The relentless ticking of the clock gnawed at my nerves, stretching the silence into something unbearable.
I shifted beneath the thick cocoon of blankets wrapped around me, but the warmth did little to chase away the cold creeping up my spine.
A shiver ran through me as a breeze slithered through the barely open window, its icy fingers brushing against my skin.
My lips pressed into a thin line as I pushed myself up from my makeshift desk, rubbing my arms as I padded toward the window.
Spring was dying.
The once-vibrant blossoms that had painted the streets in color were now wilting, their petals swept away by the wind.
The world outside felt as hollow as the pit in my stomach.
With a soft click, I shut the window, locking it firmly.
I flopped back onto the bed, wrapping myself tighter in the blankets.
Maybe if I buried myself deep enough, I could pretend for a moment that everything was fine.
That I wasn’t trapped in the uncertainty of my own life.
The restaurant was under construction. No work meant no salary. No salary meant—
I swallowed hard.
Jeremy had helped me once, got me that job.
But I couldn’t keep relying on him.
I hated the idea of being a weight someone had to carry.
And Ace… he—
THUD.
My breath hitched.
The sound was loud. Too loud.
A sharp crack followed, like glass shattering, and then—yelling. Faint but unmistakable.
I shot upright, my pulse hammering against my ribs.
My body tensed, my mind scrambling to make sense of the sudden shift in atmosphere.
Something’s wrong.
My feet hit the cold floor, but I barely felt it. I moved toward the door, my fingers trembling slightly as I hesitated.
The voices outside rose in intensity, a storm brewing just beyond the thin wooden barrier.
I took a slow breath, steadying my nerves.
This is nothing.
Just a fight. Just another night.
But the pounding in my chest told me I was lying to myself.
Something bad was going to happen. Isn’t it?
I took a deep breath, willing my trembling hands to steady as I reached for the doorknob.
The cold metal sent a shiver through my fingers, but I forced myself to turn it, the door creaking open into the dimly lit hallway.
The yelling was louder now. Angry, chaotic. The kind of fury that made my stomach twist into knots.
I hesitated.
Maybe I shouldn’t be here.
Maybe I should turn back, pretend I hadn’t heard anything, hadn’t seen anything.
But my feet moved forward on their own.
The hallway stretched before me, eerily silent despite the distant shouting.
My breath came unevenly as I took each step, the floorboards cold against my bare feet.
By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, the scene before me sent a bolt of unease through my chest.
Guards were everywhere.
Lining the hall, stationed in the front yard—men dressed in dark suits, their expressions grim, their bodies stiff with tension.
They weren’t just standing there. They were waiting.
Something was wrong.
In the middle of it all stood Liam, Alex and Hudson.
I had seen them angry before, but never like this.
Liam’s jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
Hudson—always so collected, always so smooth—was visibly agitated, his usual calm shattered by frustration.
My heart pounded.
And then—
"Here you are, you fucking bitch."
The voice cut through the noise like a knife, sharp and cruel.
I barely had time to react before a rough hand clamped around my arm.
Pain shot through my skin, and I gasped. No. No, no, no—
“S-Sorry,” I stammered, my voice barely more than a breath.
I had no idea what I was apologizing for, but the words came instinctively.
An automatic response.
"Please, it's h-hurting," I whispered, trying to pull away, but his grip only tightened.
The pressure was unbearable, fingers digging into my flesh like iron clamps.
My stomach churned, panic climbing up my throat.
I was being dragged—forcefully, mercilessly—towards the garden.
The hallway blurred around me, my feet stumbling as I struggled to keep up.
My breaths turned shallow, fast.
Then—
I was thrown.
The impact sent a sharp jolt through my knees, pain bursting across my joints as I hit the cold grass.
For a moment, I couldn’t move.
The ground swayed beneath me, the world tilting.
Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, hot and humiliating.
I wiped them away furiously, blinking past the sting.
"Boss, she was standing in the hall. Looks like she doesn’t know anything," the guard said, his voice dripping with disgust.
I swallowed hard, my gaze darting to Liam and Hudson, searching—pleading—for some kind of explanation.
They just stared.
Unforgiving. Unmoved.
“I—I don’t understand,” I stammered, the words barely making it past the tightness in my throat. “What’s happening?”
No one answered me.
