
The lights flickered slightly, giving the place an old, lived-in feel.
The food was simple and not particularly spicy, but Brent seemed to find it a bit too much for his taste.
We spent about an hour there— eating, talking, slipping into a comfortable rhythm.
Brent told me stories about his old bakery job and about his ex-girlfriend.
I told him about the odd customers at the café, the ones who always buy me ice cream whenever they visited me.
The time spent with him was a pleasant distraction from the harshness of my day.
After dinner, we wandered over to a nearby park.
The streetlights cast a soft golden glow over the empty playground, making everything feel strangely nostalgic.
I made a beeline for the swings, my fingers curling around the cold chains as I sat down, kicking off lightly.
The wind rushed past my face as I swung back and forth, the quiet creak of the metal filling the air.
Brent, on the other hand, settled onto a nearby bench, tilting his head up toward the sky.
The comfortable silence stretched between us before I spoke.
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
Brent glanced over at me, lips curling into a smirk. "Why? You wanna be my girlfriend?"
I scoffed. "No! I just don't want some angry girl showing up and yelling at me for stealing her boyfriend at the park."
He chuckled. "Relax. I don't have a girlfriend."
I hummed in response, kicking my legs a little harder, making the swing rise higher.
I stole a glance at the seesaw.
For a moment, I wanted to tell Brent to sit on the other end—to play along.
But I was too shy to say it out loud.
Instead, I just sat on one side, bouncing slightly, hoping he'd take the hint.
He didn't.
I guess not everyone likes to play as they grow up.
By the time I arrived at the mansion, the sky had deepened into a shade of midnight blue.
The grand gates loomed in front of me, cold and imposing, standing as a reminder of the life I had stepped into.
I hesitated.
I knew Ace would be waiting.
And if he found out— if he saw the bruise, if he realized someone had hurt me—
He would teach me again.
Just like last night.
I mean, he hadn't taught me, not really... but I knew he would make me regret it if he found out.
Or worse— What if he pitied me?
I clenched my jaw. I didn't want that.
Just as I was about to turn away, the gates creaked open.
And there, standing in the dim glow of the mansion lights, was Ace.
His broad frame was tense, his posture rigid. His expression—dark, unreadable, but unmistakably agitated.
His presence alone made my pulse stutter.
Oh-oh.
Leaning against the stone pillar of the gate, cigarette balanced between his fingers, Ace exuded an air of controlled fury.
The glow of the embers flickered against his face, casting sharp shadows that made his chiseled features seem even more unforgiving.
His dark eyes locked onto mine, cold and unreadable, but I could feel the anger simmering beneath them like a quiet storm waiting to explode.
God, not again. Please, just tonight— just for one night, save me.
He took a slow drag of his cigarette, the tip burning bright as he inhaled, before exhaling a plume of smoke into the air.
Then he started walking toward me.
His footsteps echoed in the quiet night, each one deliberate, unhurried. My pulse spiked.
I stood frozen, my hands curling into the damp fabric of my hoodie. My breathing shallowed.
I wasn't sure what to expect— a reprimand? A slap? A cruel remark wrapped in his usual indifference?
I squeezed my eyes shut.
But nothing came.
When I cracked one eye open, he was just standing there. Silent. Watching.
A shiver crawled down my spine.
Then, slowly—mockingly—he bent down to my level, bringing his cigarette to his lips once more before blowing the smoke directly into my face.
The acrid scent burned my nostrils, searing down my throat like fire.
I coughed violently, stumbling back as I hit my chest with my fist, trying to breathe past the sudden assault.
A low chuckle rumbled from him.
His smirk was razor-sharp, taunting. Cruel.
He looked every bit the ruthless man he was whispered to be.
"You're late," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "Why is that?"
I swallowed hard.
"Work," I mumbled.
A flicker of something unreadable crossed his features— then, without warning, he reached out, yanking my hood off before grabbing my jaw in a grip that made me gasp.
Pain shot through my face.
His fingers were unforgiving, pressing into the tender skin as he tilted my face up, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"You think I'm stupid, Iris?" His voice was like a whip, laced with venom.
A small whimper escaped my lips as he lifted me slightly by my jaw, bringing our faces dangerously close.
His cologne mixed with the scent of smoke and the crisp night air, suffocating me.
The pressure of his grip sent a sharp ache spreading through my jaw, making my eyes water.
I turned my head to the side, exposing my left cheek to him.
