Alex's voice boomed through the living room, rattling the air, slamming against the walls like a gunshot.
The others snapped their heads toward me, their eyes wide, stunned.
It was like I'd just told them the fucking world was ending.
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck, already regretting bringing it up. Shit.
"I'm just saying... there's something different about him when he's with her."
Last night.
I was standing in the doorway, making sure he was fine—as usual—but what I saw?
I shouldn't have looked.
I shouldn't have fucking looked.
I should've turned away the second I saw them—before my brain could register the scene, before my gut twisted in something close to disbelief.
Alex threw his hands up. Dramatic. "You've got to be kidding me, Hudson. Ace? Gentle? With anyone? That doesn't even sound like him."
He wasn't wrong.
Ace wasn't built for soft.
He was cold, calculated, always a step ahead. Never hesitating. Never showing weakness.
But last night...
Last night, he didn't notice me.
And that was a problem.
Ace was always aware.
He could sense someone breathing wrong from across the fucking room.
But with her?
He let his guard down.
That wasn't just fucking different. That was dangerous.
But I kept that part to myself.
It felt too intimate. Too fucking real to share with these hollow heads.
Leo, sitting across from me, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "If he gets a taste of her, he'll throw her away like all the others. That's how he is. She's just another distraction."
I frowned.
I doubted that.
Ace didn't get distracted. Not easily. Not by anyone.
I scanned their faces, my stomach twisting. They didn't fucking see it.
"I don't know," I said, forcing my voice to stay even. "I've seen him go through plenty of women, but this time... it feels different."
Su, also Aiden's secretary, scoffed from the corner, barely glancing up from her files. "Come on, guys, she will also lose her value in his eyes one day. So, he will throw her away like always."
Felix, who had been silent up until now, suddenly leaned forward, his eyes dark. "Oh yeah? But if he wanted to throw her away, he wouldn't have taken her to the basement and made us believe he'd kill her if we did something heroic."
His words cut through the air, a bitter truth no one wanted to acknowledge.
Su rolled her eyes, brushing off his comment with a wave of her hand. "She's stupid. Why isn't she even asking for our help?"
"Maybe there's something she knows that we don't—" Liam paused abruptly.
I barely had time to glance over my shoulder before she walked in.
Iris.
Her presence shifted the air.
The tension in the room didn't disappear—but it twisted, changed into something else.
"Good morning!" she chirped, her voice light, warm—like she had no idea that every single person here had spent the last ten minutes dissecting her place in Ace's life.
I barely noticed my own reaction until it was too late.
Shit.
I was smiling back at her.
Her eyes flickered toward me for a split second—then away.
Embarrassment.
She remembered I saw them last night.
Felix's grin stretched across his face, clearly enjoying the way she brightened the entire fucking room.
"Someone looks happy," he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.
I didn't miss the way his eyes lingered on her.
And that was very bad news.
Iris clapped her hands together, practically bouncing on her feet. "Yeah... today is my salary day!"
Her excitement was contagious.
But all I could focus on was Felix.
His smile lingered too long.
His gaze was too soft.
If Ace noticed?
There would be disaster.
And if Iris got caught in the middle of whatever the hell this was turning into...
I didn't even want to think about it.
Because if Felix didn't stop now?
He was going to die.
By his own friend's hand.
"Hello," Iris greeted eagerly, her focus shifting to Su.
I nearly sighed.
She was trying. Trying to get on Su's good side.
Su barely looked up from her files, huffing in annoyance.
Iris's lower lip clenched slightly before she pressed them together in defeat.
Such a kid.
But the dynamic was clear—Su didn't like Iris.
And it wasn't just dislike.
It was something else.
Su, Liam, and Ace were the most relentless members of our group—unyielding, stubborn as hell.
But Su's disdain for Iris was different.
She just couldn't wrap her head around her.
She didn't understand how someone like Iris could exist.
How she could still be soft—still be naïve—despite being trapped in our world.
Aiden nudged Su's forearm playfully. "She wants to be your friend," he teased.
Su finally looked up.
The glare she shot him was sharp enough to slice through bone.
Iris didn't see it.
But I did.
And I knew exactly what it meant.
Su didn't hate Iris.
She hated what she represented.
Because in Su's world, girls like Iris didn't survive.
A deep voice sliced through the air like a blade, sending an immediate chill through the room.
"Mini."
Ace's voice was smooth, controlled, but it carried the weight of ownership.
The tension that had barely begun to settle twisted tighter, like a noose around our throats.
Why can't this guy, for once, ease the fucking pressure instead of suffocating the entire goddamn room?
