"I know it's been a long time, I am sorry, kiddo," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath, trembling with the weight of my grief.
The gravestone before me stood as an unyielding testament to the past, its surface worn smooth by time, yet the name carved into it remained sharp—Laurie Hernandez Royal.
My brother. My blood.
The only person who had ever truly loved me.
And now, he was nothing but a memory, buried beneath the earth, while the bastard who put him there still walked free.
I swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as my vision blurred.
The sharp scent of damp soil mixed with the faintest trace of flowers.
My fingers tightened around the bouquet I held, the petals crumpling slightly under my grip before I forced myself to release them.
I placed them gently against the grave, my touch lingering, as if I could will him back to life through sheer desperation.
"Just a little more, Laurie. I’ve gathered almost everything that can ruin his life just like he ruined ours," I murmured, my voice raw with a pain I no longer had the luxury of expressing.
It had taken years.
Years of pretending, of smiling through gritted teeth, of playing the loyal, unassuming man in the shadows.
Years of watching, waiting, gathering every sliver of evidence, every whispered betrayal, every hidden atrocity that Ace had buried beneath his empire of blood and deception.
He thought he was untouchable. He thought he was a god.
But even gods can fall.
I straightened, rolling my shoulders back as I forced the grief down, letting it harden into something colder, something sharper.
The flowers I had placed—so vibrant, so full of life—felt like an insult against the backdrop of death.
But they weren’t just a tribute.
They were a promise.
A vow written in silence.
"I will destroy him."
Laurie was the only one who had ever seen me—truly seen me.
Not as Michael Hernandez Royal’s second son.
Not as a shadow lurking behind his brother’s golden image.
But as Ivan.
As someone worthy of love.
And Ace had ripped that away from me.
He had shattered my world.
I closed my eyes for a moment, exhaling through my nose, steadying the storm inside me.
The memory of that night—Laurie’s last night—flashed behind my eyelids in fragmented pieces.
The gunshot. The bloods. The silence that followed, deeper than any abyss.
Ace had taken him away, and the world had kept spinning.
No justice. No retribution. No reckoning.
"His friends will leave him when they learn how Ace betrayed them. Then he’ll be all alone."
I let the words slip from my lips like a venomous prayer, my chest rising and falling with a measured calm that barely concealed the storm inside me.
A dark chuckle escaped before I could stop it, the image of Ace’s lifeless body sprawled across a deserted street forming in my mind.
Blood pooling around him. Eyes vacant. Forgotten.
He wouldn’t just die.
No, that would be too easy.
I wanted him ruined.
I wanted to strip away everything— his power, his name, his very existence— until there was nothing left but a hollow shell of the man he used to be.
I wanted him to know what it was like to stand at the edge of a grave, staring at a name that had once been his whole world.
I wanted him to feel that loss, that emptiness, that despair.
Because only then—only then—would death be a mercy.
"Sir."
A voice shattered the silence, dragging me back to the present.
The guard stood a few steps away, his face impassive, but I could see it—the slight unease in his stance, the way he hesitated before speaking.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my muscles to loosen, my expression to smooth into something unreadable.
Then, with one last glance at the grave, I turned away.
The walk back to the car was slow, deliberate.
Every step carried the weight of my grief, my fury, my vengeance.
The wind howled through the cemetery, whispering through the trees like an omen.
As I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, my mind was already turning, calculating, planning.
Ace had no idea what was coming.
And when the moment arrived, when he finally realized the extent of his downfall, I wanted to be there.
I wanted to see the exact moment his world shattered, the way mine once had.
I am Ivan Hernandez Royal.
The son of a king who kept me in the shadows.
The brother of a man whose light was stolen too soon.
And I am done waiting.
My father had always kept me at a distance from his world, making the public believe that Laurie was his only child.
It never bothered me then.
I wasn’t particularly interested in his underground business, nor did I crave the power that Laurie seemed destined to inherit.
I was content in the shadows, away from the weight of the empire my father had built.
But everything changed the day I received the news of my father and brother’s deaths.
That day, Laurie had promised to visit me.
I had stayed up all night waiting, glancing at the clock every few minutes, anticipating the knock on my door, the sound of his familiar voice calling my name. Kiddo, I’m here.
