I sat up, my breath ragged, sweat slicking my skin. The burn in my muscles did nothing to quell the chaos in my head.
Her voice was still there.
“For me, please, Ace…..”
I clenched my jaw. I had walked away. I had to.
But I could still feel her fingers gripping my leg, the desperation in her touch, the way her voice cracked under the weight of her plea.
“Beat me as much as you want. I will do anything.”
I let out a slow breath, pushing the memory down—deep enough that it wouldn’t break me.
The cabin was quiet, the type of quiet that should have been comforting but only felt suffocating.
I had stayed here before, weeks at a time, when I needed solitude.
This time, it felt different.
Like a self-imposed exile.
The clock read 7 AM. My phone buzzed—messages I ignored.
I didn’t need anyone’s opinions, interference, or fucking pity.
I showered, the cold water doing little to douse the fire in my skull.
Breakfast was scrambled eggs and papaya juice.
A habit.
A dish I’d learned out of necessity—for my mother, once upon a time.
The taste was tolerable, the memory less so.
“Βασιλιά, το αυτοκίνητο έφτασε (King, the car has arrived.)”
Ares stood at the doorway.
I wiped my hands, nodding. “Ήταν αρκετά τα χρήματα; “Was the money enough?”
“Ναι βασιλιά. Όλοι θέλουν να σε γνωρίσουν (Yes King. Everyone wants to meet you.)”
Of course they did.
I finished cleaning up and headed out. It was just past 8 when I arrived at the east coast branch.
The office was alive with movement— workers dipping their heads as I walked past, conversations halting mid-sentence.
Ivan fell into step beside me, seamlessly briefing me on the day’s appointments.
I barely registered his words.
I exhaled, pushing the thought away.
Routine. Work. Control.
But peace never lasts.
The door to my office slammed open so violently that the walls trembled.
One by one, they filed in— my so–called friends.
Their faces were carved with frustration, anger barely veiled behind forced neutrality.
It’s going to be a hectic day.
“Finally! You showed up,” Leo sneered, arms crossed. His sharp eyes burned with impatience.
“Are you getting soft, Mr. Salvatore?” Susan mocked, her voice edged with something sharper than irritation.
“You need to meet her,” Aiden murmured, flipping his butterfly knife between his fingers.
The click-click-click of metal was rhythmic, a sure sign he was agitated. “She’s still shaken up from everything.”
Alex, ever the pragmatist, cut in. “What about his brother? We know that fucking punk was behind all this.” His voice was pure steel, uncompromising.
I let out a slow breath, my jaw tightening. “No one will touch Isaac.”
Silence. A dangerous, suffocating silence.
Susan scoffed, her gaze burning into me. “Why? Because the girl you fuck begged you to leave him?”
I moved. Fast.
The scrape of my chair, the sudden shift in my posture—it was enough to send a ripple of tension through the room.
Every single one of them went rigid, muscles coiled, instincts kicking in.
Good.
Slowly, I rolled up my sleeves, my fingers flexed, itching to lash out, to remind them of who the fuck they were talking and dealing with.
Liam stepped forward, breaking the moment, handing me a file with the details on Iris’s brother.
“Isaac was working for the royal family before we killed them,” Liam said, his tone almost amused.
My grip on the file tightened.
“After that, he changed his identity. Smart move.” Liam’s smirk widened. “But he forgot something—his sister still had scraps of his past that we used.”
I flicked through the file, my eyes scanning the information. The words blurred.
Isaac. The last piece of her family. The one she was willing to die for.
The room was too quiet. Too expectant.
“Where were you?” Hudson’s voice was softer than the others, but the weight of his concern was clear.
“Pittsford,” I muttered, the word dry in my throat.
Susan sighed, the sound dragging with irritation. She stepped forward, her eyes locked onto mine.
“Ace,” she drawled, slow and deliberate, her voice dropping into something lethal. “Leave her. If next time anything happens to my family because of her, I will rip her head off her body.”
A challenge.
She didn’t wait for a response.
With one last glare, she spun on her heels and strode out, the sharp click of her stilettos slicing through the silence.
One by one, the others followed, tension thick in the air.