You're short, Iris.
Shut up, this is not the time for jokes.
"I... I g-got busy... w-with my... f-friend," I stammered, the words barely audible.
His grip didn't loosen. If anything, it grew even more punishing.
The pain was unbearable now, and I felt tears prick at my lashes, slipping down my cheeks against my will.
Then, as suddenly as he grabbed me—he let go.
I staggered backward, barely catching myself.
Ace took a step back, rolling his shoulders, exhaling sharply through his nose.
His jaw ticked.
"Don't you have a brain?" he hissed. "Like last time—if you don't want to get hurt by some bunch of retards, come early. Or at least inform me."
His words struck like a slap, laced with a deeper frustration that I couldn't quite place.
Then—his voice dropped lower, curling into something sharper, uglier.
"Or do you like staying out late at night for some fuck?"
I stared at him, confused.
What?
His eyes darkened, watching for a reaction, but before I could process the words, he scoffed and turned away.
"Stand here for one hour," he commanded, his tone clipped, final. "Don't move from this spot."
I clenched my fists.
I watched him go, the tension in my body slowly ebbing away.
When I was with Helen, she used to make me stand outside as punishment whenever I forgot her medicine— or, more accurately, her drugs.
The hours would stretch on, the cold biting into my skin, but I learned not to complain.
Complaints only made things worse.
I exhaled, my breath visible in the crisp night air.
I whistled absently, a quiet, tuneless melody slipping past my lips.
The stillness of the night settled over me like an oppressive weight, stretching the minutes into something that felt endless.
My legs ached from standing, a dull, persistent throb that pulsed with each passing second.
I shifted from one foot to the other, rocking back and forth in an attempt to distract myself from the creeping numbness.
The chill in the air gnawed at my exposed skin, seeping through the damp fabric of my clothes.
The trees in the distance swayed, their rustling leaves whispering like unseen ghosts in the dark.
And then—
A single raindrop landed on my cheek.
It was warm against my cold skin, a small, fleeting touch.
I tilted my head up.
The sky had darkened further, thick clouds rolling in like an omen. The air smelled of damp earth, of impending downpour.
A low rumble of thunder growled in the distance.
I barely had time to brace myself before the sky split open.
The first drops were scattered, light, teasing— then came the downpour.
Cold, relentless sheets of rain crashed down on me, soaking me within seconds.
My hoodie, my jeans, even my shoes—nothing was spared.
Water dripped from the tips of my hair, running in rivulets down my face, mingling with the warmth of my tears.
It seemed like even God had turned against me tonight.
I hugged myself, trying to preserve what little warmth I had left, but it was futile.
The cold seeped into my bones, wrapping around me like a second skin.
Still, I didn't move.
Ace had ordered me to stand still.
So, I stood there, shivering, my breath coming out in ragged gasps as I fought the urge to break down completely.
A sudden crack of thunder tore through the air, splitting the sky with its fury.
I flinched, my body jerking involuntarily as the sharp sound echoed in my ears.
My chest constricted painfully, and a violent cough tore its way out of my throat.
It burned.
The cold, the exhaustion, the ache in my body—it all burned.
The world around me blurred as my vision swam, the weight of the night pressing down like a suffocating blanket.
And then—
The rain stopped falling on me.
Not completely.
I could still hear it, still feel the wetness clinging to my skin— but something was blocking the direct onslaught of water.
"Iris."
The voice was quiet, barely audible over the storm, yet it cut through the night like a blade.
I blinked sluggishly, lifting my gaze.
Ivan stood in front of me, an umbrella held over my head, his expression unreadable.
His brown hair was damp, strands sticking to his forehead, and his sharp pale- blue eyes bore into me.
"Go inside," Ivan said, his voice softer than usual, but his gaze remained cold, distant.
I swallowed hard and started to walk away, but hesitated, feeling the weight of the wet clothes clinging to my skin.
If I went inside like this, the floor would get wet. Ace would yell at me.
I mean, who wouldn't?
Mama used to yell at me too when I ran into the house dripping wet after tutoring classes.
So instead, I turned away and trudged toward the entrance stairs.
The stone was freezing beneath me as I sat down, curling up in the corner in a feeble attempt to preserve warmth.
The rain didn't let up.
It seeped into my skin, past my bones, chilling me from the inside out.
Still, exhaustion weighed heavier than discomfort.