But the promise remained unfulfilled, swallowed by the suffocating silence that followed the devastating news.
He wasn’t coming. Not ever.
Laurie was dead.
The words had torn through me, leaving my body numb and my mind blank.
My brother—the only person who had ever loved me without condition—was gone.
The grief came in waves, violent and unrelenting, but beneath it, something else stirred.
Something darker.
That night, amidst the wreckage of my loss, I made a vow.
I would kill Ace.
No matter what it took.
Even if it meant my own death.
But in the midst of all this darkness, there was one small light—one sliver of solace that I hadn’t expected. Iris.
It was strange, I suppose.
To find comfort in a girl when I was standing in the very house of the man I had sworn to destroy.
To feel something other than hatred when my heart should have been consumed by nothing else.
I had never met her before she arrived at the mansion, but I had seen her.
Years ago, at Isaac’s house, when I stumbled upon a photograph tucked away in a forgotten drawer.
Isaac—the underboss of the Royal family—had never been fond of his sister.
He spoke of her with nothing but disdain, calling her foolish, incompetent, a burden to the family name.
His words had been dismissive, laced with contempt, but I had barely listened.
Because in that old photograph, Iris had captivated me.
She was wearing a white frock, her wide smile showcasing her teeth, eyes alight with a joy so pure it almost felt out of place in a world like mine.
She looked like an angel—untouched by the filth and rot of the underground.
And for reasons I couldn’t explain, I had felt something stir within me, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
An ache. A longing.
I had the means to find her back then.
A name, a face, a connection.
I could have sought her out, could have known her, but I chose not to.
Because the moment I did, I knew I would drag her into the mess of my vendetta against Ace.
And I had already lost too much.
But fate was cruel, and now, she was here.
A part of my world.
A constant, bittersweet reminder of the normalcy and joy I had lost.
I had been furious when Ace brought her into the mansion.
At first, I thought she would be a complication, an obstacle that might interfere with my plans.
But it didn’t take long for me to realize that she was something much worse—an infuriating, unbearable reminder of my own helplessness.
Because every time I saw them together, every time I witnessed the intimacy between them, it became a knife twisting in my gut.
The way he touched her. The way she looked at him.
Their public displays of affection—kissing, hugging—were a constant irritation, a sickening testament to everything I wanted to destroy.
Ace didn’t deserve her.
He didn’t deserve her laughter, her softness, the way she blindly trusted him despite the monster he was.
He didn’t deserve the warmth of her affection, the hesitant way she leaned into him as if he were something safe.
I had to endure it all with a façade of indifference, swallowing my seething rage and masking it behind casual disregard.
But every touch, every whispered word between them, made my blood boil.
I despised the way he looked at her.
The way his fingers traced absentminded patterns on her skin.
The way he held her like she belonged to him.
Ace treated her carelessly, yet with an underlying tenderness that made my stomach twist.
And that—more than anything else—infuriated me.
I wanted to cut out his tongue, to sever the hands that touched her.
I wanted to watch him suffer.
And now, to my own dismay, I found myself inexplicably drawn to Iris.
It was a weakness I couldn’t afford.
A temptation that had no place in my carefully crafted plans.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t ignore it.
She had unknowingly become the only thing in this house that wasn’t tainted by my hatred.
But there was something about her—something I couldn’t quite place, something that unsettled me.
Her purity. Her selflessness. Her enigmatic loyalty.
Women like her didn’t exist in my world.
They were an anomaly, a contradiction to the corruption that defined the men around me.
She should have been a victim of this place, hollowed out and broken like so many before her.
Yet, she remained whole. Intact.
As if untouched by the rot that surrounded her.
I could not understand why she stayed with Ace.
If it was for wealth, for status, for the luxuries he could provide—she had all of that already.
She had enough opportunity to indulge herself, to use his power for her benefit, to become a cold-hearted queen in this ruthless kingdom.
Yet, she chose to not.
Why?
She endured his frequent cruelty, his temper, his control.
She weathered every storm without retreating.
It was unnatural. Irrational.
There was a mystery there that both intrigued me and infuriated me.
What was she hiding?
What force kept her bound to him, despite the way he treated her?
I wanted to pry into her mind, to peel back the layers of her devotion and expose whatever secret lay at the core.