Aiden, rolling his eyes, let out a low chuckle. “Dramatic, isn’t she?”
I didn’t answer. My fingers drummed against my desk.
Did Susan really think I’d let her touch my Mini?
Fucking ridiculous.
I glanced at Aiden briefly before he turned and walked away, leaving me alone with the file.
My fingers skimmed the edges of the papers, my mind racing as I absorbed the details.
Something wasn’t right.
Isaac Rodriguez. Twenty-two. A key figure in the Royals’ operations. Connections to powerful families.
A ghost who knew how to stay in the shadows.
Wait…Then why the hell did Iris have no surname?
I flipped through the documents again. There was a missing link, a piece deliberately erased.
Isaac wasn’t stupid enough to orchestrate direct attacks on me. He knew the risks. He knew he’d be caught.
Then why do it?
Unless… he wanted us distracted.
I clenched my jaw, my grip on the papers tightening. My instincts screamed at me.
This wasn’t about the attacks. It was about what we weren’t seeing.
What the fuck am I missing?
The information refused to align.
Scattered pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit. My fingers drummed against the desk, irritation clawing at my patience.
The silence in the office felt louder. The rustle of paper. The rhythmic tick of the clock.
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling sharply, trying to organize my thoughts.
The early morning light filtered through the blinds, casting jagged shadows across the walls.
Then I saw it.
My breath hitched. My vision tunneled.
Did I read that right?
I bolted upright, snatching the papers, my eyes scanning the lines with renewed urgency.
My heart pounded as the realization took root, cold and unshakable.
There it was. The crack in the story.
I stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor with a sharp screech.
I marched toward the main office, each step firm and unyielding.
The guards at the door snapped to attention, their movements precise.
As I approached, they pulled the doors open.
Inside, my core group lingered, their conversations dying the moment I stepped in.
One look at my face, and they knew.
“Dismiss,” I ordered coldly.
The guards obeyed instantly, leaving only those who mattered.
Susan, leaning lazily against the desk, arched a brow. “Okay, now what?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I threw the papers at her.
The file hit her face before she caught it, her scowl deepening as she flicked it open.
After some seconds her expression shifted. From annoyance to shock.
Her hands tightened on the pages.
The others noticed. They moved in closer, peering over her shoulder as she flipped through the details.
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Alex was the first to speak, his voice lower than usual. “Did Iris… lie to us?”
The question slithered into the air, its weight undeniable.
I exhaled sharply, shrugging. “I don’t know.”
Susan let out an irritated huff, flipping the folder closed. “Gosh, this girl is fucking mysterious.”
Her voice was dripping with frustration. But this time, none of us disagreed.
Because she was right.
Liam frowned deeply, his gaze shifting toward me. “Ace… who gave you the information about Iris in the first place?”
I slid my hands into my pant pockets, my voice even. “Ivan.”
Felix and I spoke at the same time. “Something is odd.”
Liam exhaled sharply, already piecing things together. “I’ll gather more information. You all keep an eye on everyone from now on.”
He strode out of the room with brisk determination, urgency lacing his every step.
Aiden, ever perceptive, landed a firm hand on my shoulder. “Talk to her.”
I barely reacted, my focus already shifting. My gaze snapped to Hudson.
“Hud… keep an eye on Ivan.”
Hudson’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
I didn’t bother explaining. “Just do as I say.”
And with that, I left the room.
____________________________________
I stood in front of my bedroom door.
Unmoving. Silent.
The polished doorknob gleamed under the dim lighting, reflecting the ghost of my face—sharp angles, unreadable eyes.
It felt like a barrier.
Not just between me and the room, but between me and the answers I needed.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
A suffocating feeling curled in my chest, a thought sinking its claws into me.
What if she’s been lying to me all along?
I didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t.
But I knew betrayal better than I knew affection.
And the thought of losing her—of her walking away, of her not being mine—it gnawed at something deep inside me.
I inhaled sharply, gripping the doorknob, forcing myself to turn it.
The door swung open with a soft creak.
I stepped inside, my breath shallow.
She wasn’t there.
My gaze swept the room. Bed unmade, untouched. The bathroom door was cracked open—empty.