I was the only girl in a sea of men, their weapons strapped to their sides, their faces hardened with frustration.
I couldn’t breathe.
Then Liam held something up.
A pen holder– a gift from my brother to Ace.
My frown deepened.
"Is this yours or not?"
The demand was sharp, cutting.
I blinked at it, recognition flickering in my mind.
“Y-Yes,” I admitted hesitantly.
And then— A yank.
A sharp, searing yank.
Pain exploded at the back of my head as a rough hand seized my hair, pulling hard.
A cry tore from my throat before I could stop it, my body jerking involuntarily.
The grip tightened, fingers twisted in my strands, pulling, pulling—
I whimpered, my hands flying up in a desperate attempt to claw at the vice-like hold.
My scalp burned.
The pain was dizzying.
I gasped for air, my lungs shrinking under the pressure of fear and confusion.
What had I done?
"Boss, let's just kill her instead of interrogating her. This chaos is her fault, and our men were killed mercilessly."
The words sent an icy jolt down my spine.
My breath caught in my throat as I felt the sharp, relentless pull of my hair, my scalp screaming from the pressure.
My fingers clawed desperately at the guard’s hand, nails digging into his rough skin in a futile attempt to ease the pain.
"Please, leave me!" I sobbed, my voice trembling and raw. The burning sting of tears blurred my vision as my body twisted in agony.
But they didn’t care.
Not Liam. Not Hudson. Not even Alex.
They just stood there. Watching.
Indifference painted across their faces, their eyes void of sympathy—only disgust, as if I were nothing more than a nuisance to be discarded.
Like I was something filthy. Something rotten.
My stomach churned, a sick, twisting realization clawing at my ribs.
"Ace will deal with her. Basement," Liam’s voice was cold, unwavering.
I froze.
"But sir—" One of the guards hesitated, but he was silenced instantly with a single glare from Hudson.
Liam gave a sharp, dismissive motion with his hand.
And just like that—
"No! No!" My panic erupted, a frenzied surge of desperation.
I thrashed, twisted, fought—striking wildly at the guard’s arm as he yanked me forward.
My fingers raked against his skin, my feet kicking against the floor as I tried to wrench myself free.
It didn’t matter.
His grip was brutal, unyielding.
"Let me go! Please!" My voice cracked, a frantic wail of terror as he dragged me through the hallway.
No one stopped him.
No one even blinked.
Their silence swallowed me whole, cold and merciless, as my body was hauled toward the basement.
My legs nearly gave out beneath me as I stumbled, struggling against the inevitable.
Then—
A shove.
A violent, merciless shove.
I crashed onto the floor, the impact sending a jarring shockwave through my body.
My palms scraped against the rough concrete, my breath hitching as I gasped in pain.
I barely had time to recover before—
CLANG.
The sound of the cell door slamming shut was deafening.
Final.
"NO! NO! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME HERE, PLEASE!!" My screams were sharp, desperate, my hands flying to the iron bars.
I gripped them tightly, shaking, yanking—but they didn’t budge.
The guard didn’t even spare me a second glance.
He just scoffed and shoved me back.
I fell. Hard.
My back hit the cold floor with a sharp thud, pain rattling through my spine.
I curled in on myself, my fingers pressing against the throbbing ache at the back of my head.
The air felt different down here.
Thicker. Heavier.
I could barely see—only faint slivers of pale light filtered through a tiny window high above, casting long, twisted shadows that seemed to stretch and curl around me.
I pressed my forehead against the bars, my breath coming in rapid, uneven gasps.
My hands fumbled desperately over the lock, fingers trembling as I tried to pry it open.
Nothing.
It wouldn’t move.
A scream tore from my throat—raw, piercing, desperate.
"Hudson! Liam!" My voice cracked, hoarse from the relentless cries.
I didn’t care.
I screamed again, ignoring the burn in my throat, the ache in my ribs from the force of my sobs.
No answer.
No footsteps.
Nothing.
The silence swallowed me whole.
I gasped, my breath shallow, my chest rising and falling in frantic, ragged movements.
The more I called for them, the less my voice seemed to work, fading into weak, trembling whispers.
Until—
I couldn’t anymore.
My legs buckled, and I collapsed onto the freezing stone floor.
Tears streamed down my face, hot against my icy skin.