Was it fear?
Was it love? Yuck.
Or was it something else—something even darker?
The thought disturbed me more than I cared to admit.
I forced my focus back to the present as I parked my car behind the mansion.
The sleek black vehicle contrasted sharply with the grim surroundings of the security branch, a building designed not for comfort, but for efficiency.
Utilitarian. Cold.
Just like the people who worked inside it.
I stepped out of the car, my boots crunching against the gravel as I walked towards the entrance.
The weight of my unresolved plans pressed down on me, the frustration mounting with every second wasted.
I needed answers. I needed progress.
Pushing open the heavy door, I stepped into the sterile environment of the security branch.
The air smelled of disinfectant, the hum of machinery filling the silence.
The guards inside looked up as I entered, their expressions flickering between relief and apprehension.
“What happened?” My voice cut through the air, cold and sharp.
A guard stepped forward, his posture stiff.
“Sir, it seems we have a security breach. Someone attempted to hack into our system. Several files have gone missing, and our shipments were attacked this morning.”
My jaw clenched. Fucking punks.
The guard continued, unaware of the slow-burning rage building inside me. “Fortunately, our men were able to fend off the attackers. Everything is secure now.”
Useless shits.
They couldn't even manage to destroy a simple shipment properly, and yet they dared to try?
Amateurs. Pathetic.
If it were me, I’d have burned the entire operation to the ground in a matter of minutes.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, forcing my temper under control.
“Good work, guys,” I said through gritted teeth, a forced smile stretching across my face.
The words were hollow, a thinly veiled mask over my barely-contained fury.
My patience was wearing thin, and the constant barrage of setbacks was pushing me dangerously close to the edge.
Without another word, I turned on my heel and strode outside.
The evening air was cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat of my anger.
The sky had darkened, deep shades of indigo swallowing the last remnants of daylight.
I pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced motion.
The first drag sent a rush of nicotine through my system, dulling the raw edge of my frustration—if only for a moment.
The smoke curled around me, ghostly tendrils dissipating into the night.
I took another long drag, savoring the burn in my lungs before pulling out my phone.
I glanced around, ensuring no one was watching, and dialed Isaac’s number.
The phone rang. Once. Twice.
Then, his voice. Weary.
"Hello."
"You fucking piece of shit!" I erupted, my voice laced with barely contained fury.
"How could you plan such a pathetic attack? You’re supposed to be executing something significant, not targeting a useless shipment!"
There was a pause before Isaac sighed. "I know, master. It was a stupid plan."
I wanted to slam my fist through the nearest wall.
“You better come up with something better next time,” I growled, my tone low and dangerous. “If not, I’ll come there myself and make sure you suffer the consequences.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I hung up, my fingers curling around the phone with enough force to crack the casing.
I crushed the cigarette under my shoe, the ember extinguishing with a finality that mirrored my exasperation.
Eighty percent of my work still remained unfinished.
And I would not rest until every piece fell into place.
"Ah!"
The sudden shout cut through the air, jarring and grating against my already frayed nerves.
God! What the fuck is it this time?
I stalked toward the source of the commotion, my patience hanging by a thread.
And then— I stopped.
What the actual fuck?
Iris. Legs wrapped around Aiden’s waist. Arms clinging to his neck.
And that dumbass was—what? Trying to climb a fucking tree?
A sharp spike of irritation stabbed through my temples.
It was an absurd sight, almost comical if I weren’t so goddamn annoyed.
This wasn’t a playground, and she wasn’t some reckless child.
What the hell was she thinking?
"What the fuck are you two up to this time?" My voice was cold, sharp, demanding.
I locked eyes with Aiden, who was still awkwardly grappling with the tree like some kind of idiotic monkey.
He grinned, shameless as always.
“Well, I was proving to Iris that I am a strong man,” he said, his tone nonchalant, as if he wasn’t seconds away from dropping her.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
My patience snapped.
I stepped forward and grabbed Aiden’s arms, yanking him back with more force than necessary.
The impact sent a jolt through him, making him stumble, but I didn’t give a shit.
"Tsk. Such an old man you are," Aiden muttered under his breath, rolling his shoulders with an exaggerated sigh. "Don’t let anyone have fun."
I barely heard him. My attention was locked onto Iris.