I stood there, listening. Waiting. Hoping.
But the silence stretched on.
A dull ache pulsed behind my ribs. I forced my feet forward, sinking onto the edge of the bed.
The mattress dipped under my weight. But it felt cold.
The air smelled like her, but she wasn’t here.
Something dark stirred inside me.
I forced myself to stand. My movements were stiff, robotic. My gaze drifted, unfocused, until it landed on the closet.
I moved toward it.
I needed to put away Isaac’s file—needed some fucking control over this drama.
I pulled the door open.
Then, I saw it.
A bag.
Wrinkled. Old. Partially tucked away in the corner, almost like she had meant to hide it but couldn’t.
A slow exhale left my lips.
My fingers twitched.
It was Iris’s stuff.
After a long, deliberate moment of internal conflict, I gave in.
The need to know gnawed at me.
Also, I just wanted only one detail.
With a slow exhale, I reached for the bag, my fingers trailing over the worn fabric. Rough. Aged. Well-used.
A relic of a life before me.
Before she was mine.
A quiet, cold chuckle rumbled in my chest.
I wasn’t supposed to invade her privacy.
But who was going to stop me?
I pulled the bag out carefully and placed it on the bed.
The soft thud against the mattress was barely audible, but in the silence of the room, it felt deafening.
My fingers grazed the rusted zipper. It resisted slightly before giving way with a slow, reluctant rasp.
The scent of faded fabric and something inherently her curled into my nose.
Inside, the contents were mundane— old clothes, everyday necessities, the kind of things that spoke of survival, not comfort.
Then, my eyes landed on it.
A battered book.
A stack of certificates.
And at the very bottom, a diary.
Bingo.
A slow smirk tugged at my lips.
I took out my phone, adjusted the angle, and snapped a quick picture of the certificate before restoring everything else to its original place.
But the diary…
I hesitated for only a moment before flipping it open.
Its spine creaked like a dying whisper.
The first pages were nothing—childish scribbles, mundane moments of her past.
“Mom yelled at me today.”“Isaac brought me ice cream.”“Isaac played with me.”
So ordinary. So innocent.
I almost laughed.
She really had no idea what kind of world she belonged to now, did she?
Then, the shift came.
The handwriting changed—became neater, more careful.
And the words?
They made my jaw clench.
“Dear god, he saved me. I want to see him again and maybe thank him.”
Who the fuck is ‘he’?
My grip on the fragile pages tightened as I skimmed further.
“Dear god, he was looking handsome. I wish I could talk to him.”
A sharp, violent heat crawled up my spine.
“Dear god, I think I started to like him.”
Like?
Like?!
A cold, merciless rage curled around my ribs.
What the actual fuck?
But the last entry—the one at the very bottom—that one did it.
“Dear god, he was a beautiful mistake in my life. I wish I could make the mistake again but I shouldn’t.”
I slammed the diary shut.
My breathing was slow. Measured. Controlled.
A mistake?
She called him a mistake?
She thought about him enough to call him that?
My fingers twitched with the urge to rip the pages apart, to erase the words that didn’t belong to me.
My Mini thought about someone else.
The thought sent a slow, dangerous smirk curling at the edge of my lips.
I would find out who he was.
And then…
A sudden noise.
The faint, twisting sound of a doorknob turning.
My fingers twitched, but my paranoia saved me—I had locked it.
I shoved the diary back, sliding the bag into its hidden place.
My movements were swift but precise, ensuring there wasn’t a trace of disturbance.
Then, I strode to the door, taking a deep breath before pulling it open.
And there she was.
My Mini.
My precious girl.
Her face was blank—hollow, empty, emotionless.
Her eyes, usually so full of life and mischief, were now emotionless and distant.
They weren’t meeting mine the way they usually did. They were lost.
A strange sensation twisted in my chest.
I didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
Silence settled between us, thick and charged.
I took a slow, deliberate step forward.
Then another.
She didn’t move away.
When I reached her, I cupped her warm, delicate cheek in my hand.
Soft. Too soft and bruised.
Her warmth seeped into my skin, grounding me.
Her eyes met mine—wide, unblinking.