Iris's face lit up when she saw him—her smile was pure, untouched by whatever storm he was about to bring.
It was so naive, so trusting, that it made my stomach churn.
Did she not realize what he was doing to her?
Or worse... What was she doing to him?
Ace moved, deliberate and slow, closing the distance between them in a few strides.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he kissed her before dragging his mouth to her cheek.
"Thank you for last night," he murmured.
Then he took her hand, raising her palm—possessive, reverent, dangerous—and pressed his lips against her fingertips.
The entire fucking room imploded.
Aiden and Felix, mid-sip, choked violently on their drinks, coughing and wheezing like they'd just been hit with a brick.
Alex gaped, his face contorting in absolute horror.
The weight of Ace's words hung in the air, thick and wrong.
Oh.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
I realized what they were all thinking.
And honestly? Ew.
"Ace! We are literally sitting right here!" Alex practically shouted, his face twisted in disbelief.
I groaned, rubbing my temple. "Guys, he meant massage," I clarified, already regretting my existence.
But Ace?
Ace just smirked.
Didn't correct them.
Didn't clarify.
He let them drown in their own fucking assumptions.
He did that shit on purpose.
Fucker.
Iris, bless her oblivious little soul, glanced around the room, concern written all over her face.
She didn't even get the innuendo.
Ace finally moved, settling into the seat beside me, picking up his cup of black tea like he hadn't just sent the entire room spiraling into madness.
His eyes never left her.
Predatory. Focused.
"Mini, come home early today."
It wasn't a request. It was a command, dressed in casual words.
Iris, sitting on the edge of the couch, swayed nervously, her fingers toying with the hem of her sleeve.
"Umm... well, I... can't," she said hesitantly.
Silence.
Ace's fingers tapped against the rim of his teacup once. Slow. Controlled. Calculating.
"Why?"
That single word sent a ripple through the air.
His voice was cool, but his patience was wearing thin.
Wooow. Didn't know he gave a shit about other people's schedules too.
Iris fidgeted, shifting uncomfortably under his stare.
"My friend is taking me somewhere." Her voice was too soft, too uncertain—like she knew what was coming.
Ace went still.
The tapping stopped.
His eyes darkened, amusement flickering at the edges.
Then—he chuckled.
"But you don't have any friends, ragazza dolce." His voice was warm, teasing.
Well, he's right though.
Her face fell, brows furrowing as she looked at him— offended and confused.
I pressed my fingers to my temple, exhaling sharply.
Did she use some kind of witchcraft on him last night?
"Well, now I have. He said—" Iris's voice was small, barely above a whisper.
Ace's brow arched, amusement flickering in his eyes like a predator catching the scent of something interesting.
"He?" Ace interrupted, voice sharp, slicing right through the air.
He straightened, his posture shifting, no longer lounging but alert, ready.
"Is it a boy?" His voice was deceptively calm, but his presence was suddenly suffocating.
Iris's expression wavered. Confused. Hesitant.
"...Yeah." Her response came slower this time. "His name is Brent."
Ace didn't blink.
Didn't react.
I watched as Iris continued, completely unaware of the silent war brewing in Ace's head.
"Brent said we're going to eat dinner and then play at some park or talk."
A small smile tugged at her lips, innocence laced in her voice.
Completely fucking oblivious.
Alex, who clearly had a death wish, grinned. "Did he tell you to dress pretty?"
"Yes." Iris nodded, her head bobbing slowly.
The excitement in her eyes was clear, but so was the apprehension.
Liam exhaled sharply.
"Questo è sicuramente un appuntamento (This is definitely a date)." His voice was cold, dark. Irritated.
Wait—why was he pissed?
Before I could even process that, I felt it.
Ace moved.
His footsteps slow, deliberate as he walked toward her.
His gaze locked onto her, intense, unreadable.
"Well, you're going to tell him that I am going somewhere with my boyfriend," he said, his voice velvet and steel.
And then—his hand cupped her face.
Wait.
Wait.
What?!
"Boyfriend?"
The word didn't belong in Ace's mouth.
Not in this context. Not with her.
Iris's entire soul short-circuited.
Her lips parted, eyes widening in absolute shock.
"You're... my b-boyfriend?" she stammered, voice fragile, barely a whisper.
Ace leaned in, their noses almost touching.
"Yes."
And then—
He kissed her.
A brief, tender, fucking kiss.
And the entire room exploded.
Aiden gasped so hard you'd think someone had just stabbed him in the chest.
It wasn't Susan this time. It was Aiden.