She looked—terrified.
Her hands clung to Aiden like a lifeline, her body tense, her breath uneven.
Wide eyes, panicked, uncertain.
Something twisted in my chest at the sight. Something ugly.
"Put her down and get the fuck out of here." My voice was low, the words a command wrapped in barely restrained fury.
Aiden sighed, clearly irritated, but he obeyed.
He set her down gently, muttering curses under his breath as he turned and walked away.
I didn’t bother watching him go.
Iris.
She was still standing there, looking small, guilty, unsure.
Turning to Iris, I took a deep breath to steady my voice.
“What are you, five years old? He’s a man. If he gets injured, he can afford to deal with it. But you’re a girl. If you get hurt, it’s not just about you getting married or not. It’s about your well-being.”
She flinched slightly, shoulders slumping, guilt flickering in her gaze.
"I am sorry," she whispered, voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.
I sighed. I shouldn’t have snapped, but damn it, she needed to be more careful.
"Go."
She hesitated for only a second before nodding and hurrying inside, her footsteps light, anxious.
I stood there for a long moment, watching her disappear into the mansion.
Author POV:
Ace’s office was a cold, sterile environment, its stark decor mirroring the frost in his mood.
The walls, bare and impersonal, seemed to close in, amplifying the lingering echoes of his outburst.
The tension in the air was suffocating, heavy with the weight of his fury.
The air reeked of betrayal.
Someone had leaked the tender details.
And that someone was going to pay.
“Okay, you can leave now.”
Ace’s voice was clipped, devoid of warmth, as he dismissed his secretary.
The man nodded quickly, sensing the storm beneath his calm exterior, and hurried out of the room.
The door clicked shut.
Silence.
An oppressive, suffocating silence.
Then—
“How can this happen, Alex?”
Ace’s voice was smooth, but there was an edge—a sharpness that cut through the air like a blade.
Alex stood across from him, shoulders squared but unease flickering in his usually composed features.
“I don’t know.” His answer was measured, careful, but there was an undeniable tension in the way he said it.
Ace’s eyes narrowed.
Alex was a lot of things. A liar wasn’t one of them.
But incompetence?
That was just as unacceptable.
“YOU FUCKING DON’T KNOW?”
The words roared out of him like a violent storm, his voice booming through the room.
The force of his anger was almost tangible, making the air feel thick and suffocating.
Ace pushed himself up from his chair abruptly, sending it skidding back against the floor.
“The tender details got fucking leaked,” he hissed, each syllable dripping venom.
His dark hazel eyes burned with fury as they locked onto Alex, his gaze pinning the man in place.
“No one in this world had those details except you and fucking I.”
Alex inhaled sharply, absorbing the accusation.
Ace could see it—the way the words landed like a blow, the way Alex’s fingers twitched at his sides, his own frustration simmering beneath the surface.
“You can get another tender easily,” Alex said, his voice controlled but tinged with exasperation. “Why are you so angry?”
Ace’s expression turned deadly.
A sharp snicker left his lips—bitter, cutting.
“You think I don’t know that?”
He leaned forward, placing both palms flat on the desk.
His voice dipped into something lower, something dangerous.
“It’s not about the tender.”
His fingers curled into fists.
“It’s about my reputation.”
A crack split the air as his fist slammed against the desk.
The sound was violent, echoing through the space like a gunshot.
“My fucking image.”
Alex flinched, but only slightly. He had been with Ace long enough to recognize the depth of this anger.
Ace didn’t care about money—not really.
Power, control, respect. Those were the things that mattered.
And someone had dared to threaten them.
He straightened to his full height, towering over Alex like a shadow of impending wrath.
“Find out how this happened,” he said, his voice eerily quiet.
Then—
“Before I fucking kill you, Alex.”
There was no exaggeration in his tone.
Just a promise.
Alex swallowed, nodded once, and turned on his heel, leaving without another word.
The moment the door shut behind him, the room felt even colder.
But Ace’s blood boiled.
With a sharp growl, he tore off his coat, throwing it onto the couch with reckless force.
His hands went to his tie, yanking it loose in a single, agitated motion. The silk slid from his collar, falling unceremoniously to the floor.
His breathing was shallow, his mind racing.
This wasn’t just a setback.