But she wasn’t seeing me.
Not fully.
There was a void in her stare, an unfocused distance, as if she was both here and somewhere else entirely.
Her lips parted slightly, two front teeth, barely visible.
Something so small, so innocent about it made my chest tighten.
And her eyes…
Fuck.
Her eyes were something else entirely.
A universe trapped within them— depths unknown, darker than the deepest tunnel, deeper than any ocean.
A vast, endless abyss.
It wasn’t fear. Not exactly.
It was calm. Still. Surreal.
Like the moment before a storm.
Before devastation.
Then, she exhaled. Shaky. Fragile. Uneven.
And her gaze shifted—snapped away.
Like she had just remembered something she wasn’t supposed to.
Like she had just realized something she shouldn’t.
Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Thank you,” she mumbled, her head bowing, her lashes casting shadows against her cheeks.
A strange, sharp sensation curled in my gut.
Thank you?
For what?
For not killing her brother?
For me not hurting her?
Or for something else entirely?
I tilted her chin up, my fingers pressing into her delicate skin, forcing her to look at me.
“Are you okay?”
My voice was low, careful—a calculated softness.
She hesitated.
And then, in a blink, she was gone.
Her warmth.
Her presence.
She ripped herself away from my touch, stepping back as if burned.
My hand fell empty to my side.
Her breathing turned erratic.
Her fingers clenched into the fabric of her skirt, twisting it so tight her knuckles turned white.
“Mini,” I said softly, letting her name stretch between us like a lifeline.
She flinched.
Like she didn’t believe it.
Like she didn’t believe me.
“You don’t look okay.”
She still didn’t meet my eyes.
Didn’t even try.
Instead, she swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she struggled against something unseen.
“D-Do you hate me a-also?”
Her voice cracked.
The sound of it unraveled something vicious inside me.
My entire body went still.
Also?
Something inside me coiled, dark and lethal.
I took a slow, deliberate step forward.
Her fingers twisted tighter into her skirt.
“Mini,” I murmured. “I could never hate you.”
Even if I wanted to.
Even if I should.
Even if I tried.
I couldn’t.
She searched my face like she didn’t quite believe me, her gaze darting over my features as if trying to find the cracks in my words.
She wouldn’t find any.
Because I meant it.
I meant it in the worst possible way.
I meant it in the way that meant she wasn’t allowed to leave me.
Not emotionally.
Not mentally.
Not in any way.
“Don’t lie.”
Her voice was barely there, a breath more than a sound.
“If you…”
She didn’t finish.
She didn’t have to.
I knew what she was asking.
I knew what she feared.
A slow smirk tugged at my lips, and I held up my pinky.
It was childish. Silly.
But she believed in it.
A promise. A bond. Unbreakable.
“I promise.”
I let my voice soften just enough, just barely, just the right amount of dangerous sincerity.
But then—
Her small hands fisted into my shirt.
Tight. Desperate.
Twisting the fabric so suddenly, so forcefully that it yanked me forward an inch.
My smirk vanished.
I clicked my tongue.
If it had been anyone else, they would have been fingerless by now.
But she was different.
She could do this and still keep her hands intact.
Her fingers trembled against my chest, curled into the fabric like claws.
“You all lie.”
Her voice was low, fraying at the edges—drenched in venom.
“You all are liars…I want to kill everyone.”
Her tone wasn’t her own.
It was too flat. Too lifeless.
Oooh. Looks like her dear brother was finally succeeding in breaking her down.
I tilted my head, watching her, studying her, memorizing every detail.
She looked unhinged.
A dangerous thing wrapped in fragility.
She swayed slightly, as if the weight of her own thoughts was dragging her down.
“Do you think I’m like your brother?” I asked, snickering, my voice smooth, amused. “Do you think I would use you?”
Her grip tightened, twisting my shirt even more.
Her eyes—unblinking, empty, cold.
There was nothing left of their usual warmth.
Her pupils were dilated, huge, swallowing the brown and gold.
The sparkle? Gone.
The light? Extinguished.
Only lifelessness remained.
I frowned.
A flicker of fascination slithered through me.
I reached out, gripping her wrist gently, feeling the erratic pulse beneath her delicate skin.