The reactions came in waves—some people chuckled in disbelief, others just stared, completely wrecked by what they just witnessed.
Ace straightened, satisfied, as if he had just announced something as simple as the weather.
"7 PM. I will pick you up, and our date starts," he said, his voice final, like a judge delivering a sentence.
Then he turned on his heel and walked out, as if he hadn't just detonated a nuclear bomb in the middle of the room.
Iris was fucked up.
She sank onto the couch, her hands flying to her face, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions she was being thrown into.
"Hudson," her voice was muffled by her hands. "Did you hear that? I have a boyfriend."
And that's bad.
"Yeah," I muttered, chuckling awkwardly.
But before I could say anything else, she sprang up.
Her fear was gone—replaced by something else.
Something brighter.
Something worse.
Iris floated toward the door, light on her feet, silent, like she was afraid this moment would shatter if she made too much noise.
Meanwhile, Aiden still looked like he had been struck by lightning, his body locked in shock.
The whole room was unraveling.
Some people were sighing deeply, some were gaping, some were just stunned into silence.
Ace's declaration had left everyone shaken.
But no one more than Iris herself.
Iris POV:
"Oow!" I yelped, wincing as Su yanked the brush through my hair, the tangles fighting her like rebellious soldiers.
"Gosh, your hair is tangled," Su muttered, her voice a mix of frustration and determination.
She stood behind me, brutal in her mission to tame my mess of curls.
I was perched on a chair in front of a massive mirror, watching the war unfold between my hair and Su's impatience.
She was focused, her brows furrowed, lips slightly pursed—like she was forcing herself to do this.
I had practiced asking her.
Mentally prepared myself.
Told myself she wouldn't reject me.
And yet, sitting here, feeling the tension in her fingers, I still wondered—
Maybe she likes me...
Maybe...
A loud snapping sound broke my thoughts.
One of my strands surrendered under Su's aggressive combing.
Great.
Felix, leaning on the table nearby, watched the scene unfold with an expression I couldn't quite place.
Casual. But his eyes...
They were watching me too closely.
"So, Iris, are you sure you wanna go on this date?" Felix's voice was light, but there was something lurking underneath it.
My fingers twitched in my lap.
"Why? Is that bad? I have never been on a date," I said, forcing a smile, trying to sound normal.
Felix opened his mouth, but Su cut in first, her voice flat, matter-of-fact.
"Well, what he means is that you're going on a date with a man who kills people for fun and is a psychopath."
Oh.
I mean, yeah.
But still— I know that but he doesn't kill people for fun.
Felix and Su just stared at me.
The kind of stare that makes you feel like a child who doesn't understand something very, very dangerous.
Meh.
"I know he is... kinda... but..." I dragged out my words, trying to find something reasonable to say.
Felix's jaw tightened.
"He is not perfect for you. He is filled with cracks and darkness."
I blinked, taken aback.
"I know he is my friend, but he is a wild animal in disguise," Felix murmured, his voice quieter, but more serious.
Something about his tone sent a cold ripple down my spine.
But I refused to back down.
My fingers clenched in my lap.
"Cracks are good," I said, my voice softer now, my gaze drifting to my reflection.
My own cracks.
My own darkness.
"Because in darkness, it will let the light inside slowly."
Silence.
A heavy silence.
I swallowed. Oh-oh.
Did I say something wrong?
I looked up.
Su, Felix, and even Aiden had gone still.
Expressionless.
Blank.
Like I had just said something forbidden.
The way they were staring at me...
Like I had already lost myself to him.
"You know, if he does something that you don't like, you will tell me, okay?" Aiden's voice carried a weight of genuine concern, his arms wrapped around Susan from behind.
I smiled, nodding quickly, even as my mind started racing with thoughts I wasn't sure I wanted to entertain.
What could Ace do that I wouldn't like?
He promised he wouldn't hurt me.
He pinky promised.
And I believe in pinky promises.
Not even my mother had broken one. The only person whom I fear to this day.
So... that means he wouldn't.
"Okay, guys, get out of the room," Susan ordered, her tone absolute.
She didn't shove them, but the way she grabbed Felix and Aiden by their shirts and dragged them out before slamming the door... yeah.
That was intense.
A heavy silence settled as we were left alone.
Susan let out a long sigh, rolling her shoulders as she turned back to me.
Oh my. Amen.
She resumed detangling my hair, this time with purpose, her fingers working through the knots with a frustrating mix of gentleness and aggression.
I could feel her watching me. Assessing.
Like I was some experiment she hadn't decided was worth her time yet.
"Iris, what do you know about dates?" she asked, her voice smoother now, quieter.