This was an attack.
Ace had spent years—decades—building his image, cementing his influence, ensuring that no one could question his authority.
Reputation was everything.
And in this world?
A single crack in that reputation was enough to bring everything crashing down.
Ace sank back into his chair, his head tilted back, eyes sliding shut, as if seeking refuge in the darkness behind his lids.
But there was no peace to be found there.
The coldness of the room seemed to seep into his very bones, wrapping around him like chains.
The walls—lifeless, indifferent—stared back, offering no solace, no comfort.
His– reputation, his image— all of it was on the line, and the burden of maintaining it was crushing.
He exhaled sharply, trying to push past the suffocating pressure.
But then—
A creeping numbness spread through his chest.
And the memories came.
"Give it to her, Ace."
Mila’s voice was gentle, but carried a soft authority that made the young boy nod in determination.
Ace, only six years old, sat on a worn wooden bench, his small hands gripping a wrapped meal.
He eyed it, then the frail woman sitting on the ground before him.
His lips pressed together.
"Is it necessary?" he asked, voice tinged with the boredom only a child could muster when something didn’t seem to fit into their tiny, self-contained world.
Mila knelt beside him, her hands resting on his shoulders.
"Ace, we talked about this, didn’t we?" she said softly, her patience unwavering.
Ace stared at the woman before him—the way her hands trembled as she reached for warmth, the way her eyes, dull with exhaustion, still held gratitude.
It made something twist in his chest.
"For you, Mom. Just for you," he finally said, his small voice laced with reluctant acceptance.
He extended the food forward.
A simple act.
And yet, it carried the weight of a lesson he didn’t yet understand.
Mila’s heart ached. A bittersweet mixture of pride and sorrow.
She knew these moments— these lessons in kindness, in empathy— would shape her son in ways she could only hope for.
Yet, she also carried the unbearable weight of a reality she couldn’t shield him from.
She tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, her fingers lingering against his cheek.
"When I’m gone," she murmured, voice trembling slightly, "you have to do this for me every week. When you grow up, you’ll be busy, and you won’t be able to come here every day."
Ace’s small brows furrowed.
"Where will you go?"
The question was innocent. Naïve.
Mila smiled—a smile that was both tender and unbearably sad.
She shook her head, her hand cupping his tiny face.
"Just remember, Ace," she whispered, her voice barely above the wind, "even when I’m not here, this kindness will always matter."
She gave him one last lingering look before standing, turning back to the golden prison his father called a luxury villa.
"ACE!"
"ACE!"
The name snapped through the silence like a gunshot.
Ace’s eyes snapped open.
The sterile fluorescent lights of his office burned into his retinas, starkly contrasting the warmth of his flashback.
His chest rose and fell in a deep breath, as if forcing himself back into the present.
Alex stood before him, brows furrowed, concern evident in his dark eyes.
"You okay?"
Ace didn’t answer immediately.
His hands curled into tight fists against the armrests of his chair, grounding himself in cold reality.
He had buried that part of himself.
Or at least, he thought he had.
"You need rest, Ace," Alex murmured, still watching him.
Ace simply nodded, though his mind remained tangled in the memory’s grasp.
Rest?
There was no rest for a man like him.
Without another word, he rose from his chair, the tension in his body making every movement feel heavy.
He strode toward the door, his steps echoing down the hallway.
The mansion was quiet, save for the soft hum of the night.
Dim lighting cast long shadows across the polished floors, stretching over elegant furniture like silent spectators to the chaos unraveling within him.
Ace’s arrival was marked by the faint echo of his footsteps, uneven from the beers he had downed earlier.
He wasn’t drunk—not fully—but the alcohol buzzed in his bloodstream, loosening the edges of his normally controlled demeanor.
A stumble.
His fingers brushed against the cool wood of the staircase railing, gripping it briefly before continuing forward.
His head spun, not just from the alcohol, but from the day’s frustrations, failures, and ghosts that refused to stay buried.
His footsteps remained purposeful, though the weight of his responsibilities felt heavier than usual.
Memories bled together in his mind—some recent, some from long ago.
Then, a name slipped past his lips.
"Mini, my little bear."
The words were soft, nearly swallowed by the mansion’s vast emptiness.
Still, no answer.