Too fast.
Like a bird’s heartbeat—frantic, unsteady, on the verge of collapse.
Her wrist was ice-cold.
The shivering started in her hands first, a soft, uneven tremor.
Then, it spread.
Up her arms. Into her shoulders.
Her entire body started shaking.
Uncontrolled. Violent.
Her breath hitched, strangled and uneven, like she was trying to force air through lungs that refused to expand.
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
I covered her eyes.
Blocked out the world.
Blocked out whatever was eating her alive.
Her body jerked.
The tension in her wrist fought against my grip, but I tightened it, grounding her, pulling her back.
And then—
A sharp tremor ripped through her.
Like a live wire had been cut and left to spasm.
Her body convulsed, a small gasp choking from her throat as she staggered forward.
I caught her before she could collapse.
“Snap out of it, Mini,” I murmured, my fingers tightening around her wrist.
She wasn’t okay.
Not even close.
I uncovered her eyes—
And what I saw made my stomach churn.
Her eyes were red, the whites swollen with unshed tears.
But some had already escaped, gliding down her cheeks in thin, silent trails.
Her lips were quivering, bitten raw, a deep bruise forming where she had chewed the skin too hard.
Her hands—
They weren’t just trembling now.
They were shaking violently, twitching, jerking— as if her own body was turning against her.
She gasped again, her breath ragged, like she was drowning on dry land.
Her small frame wobbled.
Her knees nearly buckled.
And then—
She broke.
Completely.
A sharp, gasping sob tore from her throat as she lunged forward, throwing her arms around me, her fingers gripping my shirt, grounding her weak legs.
Burying herself in my chest.
I stiffened.
For a moment, I just stood there.
Frozen.
The small, sharp tremors of her distress rippled through her frame, seeping into me.
And then—
I moved.
My arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. Tighter.
She clung to me, her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt like she was trying to anchor herself to reality.
I let my fingers thread through her hair, stroking it in slow, methodical motions.
My hands traced down her back, feeling the way her body shuddered beneath them.
She was breaking apart in my hands.
I could feel it.
Every violent shiver.
Every strangled breath.
Her sobs grew louder, rawer, harsher—
Like something was being ripped out of her.
Like she was coming undone.
I exhaled through my nose, my jaw tightening.
“Mini,” I whispered, keeping my voice low, smooth, steady.
I tried to pull her back.
To make her look at me.
But she clung.
Her small, shaking hands clawed into my shirt, twisting, grasping, refusing to let go.
She buried herself deeper.
Her shoulders convulsed with every breath.
Her legs gave out entirely.
If I hadn’t been holding her, she would have collapsed.
The sound of her sobbing deepened into cries, raw and unrestrained, echoing through the room.
Loud. Broken. Desperate.
The kind of sound that shattered the air.
The kind that twisted something sharp inside me.
Her small frame trembled violently, her body heaving with each fractured breath.
And as I listened to her—
This was the first time.
The first time I had ever seen her fall apart like this.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” I murmured, my voice low, deliberate—coaxing.
I tried to pry her hands off me. Again.
But she clung harder, gripping me like I was the only thing tethering her to this world.
I sighed softly, then carefully pulled her away.
Gentle, but firm.
Her chest heaved violently, struggling against the weight of her sobs.
Her lips trembled uncontrollably.
Her entire body quaked, each fresh tear carving silent streaks down her flushed, tear-streaked cheeks.
Relentless. Unyielding.
“It’s okay, Bambi,” I whispered, my voice dripping with concern, laced with something deeper.
I wiped away her tears, the back of my fingers brushing over her soft, warm skin.
Her breath hitched sharply, erratic and uneven, like her body couldn’t remember how to breathe.
She rubbed her eyes furiously, trying to stifle her sobs.
Trying to hold herself together.
But she couldn’t.
Not this time.
Her arms wrapped around herself, curling in like she was trying to disappear.
But she was shaking too hard.
The sound of her crying grew louder, echoing through the walls, crawling under my skin.
“Bambi,” I murmured, leaning closer.
My hand found the small of her back, rubbing gentle circles.
Slow. Steady.