My shoulders shook, violent and uncontrollable, as my sobs turned into pitiful, shuddering breaths.
I curled into myself, pressing my forehead against my knees, willing my body to stop trembling.
But the cold was relentless.
The damp air wrapped around me like a second skin, thick and suffocating.
It carried the scent of mildew, the sharp tang of rust, the stale, earthy scent of neglect.
The longer I stayed down here, the more it seeped into my bones, making my fingers stiff and numb.
Drip.
The faint sound echoed in the distance— maybe water, leaking from somewhere unseen.
A slow, patient rhythm, as if the darkness itself was alive, whispering, waiting.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t help.
Because in the blackness, he was waiting, too.
Ace.
The last time I had been in a place like this…
A choked gasp slipped from my lips as the memory surged forward, unwanted and merciless.
The belt-shaped thin rope.
The first strike.
The sharp, burning pain blooming across my skin.
And another.
And another.
The room spun, my breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps. I clawed at my arms, at my own skin, as if I could tear the memory out of me.
"No," I whispered, voice cracking. "No, no, no—"
I pressed my hands against my ears, as if that could silence the phantom echoes of my past screams.
Why?
Why was I here?
I hadn’t done anything wrong this time.
The pen holder—Liam had shoved it in my face, demanding answers.
But what answers? What could a pen holder possibly have to do with all this?
What had I done?
What sin had I committed in Ace’s eyes this time?
The guards had mentioned something about it causing trouble but what did I do?
The cold, the darkness, the fear—everything seemed to merge into an all-encompassing dread.
My pleas had been swallowed by the void, my cries absorbed by the walls that had seen countless others fall apart before me.
I was alone.
Abandoned in the dark. Again.
God, please help me.
Ace POV:
The room stank of blood and fear.
The overhead light flickered, its weak glow stretching shadows across the walls, elongating them, distorting them into grotesque shapes.
I ran my hand down my face, smearing a streak of crimson across my jaw before reaching for the sink.
The water was ice-cold, sharp against my skin as I scrubbed the blood away.
But the cold didn't bother me. If anything, it grounded me.
The room was strewn with the aftermath of our violent encounter: discarded knives, broken belts, and a chaotic array of bloodied clothing.
I let my gaze drift downward, taking in my dress—black, sleek, clean. Mini’s favorite color.
The thought was fleeting, barely a whisper in the back of my mind, but it lingered long enough to sour my mood.
I shrugged off my raincoat, letting the blood-speckled fabric fall to the floor with a soft, wet thud.
Across the room, Ivan stood still, hands behind his back, his expression unreadable.
The only sign of his unease was the slight furrow of his brow, the way his gaze flickered toward the bodies before snapping back to me.
They were alive, but barely— bruised, battered, and broken. Fucking nitwits.
"Boss, what should we do with the bodies?" His voice was even, but I caught the edge of hesitation beneath it.
I peeled off my gloves with a sharp flick of my wrists, tossing them into the dustbin.
"Prepare a lye tube." My words were calm. Final.
The easiest way to erase a mistake was to dissolve it entirely.
Ivan hesitated. Hesitated?
"But...boss, can't we just kill them?"
My head snapped toward him, my dark hazel eyes locking onto his.
Silence.
His fingers twitched at his sides, barely perceptible, but I saw it. Tch.
"They should have thought before trying to hack into my system, leaking the tender details, stealing the weapons, daring to kill Hudson—" I stepped forward, slow, deliberate, the wet click of my shoes against the floor the only sound in the room.
"—and, above all, they had the fucking guts to even think about it."
I stopped right in front of him.
"Do you have a problem with my orders, Ivan?"
The words dripped from my tongue, slow and deliberate, like the steady leak of venom from a poised serpent.
I watched him carefully, waiting— something to break that carefully constructed mask of his.
And there it was.
A twitch. Barely perceptible, just a minuscule tightening of his jaw, but I caught it.
My eyes missed nothing.
Good.
"No, boss," Ivan murmured, his voice measured, controlled.
I let the silence stretch between us, a noose tightening around his throat.
I could practically hear the thoughts whirring in his head—wondering if he had hesitated too long, if I had noticed.
Of course, I had.
But I didn’t say anything.
Instead, I just looked at him, a gaze that carried more weight than words ever could.
His nod was slow, like a man wading into deep waters, unsure if something lurked beneath the surface.