His chest tightened.
Ascending the stairs, he pushed forward, the silence of the house wrapping around him like a suffocating fog.
By the time he reached the living room, his body felt sluggish, worn from both the alcohol and the ceaseless war inside his head.
With a groan, he sank into the plush sofa, letting the cushions swallow him whole.
The room was perfect—immaculate, elegant, as it always was.
Yet tonight, it felt distant. Unwelcoming.
He ran a hand down his face.
"Mini."
This time, his voice carried a note of desperation.
His eyes swept over the room, searching.
But she wasn’t there.
Irritation prickled at his skin.
"Mini bear, where are you? I’m home."
The words were softer now, the smirk he tried to force onto his lips feeling weak, insincere.
And then—
Iris appeared at the edge of the hallway, her presence a stark contrast to the tension weighing down on him.
The sight of her—a simple shirt and leggings, hair neatly braided—was like a thread pulling him back from the abyss.
"Ace," she greeted, her voice soft, a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.
He didn't reply immediately, only let out a low hum, his gaze moving slowly over her.
"Ahem… Welcome home," she said, her voice tentative as she took a hesitant step closer, offering a gentle, almost timid smile.
Ace’s expression darkened.
"Don’t."
The word came out sharp. Blunt. Unfiltered.
Iris stilled, her confusion evident.
"Why?" she asked, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of her shirt.
"If you do, I will do something I will regret later," he admitted, the words barely above a murmur.
A rare honesty.
A warning.
"I don’t trust myself right now."
The confession hung between them, heavy and unspoken.
Iris should have left.
Her instincts screamed at her to retreat to the safety of her room, to put as much distance as possible between herself and the man who sat before her—dangerous, unpredictable, simmering at the edge of restraint.
But she didn’t.
Because she saw it.
The way his shoulders slumped, the exhaustion buried beneath layers of ironclad control.
So, she stayed.
She moved forward, closing the distance, and lowered herself onto the couch beside him.
Ace's jaw tightened at the proximity.
"Mini bear, you’re such a fool, aren’t you?" he muttered, his voice rough, carrying an edge of something softer.
Before she could respond, he reached out—his index finger tapping the tip of her nose.
Iris blinked.
A touch—fleeting, unexpected, strangely gentle.
"You’re drunk," she observed, her concern deepening as she took in the mess he was in.
His usually meticulous appearance was unraveling.
His sleeves were still half-rolled, his tie loose, his eyes dull yet piercing, hazel-dark pools that held something unreadable.
Ace frowned slightly.
"Am I?"
The question hung in the air.
As if he himself wasn’t sure.
As if he was fighting through the fog of his own mind, trying to grasp at something slipping through his fingers.
Iris studied him.
"You’re drunk, which means your day must have been awful," she murmured.
And then—with a quiet certainty—she reached out and began to roll down his sleeves.
Ace stilled.
Not out of anger.
Not out of discomfort.
But because she was taking care of him.
And he let her.
Her touch was gentle, practiced, smoothing the fabric down over his forearms.
He could have stopped her.
But he didn’t.
"What if I was happy?" Ace mused suddenly, watching her with careful, unreadable eyes.
She lifted her gaze, meeting his head-on.
"Drunk people don’t remember what happened after they sober up," she replied.
Her fingers moved next to his tie. Loosening it. Unraveling it.
"If you were happy, you’d want to remember it rather than trying to forget."
Ace exhaled sharply.
His entire body tensed as if her words had struck something deep inside him.
Because she was right.
And she knew it.
Her fingers worked at the knot with quiet persistence. It was tight, resistant, but she didn’t stop.
Didn’t rush.
Just kept unraveling it.
Then, with the same gentleness, she moved to his wrist, carefully unfastening his watch.
Ace watched her.
Watched the way she handled him like he was something fragile. Like a feather.
As Iris stood up to gather his things, Ace’s mind raced.
Not with frustration.
Not with anger.
But in admiration and bewilderment, marveling at how she could somehow read him so well.
It was both infuriating and fascinating.
Iris didn’t say anything at first as she folded his tie neatly, placed his watch on the table, and then grabbed his jacket. Methodical. Efficient.
Bossy.
Ace squinted at her.
Since when did she get to boss him around?