I swallowed.
"I don't know. Mom never talked about these things to me," I admitted, feeling oddly embarrassed.
Her hands paused for a split second before continuing.
"I mean... from the information I've gathered, my personal opinion is that dates are kinda boring......useless," I murmured, dragging out the last word.
Susan scoffed.
"Can't deny Ace," I whispered. "I mean... he asked sincerely."
A snort.
"Sincere. Tch. My ass," she grumbled under her breath.
Ouch.
I looked down, playing with the hem of my sleeve.
The truth was, I had no clue what I was doing.
No idea how dates worked or how people even acted on them.
From what I'd seen in cafes, people sat across from each other, ate, talked about themselves—
I frowned.
"I don't want to talk about myself," I muttered.
Susan's hands stilled.
I felt her eyes on me through the mirror, a sharp weight pressing down on me.
I met her gaze.
She didn't say anything.
Didn't judge, didn't scoff like before.
She just... watched me.
Something about it made my stomach twist.
I remembered our first meeting, which had been a disaster.
Susan had been cold and distant, and I had felt like an outsider in her world.
Now, as she worked on my hair with a meticulous touch, I could see a different side of her— a side that seemed professional for sure.
When she finally pulled the brush away, I stared at my reflection in surprise.
My hair looked—
Fantastic.
"Thank you so much," I said, grinning at her through the mirror.
For the first time, Susan almost smiled back.
"Welcome, non sei così male, immagino (you're not that bad, I guess.)," she muttered.
Okay....
I understood none of that.
But her voice wasn't aggressive and cold, so... progress?
Without another word, she walked to the closet, swinging the doors open like she was about to rob the place.
She rifled through the clothes with urgency, her movements fast, efficient.
Finally, she yanked out a dress and threw it at me.
The fabric smacked into my face.
"Wear this," she said, exasperated.
I peeled the dress off my cheeks, staring at it.
...Oh.
Oh no.
"It's a little bit revealing," I said hesitantly.
Susan raised a sharp brow.
"You call that revealing? What do you wanna wear then? A potato sack."
I clutched the dress and bolted to the restroom, my nerves kicking in like a stampede of panicked animals.
Behind me, I could hear Susan's muttering, the sound of her pacing.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my forehead against the cold bathroom door.
Why did this feel like I was preparing for war?
Author POV:
Ace leaned back against the leather couch, legs spread wide, fingers wrapped loosely around the glass in his hand.
The room was alive with laughter, banter, and the occasional clink of glasses, but his patience was thinning.
He was dressed in a simple black shirt and matching black pants, but nothing about him was truly simple.
The fabric of his shirt clung to him in all the right places, stretched across broad shoulders and a sculpted chest, the sleeves hugging the defined muscles of his arms.
The first two buttons were undone, exposing a hint of his collarbones and the sharp lines of his throat.
The way he carried himself, all precision and control, made even casual wear look imposing, almost lethal.
Dressed like this—he looked like the type of man you'd either beg to touch or run from entirely.
And Ace knew it.
He always knew.
The low hum of conversation around him was nothing more than white noise, grating on his nerves.
"Don't you all have houses? It's been a week, and you're all still here," he muttered, irritation lacing every word.
A wave of nonchalant hums greeted him.
No one even looked up.
His scowl deepened.
Ace exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself up.
He took long, unhurried strides toward the bar, grabbing a bottle of wine with the intention of drowning out his growing irritation.
The glass came flying before he could react.
Effortlessly, he caught it mid-air, fingers tightening around the cool crystal.
Alex gave him a mock salute, completely unbothered by Ace's piercing glare.
But before Ace could take the first sip—
"Holy shit."
Leo's voice was hushed, yet it cut through the air like a gunshot.
The chatter died instantly.
Heads turned toward the hallway.
Ace didn't need to follow their gaze—he already felt it.
A strange, almost unnerving pull.
And then—
He turned.
The air was sucked from his lungs.
Iris.
She wasn't dressed in her usual oversized sweaters, hoodies, or casual jeans. No.
She looked... different.
The brown square-neck dress was something out of a dream—or a nightmare, depending on who was looking.
It clung to her, sculpting the lines of her waist, the curve of her hips, the swell of her chest.
The pleated fabric flowed down to her thighs, a soft, feminine contrast to the way her legs stretched endlessly beneath it.
Her heels, beige and subtle, gave her just enough height to command attention without trying.
Ace's grip on his glass tightened.
Then his gaze flicked upward.
Her collarbones—elegantly carved, casting faint shadows under the warm lighting.