And then, without another word, he turned on his heel and left, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space, swallowed by the thick, suffocating quiet.
I was alone.
The aftermath of violence clung to the room like a second skin.
Blood slicked the floor in dark, uneven smears, seeping into the cracks of the concrete.
The scent was overpowering—thick, metallic, mingling with the acrid burn of my cigar, which rested between my fingers like a familiar lover.
I exhaled, watching the smoke coil into the stagnant air, twisting and curling like fingers searching for something to grasp.
There’s a mole in my house.
That fact settled in my chest like a slow-growing tumor, thick and ugly.
Someone had dared to compromise my security.
Had dared to put my friends in danger, to scrape their filthy hands across something that belonged to me.
I rolled my neck, cracking the tension from my shoulders and stepped out.
That was unacceptable.
No one dares to touch my friends instead of me.
I will decide if I want to kill them or not.
Gore
Three of the moles hung from the ceiling, their bodies swaying ever so slightly, their weight pulling against their dislocated shoulders.
Every movement sent fresh waves of agony through their shattered limbs, forcing pitiful whimpers from their chapped lips.
Their skin was pale from blood loss, their clothes soaked through with sweat and filth.
The other two were upside down, their heads mere inches from the cold, unforgiving floor.
Their bodies trembled violently, their inverted positions forcing the blood to pool in their swollen faces, turning their complexions an ugly shade of purple.
Veins bulged at their temples, their eyes darting wildly, unable to focus.
The room was suffocating, thick with the pungent stench of coppery blood, acrid burning flesh, and the bitter sting of lye that clung to the air like a toxic fog.
The damp concrete walls absorbed every sound, amplifying their pain, making it reverberate like a choir of the damned.
Ah, what a beautiful choir it was.
I sat in the center of the room, a silent conductor orchestrating the symphony of suffering.
The glowing ember of my cigar was a beacon in the dimness, its smoke curling around me in slow, hypnotic tendrils.
I took a long, unhurried drag, savoring the familiar burn in my lungs before exhaling.
The smoke drifted through the cold air, merging seamlessly with the scent of death.
A slow, satisfied smirk pulled at my lips as I signaled to Ivan.
"Drop the first three."
He obeyed immediately, releasing the mechanisms with smooth precision.
Their descent was slow, agonizingly gradual— allowing the anticipation to fester, letting the fear burrow deep into their minds.
They knew what was coming.
The tension in their bodies snapped like overstretched rubber bands.
Then—
"NO! NO! PLEASE—"
The moment their bodies jerked downward, their screams ripped through the air like an animal being torn apart.
Their ankles twisted unnaturally, bones straining against their own weight.
The sound of tendons snapping was wet and visceral, a sharp contrast to the rasping, breathless sobs they barely managed between cries of anguish.
My pulse thrummed in response.
The air itself seemed to vibrate with their agony, thick and pulsing like a living thing.
Their voices pitched higher, blending into a discordant cacophony, shrill and raw with suffering.
A slow, deliberate exhale left my lips.
The lye had already begun its work.
The exposed portions of their skin—where their pants had ripped or their shirts had been shredded—were bubbling, raw flesh curling away from the acid like melting wax.
The smell was overpowering—a pungent mix of burning hair, rotting meat, and chemicals so strong they stung my nostrils.
It was magnificent.
Beneath their thrashing bodies, the liquid swirled, a cloudy, milky-white mess of dissolving flesh.
The bones beneath their skin began to peek through, dull and jagged, barely held together by the dissolving tissue around them.
Their screams faltered, voices hoarse, bodies trembling violently as shock crept in, but the pain... oh, the pain would linger.
A slow clap cut through the noise.
Ivan, ever efficient, moved with precision, pressing the controls that lifted them from their hellish bath.
The lye clung to their skin in thick, dripping strands, eating deeper even as they were pulled free.
The hissing sound of their flesh continuing to erode filled the silence that followed their exhausted sobs.
One of them convulsed, his exposed muscle twitching as if still trying to escape the inevitable.
I frowned slightly.
Perhaps I should have let them soak a little longer.
No matter.
I still had two left.
"Now, drop the others," I murmured, my voice laced with quiet amusement.
The two remaining moles screamed before they even moved.