His mind drifted for a second, wondering if this was how it felt to be domesticated.
"Terrifying."
His thoughts were abruptly cut short when she turned back to him, her brows knitted in concern.
"Did you eat?" she asked, frowning as she took in his disheveled state.
Ace shrugged noncommittally, humming a low, off-key tune in response— something that sounded suspiciously like a poorly played violin.
Iris blinked at him. Once. Twice.
A chuckle slipped from her lips.
Suddenly she leaned closer, her hands gripping his chin and tilting his face up.
Ace blinked.
His brain lagged.
The warmth of her fingers against his cool skin made his breath hitch for half a second.
Then, he smirked. Slowly. Lazily.
"Do you wanna kiss me?" he asked, his voice lowering just enough to send a shiver down anyone's spine.
A mixture of desire and hunger burned in his gaze.
Iris did not falter.
Instead, she scrunched up her nose.
"You didn’t eat anything."
And then—she stepped back.
Ace blinked again.
His smirk faltered.
Wait.
Was that—was that a rejection?
He squinted at her.
Then squinted harder.
"Witchcraft," he muttered, staring at her like she had just defied the laws of the universe.
Iris let out a light giggle.
"Yes, yes," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "I read minds and steal souls in my free time.”
Ace exhaled sharply through his nose. That little giggle of hers.
It was infuriatingly cute.
"Go, freshen up," she said, her voice soft with concern. "You must be hungry, and drinking without eating can affect your health."
Ace stared at her for a long moment, before giving a slow, reluctant exhale.
He hated it.
Hated how she could disarm him so easily.
With that, Iris turned and left the room, her quiet departure leaving behind an irritating, lingering warmth—one that made Ace feel both puzzled and oddly comforted.
Her presence unsettled him.
Her kindness was a foreign thing in his reality.
And yet… he didn’t push it away.
What neither of them realized was that they were not alone.
Someone else had been watching.
Liam.
From the shadows, his cold gaze followed them, his expression unreadable.
By the time Ace found himself sitting in the grand dining hall, the alcohol had dulled his sharp edges but hadn't fully muted the thoughts racing in his mind.
For once, the vastness of the elegant, dimly lit room did not suffocate him.
For once, the walls were not staring at him, coldly.
He sat in quiet solitude, a feeling so rare in his world that he almost—almost—allowed himself to enjoy it.
Then, Iris arrived, a tray balanced in her hands, her presence cutting through the cold atmosphere like a flicker of warmth.
"Here is your food," she announced cheerfully, placing the dishes before him.
Ace's gaze flickered over the meal—Chicken Broth, poached eggs, a vibrant salad.
He picked up the spoon without a word and began to eat.
The silence between them was filled only by the soft clinking of utensils, the quiet shuffle of fabric, and the subtle sound of his slow chewing.
For once, it was peaceful.
Iris didn't pry.
She didn't ask unnecessary questions.
She just… sat there, letting him exist in this rare, fleeting moment of quiet.
By the time Ace finished his meal, he licked the spoon absentmindedly before setting it down.
Then, without looking up, he spoke.
"Dessert?"
Iris blinked.
Her brows furrowed slightly, her lips parting in surprise.
"Huh… I thought you didn’t eat desserts at night."
Ace shrugged, his expression unreadable, his tone nonchalant.
It was true. He didn’t.
But right now, he was indulging a strange whim—and he had no explanation for it.
Iris hesitated for a moment, her fingers tapping against the table.
Then, suddenly—her face lit up.
A grin spread across her lips, wide and mischievous, her eyes glimmering with excitement.
"Let’s go out and eat ice cream. I have money."
Ace stilled.
His brow lifted slightly, amusement flickering in his gaze as he leaned back in his chair, studying her.
"You have money?" he repeated, deadpan.
Iris nodded confidently.
"Yes. twenty dollars."
A beat of silence.
Then—Ace exhaled sharply through his nose, a slow smirk curling at the edges of his lips.
"How generous."
She grinned wider.
And just like that, Ace pushed himself up from his seat.
His movements were deliberate, slow, still weighed down by the lingering effects of alcohol.
But he didn’t protest.
As he started to walk towards the door, Iris's puzzled expression shifted to one of determination
She quickly followed him.
Like a panther humoring a reckless little cub.