Her lips— a deep, sinful red, like a trickle of blood smeared against her lips.
Her eyes—unaware of the chaos she was causing, wide and bright, flickering between the faces staring at her.
Loose strands of hair fell delicately across her face, the rest of her hair styled back in a loose, rolled-updo that was both effortless and chic.
She wasn't even trying to be seductive.
And yet—
Ace felt something heavy and hot coil in his stomach.
Aiden was the first to break it, whispering to Su, as if speaking too loudly might set something off.
"I thought you were against the date."
"I hate it," Su admitted, but her gaze lingered on Iris like a painter admiring a finished masterpiece.
"But I'm not going to put my hatred on makeup. I love makeup. And also, I forced her to wear this."
"Ace," Alex called, voice laced with concern.
No response.
Not even a flicker of recognition.
He was gone—lost, submerged, drowning—and the cause of his descent stood before him, blinking up with wide, unsuspecting eyes.
Indeed, she looked like his Mini bear.
She looked like something he should have never been allowed to see.
Like something made to be ruined.
"Um... so, do I look like mud?" Iris' voice cut through the silence, small and nervous.
"Trust me, someone definitely got a boner here because of you," Ivan laughed, shattering the suffocating tension in the room.
Iris, shy as ever, looked down at the ground, her cheeks flushing.
"What... what is a boner?"
The room erupted into a chorus of laughter, Ivan's especially loud, filled with smug amusement.
"Never mind," he said, shaking his head.
Ace didn't hear him.
Ace didn't hear anything anymore.
He was inside his own mind now, drowning in something toxic, something thick and suffocating, something entirely hers.
A thought slithered in—sick, unwanted, too pleasurable to push away.
"She doesn't know."
"She still doesn't know."
How soft she looked.
How helpless she was, standing there, asking the wrong questions to the wrong men.
She was wearing red lipstick.
Red—a color that belonged in his world, not hers.
She shouldn't be wearing red.
"Ace!"
The shout snapped him back.
Alex.
His gaze sharpened, ice creeping over whatever had flickered alive inside him.
"Just pass me the fucking bottle or pour the wine into a glass," Alex snapped.
Ace exhaled slowly.
Control.
It was all about control.
He handed Alex his empty glass.
Silence.
A loud, obnoxious throat-clearing.
Ace blinked once, then twice, before realizing what he had done.
Alex stared at him like he had grown a second head.
Then, a smirk curled his lips.
"Ahem... yeah," Ace muttered, a rare flicker of embarrassment passed through him, sharp and unfamiliar.
His fingers twitched.
Annoyed.
He grabbed the bottle, tossing it toward Alex with a little too much force, before turning back to the only thing that mattered.
She stood there, small and delicate, even in her heels—a fragile thing in a world not built for fragility.
Even at her full height, she only reached his chin.
Ace's smile was slow, calculated, but beneath it, something primal stirred.
She was irritated.
He could see it in the way her fingers impatiently tucked back the loose hair strands that dared to touch her face.
The slight purse of her lips, the flicker of frustration in her brown-and-gold-flecked eyes.
She hated loose strands of hair.
She had told him once—working in cafes made her despise them, especially the little ones that fell beside her forehead.
It was a habit, something unconscious, small, insignificant to anyone else.
He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against her cheek, catching a loose strand and tucking it behind her ear.
His touch lingered, longer than necessary, longer than appropriate.
Not because he had to.
But because he wanted to.
Because he wanted to see her shiver, to see if she'd shrink away or stay perfectly still.
She froze.
Perfect.
His voice was low, deep, warm—a cruel contradiction to the thoughts in his head.
"You look beautiful, Mini bear."
There.
A ripple of heat rushed up her neck, pooling in her cheeks in that telltale pink hue.
"T-T-Thank you," she stammered, her voice trembling as she forced herself to look up at him.
Weak.
Small.
Breakable.
He loved it.
She was fighting to hold his gaze, fighting to act like this wasn't pulling her apart thread by thread.
Her next words only made it worse.
"Y-You look handsome t-too."
Soft.
Breathless.
Ace's wicked grin was slow, deliberate, curling with something she wouldn't understand.
She had no idea.
No idea what she had just handed him with that one small, innocent compliment.
No idea how she had unknowingly offered herself up on a silver platter, wrapped in pretty words, waiting to be devoured.
He could take her hand.
He could press his lips against the delicate skin of her wrist, let his teeth drag across her pulse just to feel it quicken.
But not yet.
For now, he'd let her breathe.
For now, he'd let her think she was safe.
"Let's start our date, Mini."
And with that, he sealed it.