Desperation made them wild—one of them bucked so violently his restraints cut into his wrists, sending fresh rivulets of blood dripping onto the stained floor.
The other sobbed uncontrollably, his chest heaving in ragged, hiccupping gasps.
Ivan did not hesitate.
The mechanisms whirred, the pulleys unspooling, and gravity took hold.
They plunged downward, their bodies lurching as they slammed into the vicious, bubbling liquid.
And then—pure, unfiltered agony.
The acid bit deep, eating through fabric, through skin, through muscle, and the reaction was instantaneous.
Their bodies jerked and spasmed in the restraints, their backs arching unnaturally as their nervous systems overloaded with the impossible pain of their flesh dissolving while they were still alive.
"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"
Their screams— oh, their screams—were inhuman. High-pitched. Raw. Primal.
The sound reverberated through the steel walls, climbing higher and higher, until their voices cracked, then shattered, dissolving into strained, agonized gurgles.
Remaining of them managed to choke out, "Y-You're making a... a mistake..."
His words slurred, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, saliva and blood dribbling down his chin.
Intriguing.
I leaned in, letting the glow of my cigar illuminate the grotesque ruin of his face.
The smoke curled into his nostrils, and he flinched violently, his already ruined features twisting further in pain.
I smirked.
"What?"
His bloody, swollen lips trembled as he forced out the words.
"Your house will soon be your grave."
A beat of silence.
Then—
A chuckle.
Deep. Low. Genuine.
How amusing.
"I pray your words will come true," I murmured, my tone both mocking and sincere, walking away.
Then, with one final, sickeningly satisfied sigh, I pulled the lever.
The metallic clunk of machinery was the last thing they heard.
And then—
They were gone.
Submerged.
Their heads dipped beneath the surface, swallowed whole by the writhing, hissing lye.
At first, their bodies twitched violently, their muscles firing in a desperate, useless attempt to flee from the inescapable.
Then—convulsions.
Arms jerking. Legs spasming.
And then—stillness.
I watched.
The bubbling continued, the acid gnawing at their flesh, stripping away the final remnants of their humanity, leaving only bone and ruin.
It was poetic.
I sighed, taking another slow drag from my cigar.
The corpses would be nothing more than a grim, dissolving memory in a few weeks.
The lye would do its work, breaking them down until there was nothing left—no evidence, no lingering scent of decay.
Just a slow fade into nothingness, as if they had never existed.
I turned away from the ruin I had created, letting the final traces of adrenaline settle into a dark, lingering satisfaction.
Ivan’s expression stood out against the dim lighting of the chamber.
He was frowning—not in fear, but something close to disgust. Adorable.
His jaw clenched, his posture rigid, as if he was trying to fight the reaction forming in his gut.
"It's disgusting," he said abruptly, his voice tight with unease. "How can you even look at it without turning away or—hell—even blinking?"
I met his gaze, my own eyes calm. Unwavering.
“You haven’t seen what really is disgusting, Ivan,” I said, my tone devoid of emotion.
“This?” I gestured toward the acid-stained remnants of my work. “This is far from it.”
I stepped closer to him, watching the faint twitch in his jaw.
My voice dropped, low and conspiratorial, dripping with something almost sinister.
“Give it time,” I murmured, my lips curling into a smirk. “It’ll start to pleasure the demons inside you.”
Ivan stiffened, his expression unreadable.
I clapped a hand on his shoulder—not comforting, not threatening, but something in-between.
A quiet promise of the things to come.
The final act was nothing more than a formality now.
The remaining bodies were dropped in with little ceremony, their frenzied attempts to claw at the edges useless.
The corrosive liquid devoured them whole, their final, desperate gurgles cut short as they vanished beneath the surface.
The liquid swirled for a moment longer, the chemicals hissing in agitation—then, silence.
It was done.
I exhaled slowly, turning on my heel and striding toward the door.
This chapter was closed.
Outside, the air was crisp, clean compared to the stench of suffering I had left behind.
I inhaled deeply, letting it settle my nerves, grounding myself back into the world beyond blood and bone.
"Is the flight ready?" I asked, glancing at my watch with growing impatience.
“Yes, king,” one of my guards responded immediately.
I stopped in my tracks.
My gaze snapped to him, eyes narrowing.
The slightest mistake. A tiny misstep. And yet, I hated it.