My body sagged, muscles aching from hours of tension. My eyelids drooped, and despite the cold, despite the rain, despite everything— I let sleep take me.
"Mama! Papa!"
I stood on the shore, waves lapping at my feet, the sand sinking beneath my weight.
Ahead, my parents sat on a blanket, smiling at me, their faces soft and warm.
Relief surged through me. My lips curled into a grin as I waved frantically. "I'm coming!"
I took a step forward, the water swirling around my ankles. But as I moved, so did they.
Drifting further.
My smile faltered.
I picked up my pace, splashing through the waves.
"Wait for me!" My voice cracked with laughter, but the unease coiled in my chest.
They were still moving.
Still smiling.
Still out of reach.
"Mama!" My breath hitched. "Papa!"
I stumbled in the wet sand, but I pushed forward, my knees scraping against the rough grains.
Every muscle in my body strained as I clawed my way toward them, my fingers grasping at empty air.
They were so close. Just a little more—
Then I crashed into something unseen.
My hands slammed against an invisible wall, the force of impact rattling through my bones.
I staggered back, stunned, before surging forward again.
My fingers splayed against the barrier. Cold. Solid. Unyielding.
Panic gripped me. "Mama?" I pressed my palm against the glass. "Papa?"
They were still smiling.
Still waving.
Still looking at me with that unbearable warmth.
"NO!" My scream tore from my throat, raw and desperate. "Please! It hurts—I want to hug you! Talk to me! PLEASE!"
I pounded against the unseen wall, my fists slamming against it over and over, the impact jarring my bones.
"I LOVE YOU! PLEASE DON'T GO!" My voice was barely a whisper now, hoarse and broken. "I'm sorry! I'll listen! I'll be good! Please, please, just—"
The wind howled. The sea raged.
Their faces blurred.
The barrier remained.
My hands slid down the cold surface, my bruised fingers curling into fists.
My knees buckled, and I let out a choked sob as the world around me dimmed, the sounds of the beach fading into an eerie silence.
The last thing I saw was their fading smiles.
"IRIS!"
"IRIS!!"
I jolted awake with a sharp gasp, my lungs seizing as if I had been drowning.
The echo of my screams still rang in my ears, blending with the pounding in my skull.
My breath hitched, my chest rising and falling erratically.
Bright light flooded my vision, sharp and unforgiving, making my already disoriented mind reel.
My face was damp— whether from tears, sweat, or the remnants of rain, I wasn't sure.
My clothes clung uncomfortably to my body, the fabric heavy and cold against my shivering skin.
Something firm was beneath my head. A steady warmth. A rhythmic rise and fall.
My fingers twitched against soft fabric, and my dazed mind slowly registered the weight of a hand resting on my shoulder.
"Iris," a voice cut through the haze, rough and edged with frustration. "For fuck's sake, open your eyes!"
Ivan.
My eyelids fluttered, my lashes damp as I blinked sluggishly.
The world still felt tilted, my mind sluggishly clawing its way back to the present.
My gaze finally focused on Ivan's face hovering above me, his brows knitted in irritation but his dark eyes betraying a flicker of concern.
I realized my head had been resting on his lap.
My stomach twisted with embarrassment, and I scrambled to sit up too quickly.
My body protested, my stiff limbs trembling as I shoved myself off him.
"Where am I?" My voice cracked.
Ivan let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
"My room. You passed out on the fucking stairs like an idiot," he bit out, though his usual cool demeanor was tinged with exasperation.
I blinked. My thoughts still felt thick, like I was wading through mud.
I looked down at myself— my clothes were still damp, the chill of them biting into my skin.
My stomach dropped.
I had been sleeping in wet clothes. In Ivan's bed.
What!!!
No wonder he was pissed.
Who wouldn't be? His blankets were probably ruined.
"Iris," he said, his voice quieter this time. "You were whimpering in your sleep."
His words sent a fresh wave of unease crawling down my spine.
I rubbed my arms, as if that could chase away the lingering ghosts of my dream.
"S-Sorry... T-Thank you," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.
Then, before he could say anything else, I bolted.
I yanked open the door without thinking, my only instinct to get away.
But as soon as I stepped out, I froze.
A group of guards stood outside, their conversations halting as their eyes flickered toward me.
Some stared with mild curiosity, others with surprise.
Heat flooded my face, my heart pounding erratically.
I ducked my head and pushed past them, my movements stiff, my pulse roaring in my ears.