This wasn't just a date.
Ace POV:
Mesmerizing.
That was the only word that fit as I watched her.
There was something dangerous in the way she existed, something that made my pulse quicken despite my efforts to remain indifferent.
I handed her the flowers—jasmine, of course.
The scent of them curled into the air between us, soft and subtle, lacing itself around her as she took them.
Her eyes widened slightly, lashes fluttering as she brought the delicate white petals to her nose, inhaling deeply.
A smile flickered over her lips—small, polite.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice a soft, soothing melody.
"My pleasure, sweet Mini," I replied, the words slipping effortlessly as I reached out to open the car door for her.
She deserved courtesy.
She slid inside, her movements graceful, yet something in her posture remained rigid, wary.
I followed, settling into my seat, the smooth purr of the engine filling the silence between us.
The air inside the car was thick with the scent of jasmine, with her.
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye—watching as she toyed with the flowers, running her fingers over the delicate petals.
Her face remained impassive, cold.
I frowned.
Does she not like flowers?
"Mini," I said, reaching out, my hand pressing against her thigh.
The fabric of her dress was thin—not nearly enough to shield her from the warmth of my touch.
I felt the way she tensed, the subtle tremor that ran through her muscles.
A slow inhale left her lips, controlled, measured.
"...Yes?"
Her gaze flickered downward—to my hand.
She was aware of me.
But it wasn't just awareness—it was something else tonight.
Something deeper.
Her eyes looked nostalgic. Too nostalgic.
A strange sensation twisted in my gut. I shook my head slightly, focusing on the road.
Focus. Not her.
But how could I, when every moment in her presence felt like an eternity stretched thin?
Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the restaurant—a place I believed Hudson owned.
It was upscale, classic, elegant. Tedious.
I parked the car and stepped out, rounding to her side.
When I opened the door, she remained seated, staring at me with something akin to anxiety.
"Come out. No one will eat you," I murmured, extending my hand.
Hesitantly, she took it.
The moment our skin met, a tremor ran through her grip.
Electric.
I led her towards the entrance, my hand firm but not forceful.
She looked around as we stepped inside, her eyes wide with wonder.
Does she really find this place beautiful?
"Are you okay, Bambi?" I asked, suspicion lacing my tone as I swept my gaze across the dimly lit surroundings.
The soft murmur of conversations, the golden glow of chandeliers— how boring.
She looked around, her eyes taking in every detail with a sense of wonder.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, her voice laced with genuine appreciation.
"Yes," I responded flatly.
Beautiful? Maybe.
But impressive? No.
To me, the idea of going on dates often felt useless.
To me, dates had always been a rich way to have sex with a woman.
But this wasn't leading there, so— what was the point?
"Maybe you want to tell Felix and Brent that she is yours," my subconscious sneered.
I rolled my eyes at my own thoughts. Ridiculous.
Iris smiled at the young boy who held the door open for us.
He bowed politely, his practiced hospitality on full display.
"Thank you," she said, her voice melodic. Soft.
Something tightened in my chest.
We took our seats, the candlelight casting a golden hue over her features.
She looked almost ethereal.
A waitress approached, setting down wine and a glass of water.
Iris thanked her.
I frowned.
Why?
"That's their job. You don't have to thank everyone," I said, settling into my chair.
Her eyes met mine, warm yet firm. Unyielding.
"They work all day for their families or themselves," she murmured. "We need to appreciate that. Not everyone gets appreciated for what they do."
She smiled softly.
Softness. Gentleness. Words I had no use for.
Appreciation.
Tch.
Not everyone deserves it.
I hummed, bored, and took a sip of my wine.
"You know what people do on dates?" Iris asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the low hum of the restaurant. "I mean, you must have been on a lot of dates."
I hummed, tapping my fingers against the stem of my wine glass.
Dates.
The word itself felt tedious, exhausting.
A collection of scripted interactions, meaningless flirtation, and fake laughter.
"No, I don't know what they do," I admitted, honestly indifferent.
She tilted her head slightly, studying me with something between amusement and curiosity.
"Black suits you," she said out of nowhere, a playful glint in her eyes.
The words were simple. Harmless.
But something about the way she said them made me pause.
I raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at my lips.
"You're a mafia leader. Won't people recognize you?" she continued, her smile fading into a slight frown.
I chuckled darkly, setting my wine glass down with deliberate ease. The soft clink against the table felt louder than it should have.
"No, Mini. I'm an underground mafia. What happens underground stays underground."
I leaned back, watching as she nodded, her expression thoughtful.
Still naive. Still unaware of what it truly meant.