Turning sharply, I locked my stare onto him, my voice as cold and controlled as steel.
"What did I tell you about calling me ‘king’?"
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even blink.
"Είσαι ο βασιλιάς μας (You're our king)," he said, his voice emotionless, unwavering. "And no one else is here."
A beat passed.
I felt something stir in my chest—a flicker of something long buried.
"Είμαι, αλλά όχι εδώ (I am, but not here),” I murmured, the Greek slipping from my tongue effortlessly.
The words felt both foreign and familiar, a language tied to memories I had long stopped revisiting.
I turned away from him, heading toward the car with detached purpose.
How long had it been since I spoke Greek?
Since I last stood on that soil?
Years.
Far too long.
I had to visit the village.
And Iris—I would take her with me.
Introduce her to them.
The thought curled in my mind like a whispered promise, an idea so perfect that it settled something inside me.
But then—
That frustration. That fucking absence.
For two days, she had been unreachable.
Two fucking days.
No calls. No answers.
I had left her behind in the midst of our turmoil, and now, when everything was supposedly settled, she was still out of reach.
An irritation that burned beneath my skin, clawed at my patience, dug into the edges of my restraint.
I pulled out my phone, its cold weight grounding me for a fleeting second.
Dialed.
Pressed it against my ear.
Ringing.
And ringing.
And ringing.
The monotonous drone of an unreachable tone echoed, gnawed at my composure, filled my mind with that slow, creeping suffocation of helplessness.
I gritted my teeth.
The phone felt heavier in my hand, useless, mocking.
Ivan’s voice cut through the tension with a sharp snap.
"What happened?"
He was watching me, too closely, his gaze sharp and curious.
I shoved the phone away, exhaling slowly.
"Nothing."
The word was clipped, void of anything.
I forced the tension from my shoulders, reached for the car door, pushed away the gnawing instability that threatened to take hold.
The plane was waiting.
I couldn’t afford distractions.
The aircraft was as it always was—a perfect, controlled space, designed to cater to comfort and power.
The soft hum of the engines vibrated beneath my feet, the scent of leather and aged oak filling the air like a quiet reminder of order.
But none of it settled the restlessness inside me.
I shrugged off my coat with slow, deliberate movements, feeling the heavy fabric slide from my shoulders.
My muscles ached—not from exhaustion, but from something else.
With a quiet sigh, I lowered myself into the plush seat, allowing a fleeting moment of reprieve.
And yet, the agitation didn’t fade.
It sat there, just beneath my skin, festering.
"Would you like something to drink, sir?"
A smooth, practiced voice.
I lifted my gaze, meeting the flight attendant’s carefully constructed smile.
Too perfect. Too polished. Too hollow.
Her posture was straight, her movements fluid, of course, she had rehearsed them a thousand times.
Everything about her was designed to please, but it only repulsed me.
Her presence felt artificial, manufactured—like a lifeless doll painted in human skin.
"Red wine," I murmured, my voice clipped, my tone barely masking the irritation simmering beneath my skin.
I didn't look directly at her. I didn't need to.
My eyes followed her through the corner of my vision, cataloging her every move, every delicate shift of her fingers as she reached for the bottle.
She was blond, tall, her body draped in that tight-fitting uniform designed to draw attention.
Her lips were painted a deep red.
"What's your name?" I asked, my voice flat, uninterested.
"Arya," she answered with a sweetness, her smile stretching just a little too wide, blush coating her cheeks.
Pathetic.
I took the glass from her, fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second.
She stilled—expectant, hopeful. As if she thought that single touch meant something.
I took a slow sip, my tongue coating in the bitterness of the wine, but my mind had already wandered elsewhere.
Iris.
She wasn’t here. And that was the fucking problem.
Arya turned to leave, her steps careful, measured, each movement designed for visual appeal.
It made my stomach twist in disgust.
I scrutinized her, my eyes raking over her figure—not in admiration, but in disappointment. Searching for something that wasn’t there.
Her skin was too pale, too artificial.
She lacked the warmth, the glow that Iris had when she stood beneath the sunlight, her skin kissed by golden hues.
Her eyes—empty. Void of anything real.
They weren’t filled with unfiltered warmth, that rare sincerity that made you believe, even if just for a second, that goodness still existed in this world. Tsk.
No six moles scattered across her cheeks. No light when she smiled. No cute chubby cheeks that begged to be pinched and licked.