The hallway opened up to another room, but before I could process where I was going, I stumbled into something else entirely.
A large space.
People.
A group sat on the floor, eating, their murmured conversations creating a low hum that filled the room.
The scent of food—spices, warmth, something vaguely savory—hit me all at once, making my stomach clench painfully.
The walls felt like they were closing in.
My breath came in short, uneven bursts. My limbs felt weak, my surroundings shifting too fast.
Why did everything feel so loud?
Maybe this is what happens when we wake up in the morning and start to move abruptly.
"Iris! Oh my god! Are you okay?"
Melinda's voice cut through my distress like a blade.
Before I could react, her hands were on me—steady, grounding—gently guiding me away from the suffocating crowd.
I let her.
The door shut behind us with a solid click, sealing out the noise, the stares, the weight of too many eyes.
Minutes passed in quiet stillness.
Melinda handed me a towel, then a glass of water.
I took them without a word, staring at nothing, my mind still tangled in the dream, the echoes of my screams lingering in my ears.
I wiped my face, pressing the fabric harder than necessary, as if I could scrub away the exhaustion clinging to me like second skin.
"Here," Melinda said, her voice softer now. "Take these tablets. And change into these." She placed a set of fresh clothes beside me.
I didn't move.
Didn't reach for them.
Didn't say anything.
I just stared at the floor, feeling hollow. Stupid. Numb.
Melinda hesitated before placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"Iris," she murmured. "What happened? What are you doing here again?"
"I... I don't know," I whispered. "I don't know anything."
The words felt foreign on my tongue, like they belonged to someone else.
Melinda's gaze softened. Too soft. Pity.
It sliced through me like a rusted knife.
I forced myself to move.
Brushed my teeth. Splashed cold water on my face.
Melinda was still there, still trying to get me to eat, to change, to take care of myself but I just left, silently.
I just want to go away from everything right now.
While working at the café, Brent kept hovering, his brows knit with concern.
"You okay?" he asked for what felt like the third time.
I nodded.
Didn't explain. Didn't elaborate.
Didn't want to.
By 7 PM, I sat alone in the dimly lit corner, cradling a piece of simple loaf of bread between my hands.
Hot water rested on the bench, but I had barely taken more than a few sips.
I took a bite, chewing mechanically, barely tasting it.
My body ached.
I swallowed, pressing my palm to my forehead.
Warm.
Maybe I had a fever.
Maybe I didn't.
Meh....Who cares.
"Iris, come play with us!"
I looked up to see Butter standing in front of me, his hopeful little face beaming.
I had nicknamed him that for his slippery excuses whenever he got into trouble.
A weak smile tugged at my lips. "Not today, Butter. I'm feeling a little dull." I ruffled his hair, watching as he pouted.
"But—"
"How about you play, and I'll watch?"
That seemed to satisfy him—barely. He huffed but nodded, running off to join the others.
I let out a breath, sinking into my seat. The quiet should have been comforting.
It wasn't.
Then, before I could react—
A hand hovered near my neck.
The warmth of it sent a shiver down my spine, just seconds before my chin was tilted upward.
My eyes fluttered shut, wincing against the sudden brightness as the park lights burned into my vision.
A thumb brushed over my jaw, slow and deliberate.
I blinked, my sight clearing—
And my breath hitched.
Ace.
My lips parted in realization.
"Bambi," his deep, controlled voice echoed in my ears, smooth yet firm.
I swallowed hard as his fingers didn't pull away but rather slid—slowly, deliberately—from my neck, trailing over my skin before finally leaving.
God gracious.
He sat down beside me, too close, forcing me to shift slightly.
I cleared my throat, willing my heart to steady.
But before I could fully move away, a hand wrapped around my waist.
And just like that, I was on his lap.
My body stiffened, heat creeping up my neck—not from fever this time.
My hands tightened around the piece of bread I still held, as if it were a lifeline.
I tried to stand but he didn't let me.
"Sir, please, let me go," I whispered, my voice laced with urgency. "If someone sees me like this, they'll think badly of me." My eyes darted around, scanning for any onlookers.
Without a word, he reached up and pushed back my hood.
His cold fingers pressed against my forehead, his touch lingering longer than necessary.
His brow furrowed. "You're hot," he murmured.
An awkward chuckle escaped me. I shook my head. "I'm fine, really," I insisted, though my voice lacked conviction.