She picked up the menu, her eyes scanning the options.
I could see every flicker of emotion on her face—the small, involuntary widening of her eyes, the barely audible gasp when she saw the prices, the quick dart of her gaze to me, as if checking for permission.
And then, as if resigning herself, she snapped the menu shut with a soft but firm sound.
"I want only water," she muttered, folding her hands over the table.
I bit back a smile.
A moment later, the waitress arrived.
"Good evening, are you ready to order?"
I didn't hesitate. I already knew.
"Shrimp scampi for me. Mac and cheese for the lady," I said, handing over the menu without so much as a glance at Iris.
The waitress scribbled the order down and walked away.
Silence.
I felt her eyes burning into me.
"Hrmm...I only wanted water," she mumbled, her cheeks flushing with something close to anger.
She loved mac and cheese. I knew that.
"Since I took you here, I should fill up your stomach," I murmured, swirling my wine lazily.
Something about my words made her stiffen. Her muscles loosened, her expression morphing into one of quiet disbelief.
"Oh." Her voice was small.
She lowered her gaze, lost in thought.
She does this often. Retreats.
I let the silence stretch.
And then—I cut through it.
"After the deal was done, did you meet Noah again?" I asked suddenly.
A sharp breath.
She blinked. Unprepared.
"Ye—No..I mean, I met his father, and he gave me some money as an apology," she murmured.
Lies?
No, hesitation.
"Where did you use the money?"
Suspicion laced my tone.
She fidgeted.
"I bought some...girls' innerwear and...hygiene things," she said, almost embarrassed.
I exhaled slowly, relieved.
Good girl.
The silence between us wasn't peaceful. It was thick, heavy.
From what I had gathered, Iris didn't like talking about herself. Not even a little.
It wasn't just shyness—it was something deeper. A defense mechanism.
A deliberate attempt to keep me at arm's length.
I could tell.
She had too many secrets. Too much pain.
"So, do you have any brothers and sisters?" she asked suddenly, her voice light, almost casual.
I didn't even blink.
"They're dead," I replied, bored, twirling the stem of my wine glass between my fingers.
The tension that followed was predictable.
"Oh...um...," she murmured, her fingers twitching as she fiddled with her napkin, clearly struggling with how to respond.
Good.
I took a slow sip of my wine, my eyes never leaving hers.
"What about your brother?" I asked, shifting the focus back onto her.
She froze.
Not a flinch. Not a nervous tick. A full-body freeze. Like prey.
Interesting.
"He's... I don't know. I'm still waiting for him to come back," she admitted, her voice soft.
Too soft.
Too fragile.
The sadness in her eyes was palpable, thick, suffocating.
"If your brother comes back, will you live with him?" I asked, my tone smooth, measured.
But my fingers had tightened ever so slightly around my glass.
She hesitated.
"Yeah... but I don't think he will come back now," she whispered.
That resignation. That buried hope.
I hated it.
I hated the fact that someone else had the power to anchor her.
To be a piece of her world that wasn't mine.
Looks like I have to kill her brother.
She has to be with me all the time.
I don't give a shit about her brother.
"How did your parents die?" I asked, watching her closely.
The moment the words left my mouth, I saw it—
The slight widening of her pupils.
The tiny intake of breath.
The way her entire body stiffened.
Like I had just dug a knife into an open wound.
She hesitated. For a long time.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "...Car accident."
That was it.
Two words, but they felt ripped from her throat.
Her head dipped low, her shoulders curling inward. Defensive. Vulnerable.
I watched, drinking in every tiny, shattered reaction.
She looked breakable.
Would she shatter if I pushed harder?
Would she cry if I dug my fingers into that wound and twisted?
No. Don't.
The waiter arrived, breaking the moment with the clatter of plates.
Irritation flickered through me. Ruined.
The scent of fresh food filled the air, but the tension between us remained—a silent storm lingering, refusing to clear.
We ate in silence.
Each bite felt mechanical, empty, rehearsed.
When the time came for dessert, I leaned back and offered, testing her.
She declined.
A polite shake of her head.
No.
I stilled, my fingers tightening subtly around my glass.
She was obsessed with ice cream. Always.
But now? Now she didn't want it?
The refusal caught me off guard.
Something was shifting.
Something was slipping through my fingers.
But I let it go. For now.
As the evening drew to a close, a strange thought settled in my mind—
Weirdly, it hadn't been as irritating as I expected.
The night pressed in around us—silent, watchful.
The wind, sharp and biting, whispered through the skeletal branches, carrying the scent of damp asphalt and something faintly metallic.