By the time they reached the entrance, Iris’s excitement was nearly tangible.
That was, until she spotted the small army of guards flanking the sleek, black vehicles waiting outside.
Her steps faltered.
The sight of them—their rigid postures, sharp gazes, and unwavering presence—made her feel trapped before she even took a step outside.
She turned to Ace.
There was a quiet, hesitant plea in her gaze.
"Can we go without the guards? Please?"
Her voice was small, cautious—like she already expected him to say no.
Ace licked his lips thoughtfully, considering the request.
He rarely went anywhere without them.
He wasn’t an idiot.
He had enemies.
A single mistake could be fatal.
And yet—
With one sharp, dismissive gesture, he silently commanded the guards to step down.
They hesitated.
"But Boss—" one of them started.
Then, he made the mistake of meeting Ace’s gaze.
And just like that—he shut up.
Ace’s cold, unyielding stare was all it took.
One by one, the guards bowed their heads and disappeared into the shadows, melting into the night.
Ace turned back to Iris, scowling slightly.
"Really," he muttered, his voice rough, as though he were already regretting his choice to indulge her whim.
His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a second, it looked as if he might call the guards back, undoing his concession.
Iris, however, only grinned in response.
"Come on, they’re friendly," she teased, her voice laced with amusement.
Before he could protest, she took his hand, her fingers small and impossibly soft against his.
Iris led him to a quaint, old-age park, a charming slice of serenity that seemed untouched by the city's relentless pace.
She tugged him forward, her energy pulling him along like a current.
For a man so used to being in control, to having people either cower or obey, it was strange to be led.
Strange to let someone else dictate his next steps.
But the way she did it—without expectation, without force—made it feel almost… tolerable.
Iris led him to a quaint, old-age park, a hidden pocket of serenity nestled between the towering shadows of the city.
With a childlike excitement, she made a beeline for an ice cream stall tucked near the edge of the park.
The vendor, a kindly man in his forties with laugh lines deep-set into his face, greeted Iris warmly.
"Strawberry," she chirped,
The old man nodded, moving with practiced ease as he scooped the ice cream.
“And one chocolate, please,” Iris added, turning to Ace.
Ace watched with a mixture of curiosity and amusement as Iris paid for the ice creams.
With their ice creams in hand, they wandered to a grassy area of the park.
With their ice creams in hand, they strolled through the park, eventually settling on a grassy patch near an old oak tree.
Ace, expecting something more extravagant—more grand—found himself oddly content with the simplicity of the moment.
As they ate, the night wrapped around them in quiet stillness.
It was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Ace’ gaze landed on Iris, who was staring intently at an elderly couple seated on a nearby bench.
They were an elderly pair, sitting together on a park bench, their companionship evident in the way they leaned into each other’s presence.
The man was holding a bouquet of freshly picked flowers, his attention focused solely on his wife.
She, in turn, sat with a serene expression, her hand resting gently in his.
"If you stare at them like that," he said finally, his voice breaking the stillness between them, "they might start thinking you’re a certified creep."
His tone was light, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it.
As if her fascination unsettled him in a way he couldn't quite explain.
Iris didn’t look away.
She remained focused on the elderly couple, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the park’s dim lighting.
"His wife is blind," she murmured, almost as if she were speaking to herself rather than to him.
"They come here five times a week. He picks flowers for her, talks to her continuously, and carries her sometimes."
Her voice was gentle, laced with an understanding that Ace wasn’t sure he possessed.
She tilted her head slightly, watching as the old man pressed a delicate kiss to his wife’s knuckles, whispering something that made her chuckle.
Iris’s lips curled into a sweet, wistful smile. "Getting old and wrinkly with your loved ones isn’t a curse. It’s a gift that only a few people get to experience."
Ace didn't respond immediately. He just watched her, his gaze unreadable.
Her words should have been nothing more than sentimental nonsense—romanticized, naive.
But–
His grip tightened slightly around the melting ice cream in his hand, a subtle response to the unfamiliar tightness coiling in his chest.
The idea felt suffocating. Should have made him scoff.
And yet—
Ace shifted his gaze away from her, his jaw tensing as his mind drifted into a sea of thoughts.
Iris let out a small breath, but she didn’t push him to speak.
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