But ignored me.
"I'm free now... let's go to the hospital," he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"What?! No! And let me go... please," I exclaimed, pushing against him, trying to break free.
His grip didn't loosen.
"Bambi," he said, softer now, the sharpness in his tone dulled with something else. "Let me make it right."
I froze.
He sighed, his forehead pressing lightly against my collarbone.
I barely had time to process the warmth of his breath against my skin before he exhaled slowly, deliberately.
"Wh—" My mouth parted in shock.
"I hurt you, and I want to make it right," he explained, his voice a low murmur against my neck.
I stiffened, shivering slightly. "Ahum... you might catch a fever too, so stay away from me," I muttered, barely above a whisper.
He chuckled, his breath sending tingles down my spine. "I thought you said you don't have a fever?"
I swallowed, looking away.
"I'm not fragile like you, Mini Bear," he teased.
My head snapped back to him, eyes wide in shock. "Don't call me that!" I scowled. "And stop with the nicknames!"
I hated nicknames. Especially when someone gave me one.
His lips curled into a lazy grin, and before I could react, he pinched my nose, playfully.
"Why not? I think it suits you. And it's cute, too."
I huffed, looking away.
He was acting too... lighthearted.
I didn't think he was genuinely sorry for what happened yesterday.
If anything, it was his fault I had a fever in the first place.
"You don't socialize. You're so fucking soft," he mused, his gaze drifting lower. "And quiet defiance too."
"Didn't know a mafia boss could be so goofy," I muttered dryly.
Ace smirked. "Well, I am a little goofy."
Then, in the same breath, his voice dropped into something dark.
"But if you ever talk about this to anyone, I'll make sure to rip out your throat with my bare hands."
I was disgusted and terrified when I imagined how he would do that to my throat ughh... ewe...
"What's going on here?" Butter's small but assertive voice cut through the tension like a blade.
I turned to see him standing there, his tiny hands clutching a dried-out rose, its brittle petals barely clinging to the stem.
His big, brown eyes were narrowed in suspicion, flicking between Ace and me.
Before I could say anything, the little trouble maker climbed onto the bench, balancing on his knees as he leaned dangerously close to Ace, scrutinizing him like a detective sizing up a prime suspect.
Oh no.
"What the fuck are you doing, nitwit?" Ace snickered, completely unfazed.
I gasped, turning to him in horror. "He's a child!" I whisper-yelled, scandalized.
Butter, however, was undeterred.
"Why are you holding my girl?" he demanded, scowling. "Leave her, or I will shoot you."
I nearly choked on my own breath.
"Butter!" I exclaimed, feeling my soul leave my body from sheer secondhand embarrassment.
The little boy stood his ground, arms crossed over his chest as if he were some mafia boss himself.
Ace merely smirked, tilting his head as if genuinely amused. "Your girl? She isn't."
Butter nodded, his small face contorting into a look of absolute betrayal. "I thought you loved me!"
God help me.
"You're my girl! Then why are you sitting with him? Is he your boyfriend?" He stomped his little foot, his anger barely contained in his tiny frame.
I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temples.
He's seven! The level of knowledge these kids had nowadays was truly concerning.
Hastily, I stood up from Ace's lap, my face burning, and gently set Butter back on the ground.
"No, Butter. He's no one, okay? Now go back to your mother, please."
His arms stayed crossed as he stared Ace down, then me.
Finally, with a dramatic sigh, he kissed my cheek and scampered off, still holding his withered rose.
Ace watched the exchange in silence, a detached look in his eyes.
Then, in a low, unreadable voice, he muttered, "No one... I thought I was your friend. I mean—your heartless friend."
I took a deep breath and moved to sit a little farther from him, shaking my head.
"Mini," he suddenly said, standing up and extending his hand toward me. "Let's go."
His voice carried that commanding tone I was all too familiar with, but there was something else beneath it—something softer, almost careful.
I hesitated.
When I didn't respond, he sighed and gripped my forearm—not harshly, but firmly—and started walking toward his car.
"Yah! What are you doing?" I yelped, trying to wrench my arm away.
He suddenly stopped.
For a second, I thought he was about to let me go.
Then, without a word, he lifted me—effortlessly—onto his shoulders.
What the actual chicken?!
"YAAHHH~~!" I shrieked, my voice carrying across the park like a siren wailing into the night.
Heads turned. Laughter erupted.