The parking lot was empty, a barren stretch of pavement and flickering streetlights that cast long, distorted shadows across the cars.
I could hear the distant hum of traffic, but it was a muffled, faraway thing.
Right now, it was just us.
"Mini," I called, my voice a low vibration in the stillness.
She turned, those brown-gold eyes catching the dim glow of the streetlights.
I stepped closer—too close.
Her back met the car door with a soft thud.
Her body tensed.
Her hands, small and hesitant, pressed against the cold metal behind her.
She was trapped.
But she didn't run.
"Someone will see us," she whispered, barely moving her lips.
I let my gaze flick lazily across the lot. The dim glow of the restaurant sign buzzed in the distance.
The cars, dark and lifeless, sat empty. Uninterested.
"There are only a couple of cars, and they're empty," I murmured.
She exhaled through her nose, her breath feathering against my throat.
Still, her gaze flickered—uneasy, hesitant.
She was holding something back.
"Are you sad?" My voice came out rough, the words edged with irritation.
A flicker of something—guilt? Pain?—crossed her face before she could mask it.
"No," she murmured, too soft, too fragile.
Liar.
I tilted my head, studying her. Reading her.
She wouldn't tell me.
She never did.
I reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
My knuckles brushed against her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin.
"Sweetheart."
I hummed, dragging my fingers down, tracing the delicate line of her jaw before retreating.
She wouldn't talk, but she would break eventually.
I always made sure of it.
And then—the words.
"Will you leave me... because I am... o-o-orphan? I mean my status, background and everything."
Her voice cracked, splintering like fragile glass.
She dropped her gaze to my chest, avoiding my eyes.
I stared at her—hard.
The air between us grew heavier, pressing against my ribs.
A slow chuckle rumbled in my throat, surprising even me.
Her head snapped up, confusion flickering across her face.
I smirked.
"My little Mini, do you think I'm some cheap bitch?"
Her nose scrunched up, as she shook her head.
An almost irritated, adorable reaction.
Her lips parted, a small, uncertain smile forming.
And then—before I could react—
She moved.
Arms wrapped around me, fast, desperate.
Her small body pressed against mine, clinging.
The world around us dimmed.
It was just her. Her warmth. Her scent.
The way she fit against me, soft and breakable, yet gripping me like she was terrified I'd slip through her fingers.
"I don't want any more people to give me hope and then leave me again." Her whisper bled into my chest.
My fingers twitched.
A slow, deep breath left me.
I let my arms curl around her, my grip firm, possessive. Claiming.
She would not lose me.
She would not be allowed to.
"I will never leave you, Mini." My voice was low, steady, absolute.
A pause.
Then, a slow smirk tugged at my lips.
"If I did, you can kill me."
A ridiculous promise.
But she leaned back, just slightly, her chin resting against my chest.
And she smiled.
Small, hesitant. Hopeful.
I arched an eyebrow.
"Thank you for the date." Her voice was soft, genuine, tinged with an innocence that had no place in my world.
I should have dismissed it. Laughed at her naivety.
But instead, I watched her closely, the way her fingers reached into the fabric of her dress—just above her heart.
She pulled out money.
I stared.
How many times has she done this?
The movement was practiced, effortless. Wooww.
"It's not much, but I will give you more later when I have enough money," she said, nervous. Embarrassed.
She didn't owe me anything.
She would never owe me anything.
I reached out and cupped her face, tilting it up so she had no choice but to look at me.
My thumb brushed over the softness of her skin, slow, deliberate.
"Pay me back by staying with me. Every day. I don't want your money."
The words left me before I even thought about them. Honest. Dangerous.
A mistake.
But her smile—that warm, teasing curl of her lips— made me rethink.
"How sweet," she murmured.
I stroked her cheek, and her smile slowly faded.
Her expression shifted, eyes darkening, lips parting slightly.
Like she was realizing something. Like she was starting to see me.
I leaned in, brushing my nose against hers.
She stiffened, her breath catching, her eyes squeezing shut like she was bracing herself.
I smirked, dragging my tongue over my sharp canine.
"Do you like me?" I whispered.
Her eyes snapped open. Stunned. Conflicted.
Her gaze flicked to my cheek as she thought, like the answer was too heavy to say aloud.
"Urmm... I don't know. But I like your hair."
A chuckle rumbled in my chest.
Of course. She wouldn't give me an exact answer. She never did.
I let the amusement fade, my voice dipping lower.
"I like you. Too much that it's making me bend my morals."
I watched the way her throat bobbed when she swallowed, the way her body tensed like prey sensing a predator.
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