She was nothing but a crude imitation of what she could never be.
Something inside me snapped.
Before I could think, before I could stop myself, my fingers twitched—then tightened—and in one violent flick of my wrist, I sent the glass flying.
CRASH.
The sound echoed through the cabin, sharp and final.
The deep red liquid splattered against the pristine wall like freshly spilled blood, its scent thick in the air.
My breath came fast, my chest rising and falling with barely restrained rage.
My fingers curled into fists, my knuckles turning white.
The walls felt like they were closing in, the air too thick, suffocating.
"Sir—"
A tremulous voice cut through the thick silence.
I turned my head slowly.
Arya stood frozen, her blue eyes stretched wide, her lips parted in shock. Fear flickered across her face.
"Sir, are you—"
"Leave."
The single word came out like a growl, low and deadly.
She gulped, harshly.
Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and scurried away, disappearing through the cabin door.
The moment she was gone, I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face.
The pressure in my skull pulsed like a ticking bomb.
I stormed into the adjacent room, slamming the door behind me.
The walls were too close, too tight, too fucking suffocating.
In a sudden burst of frustration, I yanked at my shirt, popping the buttons with a sharp rip, the fabric tearing as I threw it across the room.
The buttons hit the floor, scattering, their tiny clinking sound barely registering over the roaring in my head.
I dropped onto the bed, my body sinking into the soft mattress, but it did nothing to ease the tension in my limbs.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, my thumb moving with practiced ease as I dialed the number I had already called too many times.
I brought the phone to my ear.
Ring.
My jaw clenched.
Ring.
My fingers gripped the device tighter.
Ring.
Nothing.
Again.
She wasn’t answering.
Again.
Where the fuck was she?
What could she possibly be doing for two days that was more important than answering my fucking calls?
Hudson had said everything was under control at my house.
So why the fuck–
I gritted my teeth, pressing the phone against my forehead as a dark chuckle escaped my lips.
Don’t tell me she’s avoiding me.
For what?
For the way I had left things?
As I lay there, my mind racing, a sudden knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. It was sharp, firm— insistent.
My jaw clenched. Not now.
I exhaled sharply, irritation simmering beneath my skin as I pushed myself up from the bed.
Each step toward the door felt heavier than the last, my body weighed down by exhaustion that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.
I yanked the door open.
A guard stood before me, his posture stiff, gaze cautious.
But it didn’t hide the concern buried in his eyes.
"Ti? (What?)" I snapped, my tone clipped, leaving no room for pleasantries.
"Δεν σου αρέσει η φιλοξενία εδώ, Βασιλιά? (You don't like the hospitality here, King?)" he asked, his voice steady. Too steady. Like he was measuring his words carefully.
I dragged a hand down my face, fingers pressing into my temple.
"Σκέφτεστε ίσως τη μαγευτική ομορφιά? (Are you perhaps thinking about the Captivating beauty?)"
I stilled.
His words struck something deep, something raw.
I cocked a brow, eyes narrowing slightly. A bold statement.
One they wouldn’t normally dare to voice.
They meant her.
My Mini.
Instead, I held the guard’s gaze for a moment longer before, without a single word, I shut the door.
The latch clicked into place—sharp, final.
Silence settled around me once more, but it wasn’t calm.
It was suffocating.
I turned back toward the bed, my movements slower this time.
The mattress dipped beneath my weight as I sank into it, my body sinking deep, but there was no comfort.
I let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling, my mind drifting before I even realized it.
My fingers reached up absently, rubbing my earlobe.
A familiar motion.
One that made me click my tongue, annoyance flickering through me—not at the action, but at the memory it dragged with it.
As she finished the massage, her hands lingering on my skin, her touch gentle and soothing.
"Do you like it?" she asked, her voice tinged with hope, as if seeking reassurance.
I had only hummed in response, rolling over to stare at the ceiling. Nonchalant. Detached.
She shifted beside me, her small body pressing closer, her warmth seeping into me.
"I like your ears."
The fuck?
I frowned, lifting myself up and hovering over her, my body enveloping her small frame.
The warmth between us grew, and I could feel her heartbeat quicken under my weight.
"That's a strange compliment," I murmured, leaning in to breathe in her scent, my face buried against her neck.