I swore right then and there— I would never return to this park again. I would die of embarrassment first.
Ivan, who had been watching from the sidelines, scrambled to open the car door.
Ace eased me into the seat and, before I could protest, yanked the seatbelt across my body, clicking it in place with a finality that left me speechless.
The moment he let go, I lunged for the door handle—
Locked.
I whirled to glare at him, but he was already in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the rearview mirror.
Gosh, this man moves too fast.
"I don't want to go to the hospital," I snapped, my voice thick with frustration.
Ace sighed, resting his wrist against the steering wheel. "We're not going to the hospital."
Something inside me snapped.
"It's all your fault!" I burst out, my emotions boiling over. "First, you made me stand in the rain, and now you're dragging me to places I don't want to go! I don't even understand why I'm at your house! What do you even want from me? I have nothing left!"
The words tumbled out before I could stop them, raw and jagged.
A heavy silence filled the car.
The only sound was my own ragged breathing and the occasional sniffle.
My chest heaved as the weight of everything pressed down on me.
Ace, still gripping the steering wheel, finally spoke.
"You still have something left," he murmured.
I frowned, roughly wiping at my damp cheeks. "What?"
His eyes flicked toward mine, unreadable in the dim glow of the dashboard.
But he didn't answer.
Instead, he turned back to the road and started driving.
"You're bad," I muttered under my breath, voice hoarse. "Meanie. And a liar."
The words left my mouth before I even registered them.
My eyes widened.
Did I really just—?
But Ace didn't react.
He just kept driving.
An hour passed.
The city faded behind us, swallowed by quiet streets lined with darkened houses.
The world outside felt still, as if even the night held its breath around him.
The fever gnawed at me, heat crawling up my spine, sinking into my bones.
My head throbbed with each heartbeat, and my limbs felt heavier with every passing second.
I sniffled, but the congestion in my chest made it feel like I was inhaling through water.
The car slowed.
We pulled up in front of a small, unassuming house, its exterior bathed in dim porch light. The engine cut off with a soft growl.
"Out."
Ace's voice was low, clipped, tight with barely contained anger.
I was startled at the intensity of it, but I didn't argue.
My fingers fumbled with the door handle, and the second my feet hit the pavement, an unsteady wave of dizziness washed over me.
Ace didn't move from his seat.
But the way his hands strangled the steering wheel, knuckles stark white against his tanned skin, sent a sharp pang of unease through my chest.
I swallowed hard.
Did I really make the wrong decision calling him a meanie?
He exhaled sharply, then swung the door open and stepped out, his movements brisk, controlled.
"Follow me."
His words weren't a request.
My stomach twisted. Something in the way he said it— low, measured, like a man barely holding his patience together—made my skin prickle.
I scurried after him, the chilled night air doing little to cool the fever simmering beneath my skin.
My breath fogged slightly in the air as I trailed behind, my footsteps unsteady against the stone pathway leading inside.
The moment we stepped through the door, the air shifted.
Warmth wrapped around me, thick with the scent of aged wood. It clung to the space like an unspoken presence.
Inside, a middle-aged man waited.
His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed back, his suit crisp but understated.
His sharp gaze flicked between Ace and me, his expression unreadable.
The moment Ace spoke, they switched to another language—one I didn't understand.
Not English. Something else. Maybe Mafia code language.
The stranger turned to me, his expression softening as he assessed my state.
"So, Iris, how are you feeling? Can you name what you're feeling right now? Coughing? Headaches? Fever?"
His voice was gentle, professional—but something about him felt... off.
Was he a doctor?
But why is he not wearing a white coat?
This doesn't look like a hospital.
I swallowed thickly, shifting on my feet.
My gaze flickered to Ace.
He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, broad shoulders stiff, exuding quiet dominance.
His face remained unreadable, but the way his jaw tensed—like he was keeping himself from intervening—sent a shiver down my spine.
He sighed, tongue flicking over his lower lip before he finally spoke.
"She just started her fever. Headaches, cold, and body pain."
My brows furrowed slightly.
How did he—?
A small, treacherous part of me warmed at the realization. He noticed.
He was paying attention.
No, Iris. Stop it.
He's a bad man.
The doctor hummed, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly. "How did she get it? Played in the rain?"
Ace's lips pressed into a thin line.
"It was my fault."
His words were firm. Absolute.
No hesitation, no excuses.
And that startled me more than anything.
Heat surged up my neck— whether from fever or the weight of his admission, I couldn't tell.
If I were in his place, I would never be able to say that with a straight face without burning up in embarrassment.
My chest tightened.
Ace held my gaze for a fraction longer, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes before he turned and walked out, leaving me alone with the doctor.
Did Ace sell me to this stranger?
The man cleared his throat, snapping my attention back to him.
"Sit down."
I hesitated, glancing at the door Ace had disappeared through.
The doctor must have noticed my apprehension because he gave me a reassuring smile, gesturing toward the chair.
"I promise, I don't bite."
"Ha..ha," I chuckled, awkwardly and sat down, my muscles aching with exhaustion.
He worked quickly, checking my temperature, taking my pulse, asking me a barrage of questions about my symptoms.
His touch was cool against my fevered skin, his movements practiced and efficient.
Five minutes later, he handed me some tablets. "Take these. You need food in your system. Your glucose levels are low."
I nodded numbly.
The realization hit me all at once.
I had never visited a doctor without my parents before.
Never sat in a chair while a stranger poked and prodded at me, measuring my fever like I was something fragile.
It felt... strange. Unsettling.
When we stepped out of the room, the hallway seemed quieter than before.
The air was cooler, but it didn't do much to quell the fever simmering beneath my skin.
Ace stood a few feet away, deep in conversation with Ivan. His posture was rigid, his voice low but firm.
The moment we approached, their conversation halted.
Ace's eyes snapped to me, dark and calculating, scanning my face as if searching for something only he could recognize.
"Is she okay?" Ivan asked, concern laced in his voice.
"Yeah," the doctor replied, adjusting his coat. "Give her more food; her glucose level is so low it could be dangerous for her body, especially at her age."
His sharp gaze flicked toward Ace, his voice turning stern. "She's a growing girl. Focus on more protein."
I blinked slowly, my vision blurring as sleepiness dragged at my consciousness.
The doctor lingered for a moment, studying me with mild concern before finally taking his leave.
A yawn slipped from my lips. My eyes burned, clouding with unshed tears.
I reached up to rub them, but before I could, warm hands caught mine.
I stiffened.
Ace.
His grip was firm but careful as he took my hands in his, preventing me from rubbing too harshly.
Then, to my absolute bewilderment, he did it for me— his fingers brushing gently against my eyelids, wiping away the dampness.
His touch was soothing. I swallowed hard, my breath hitching.
Mother roaster.
"Ivan," Ace said, his voice carrying an unspoken command.
Ivan hesitated for only a second before nodding and walking away, leaving us alone.
Ace didn't move.
His thumb traced along my cheek, the slow, deliberate motion making my skin tingle. His gaze bore into mine—dark, intent, unreadable.
Then he pulled me closer.
My breath caught as his hand slid to the back of my neck, his fingers warm against my fevered skin.
The closeness sent a shiver down my spine. I felt my fingers twitch, my hands instinctively gripping the fabric of my hoodie.
A strange, tightening sensation curled around my calves, a foreign kind of anticipation settling deep in my stomach.
"Can I kiss you?"
The words were barely above a whisper.
Soft. Hesitant.
Like he hadn't meant to ask.
My heart lurched.
"Huh?"
I blinked rapidly, my fever-addled brain struggling to process his question.
For a second, the world felt unreal, suspended in that moment.
Then panic surged through me.
I quickly pushed him away, my fingers trembling as they uncurled.
Ace took a slow step back.
A deep frown creased his forehead, confusion flickering in his gaze— as if he didn't understand what had just happened either.
His jaw tensed.
Then, softer this time, he murmured something under his breath.
"Cosa mi stai facendo, Mini?"
The words rolled off his tongue in a whisper of frustration, laced with something else— something unreadable.
I swallowed, staring at him.
"What did he just say?"
Before I could ask, he took my hand in his once more and started walking, pulling me along with him.
I followed in silence, my mind still spinning from the weight of his words, from the heat of his touch lingering on my skin.
By the time we reached the mansion, my exhaustion had fully settled in, wrapping around me like a heavy blanket.
I didn't say a word. Didn't dare look at him.
I hurried to my room, the moment replaying over and over in my head.
The intensity in his voice. The way he looked at me. The way he held me.
Collapsing onto the couch, I buried my face into the cushions, my fevered mind still whirling.
I fell asleep before I could make sense of it.
And for the rest of the night, my dreams were restless.
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