Her skin was smooth and delicate, and I inhaled deeply, savoring the familiarity of her.
"Oh… but your ears make it look more radiant when you smile," she giggled, her laughter soft and musical, vibrating through her chest.
For a moment, my heart began to beat with a steadier rhythm, the sound of her laughter filling the void within me.
My fingers traced idle patterns across her skin, my hands cold against the warmth of her body.
Every time my touch brushed against her, she shuddered slightly, her breath hitching in response.
I grinned, leaning down to kiss her on the neck, the softness of her skin under my lips sending a shiver of satisfaction through me.
Her fingers found their way into my hair, and she caressed it cautiously, as if afraid to break the moment.
Her touch was tender, and it stirred something deep within me, a feeling that I couldn’t quite place, but that I knew only she could evoke.
It felt good. She felt good. She always felt good.
The memory lingered.
Like an imprint, like a ghost.
I clicked my tongue again, rubbing my earlobe harder this time, as if I could erase the sensation.
Pathetic, Ace.
Thud. Thud.
My eyes snapped open, the brief illusion of peace shattering as reality came crashing back.
My jaw clenched.
The irritation curled at the edges of my mind, seeping into my bones like a slow, simmering heat.
Who the fuck was disturbing me now?
"Come in," I spoke serenely, though the underlying edge in my voice betrayed the storm brewing beneath the surface.
I didn’t bother to look up. Didn’t need to.
Instead, I stood, my movements deliberate as I made my way to the restroom.
I turned the faucet on, the water rushing against the porcelain sink in a steady stream. Too steady. Too calm.
Cupping my hands, I splashed the icy liquid onto my face.
Breathe.
When I lifted my gaze to the mirror, a familiar face stared back.
Familiar, yet different— taut with tension, the lines of my face harder, the eyes colder.
But as I looked closer in the mirror, there was no difference in my ears.
I dragged a hand through my hair, damping it, exhaling slowly.
But then, my gaze flickered downward, catching on something absurd.
My ears.
They were the same as always. Nothing had changed.
And yet—her voice echoed in my head.
"Your ears make it look more radiant when you smile."
My fingers twitched at my side before I caught myself, scowling.
What the fuck, Ace.
She’s messing with my head.
I scoffed under my breath and splashed more water onto my face, forcing the memory out, forcing her out.
It didn’t work.
The second I stepped out of the restroom, the irritation coiling inside me snapped tighter.
Arya.
She stood there, poised and polished, her lips curving into an easy, charming smile—too easy. Too forced.
A stark contrast to her.
To Mini.
I gritted my teeth.
Shut the fuck up, Ace!
"Sir, do you want something—?" she beckoned, her voice smooth, calculated.
I didn’t let her finish.
"Out."
My tone was flat. Emotionless. Final.
I reached for the buttons of my pants, fastening them with sharp, efficient movements, already scanning the room for a shirt.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Arya’s gaze flickering up to meet mine.
There was something amused in her expression—mocking.
She didn’t say anything.
Didn’t need to.
Instead, she turned, her heels clicking against the floor as she silently left, the door shutting behind her with a soft, deliberate thud.
I barely registered the sound.
My fingers found my phone before my mind even fully caught up. Dialed before I could second-guess it.
The ringing started.
Once.
Twice.
And then—nothing.
The silence that followed was deafening.
I stared at the screen, my grip tightening until my knuckles turned white.
Then, without thinking, I hurled the phone onto the bed, the impact muffled by the soft sheets.
I dragged in a breath, forcing the rage back into its cage, and pulled my laptop toward me. The screen flickered to life, bathing the room in a cold, sterile glow.
Numbers. Files. Tasks.
Distractions.
I immersed myself in them, allowing the calculated logic of business to dull the edges of my thoughts.
To drown out the sound of her laughter and her face still clinging to the recesses of my mind.
But it didn’t work.
It never fucking worked.
Even when I barely knew her, she had seeped into my mind like a poison.
Now—that poison had spread into my veins, saturating every inch of me.
So what the fuck did I expect?
To forget?
To rip her from me like she wasn’t embedded into my very being?
Impossible.
The thought of her lingered—stubborn, insistent.
Refusing to be buried.
My jaw tightened, fingers curling into a fist as a dark promise settled into my bones.
Once I reach there, she will not like the consequences this time.
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