She flinched.
Not from fear—but from the sheer force of what she was feeling.
Her fingers—they weren’t just shaking now.
They were digging into her own arms. Hard.
Hard enough to leave marks.
Hard enough to bruise.
Hard enough to hurt herself.
A sharp pang of anger flared in my chest.
I grabbed her wrists, firmly but carefully, prying her fingers away from her skin.
She snapped.
“H-H-He left me...” she choked out, the words ripping through her like glass.
Her voice cracked, strained and raw.
“Isaac... h-he don’t... h-he...”
She couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Her sobs tore through her, body convulsing.
And then—
She coughed.
Violently.
A dry, hacking sound that clawed at her throat, making her entire body jolt with the impact.
Her fingers clenched into fists again, trembling uncontrollably.
And before she could hurt herself again—
I lifted her.
Her small frame felt weightless in my arms as I carried her across the room, her sobs still racking her body.
Her face buried in my chest, hot and damp against my shirt.
I laid her gently on the bed, but she didn’t let go.
Not even for a second.
Her fingernails scraped against my shirt, gripping, clutching.
A silent plea.
“Don’t think about him,” I muttered, my voice darkening. Sharpening.
“He’s not worth your tears, Bambi. Don’t waste them on someone like him.”
I turned—intending to get her some water.
But the second I moved, she jerked forward, clutching my sleeve in a death grip.
Tight. Urgent. Desperate.
Her entire body lurched toward me.
Like if I left she would break completely.
I froze.
Her fingers dug into my arm, her knuckles white.
Her tear-soaked eyes locked onto mine.
Wild. Terrified. Pleading.
“I’m here. I just want to get you some water,” I said softly, rubbing her trembling hands. Trying to steady them.
But she shook her head, violently, desperately.
Her fingers clutched my shirt—clung to me like I was the last thing keeping her afloat.
Like if I let go, she would drown.
“No, p-please stay. Don’t l-l-leave me a-alone,” she whispered.
Her voice—fragile, broken.
Her breath hitched, sobs tearing through her like waves.
And then—I pulled her into me.
Not just close—closer.
Guiding her into my lap, holding her small, trembling frame as if it were precious.
As if I could shield her from the world.
I let her cry.
Even if it meant she would sob herself hoarse.
Even if it meant she would shatter in my arms.
Let her cry her heart out.
I wrapped my arms around her, my grip firm, unrelenting.
Her body shook violently against mine, her breath ragged, shallow, uncontrolled.
Her hands were still trembling, fingers shaking uncontrollably.
I caught them in mine and held them still.
Rubbed them gently, trying to warm them, to anchor her.
“It’s okay, Mini,” I murmured against her hair.
Soft. Reassuring.
I pressed a kiss to her disheveled hair, inhaling her scent.
Her sobs still wrecked her, but something in her body shifted.
A slow unraveling.
Like she was finally—finally—letting go.
The minutes ticked by.
Her cries began to slow, her body slumping numbly against mine.
Not because she was at peace.
Because she was drained.
Completely. Utterly.
Destroyed.
I felt the rhythm of her breathing.
Steady, but still broken.
Still tinged with the occasional hiccup of distress, the silent tremors of her sorrow.
I held her tighter.
My hands stayed clasped over hers, preventing her from rubbing her eyes too harshly, from hurting herself further.
Then— she moved.
A sharp, jerking motion.
Her whimpers grew louder, her body twisting, struggling.
She tried to pull away, but I tightened my hold.
She squirmed, thrashed slightly, her small fists beating weakly against my chest.
Frustration, helplessness, pure emotion flooding through her.
But I didn’t let go.
I wouldn’t let her crumble alone.
I maneuvered her back into my lap, holding her steady as she wriggled, as she fought against me.
She wasn’t fighting me.
She was fighting the pain.
Her head fell between my shoulder and bicep, her breath warm against my skin.
I leaned down.
Resting my forehead gently against hers.
“It’s okay, Bambi,” I murmured.
I let the words sink into her skin.
Let them wrap around her like something tangible.
Something real.
“I’m here. Always. Only for you.”
She looked up at me.
And the moment our eyes met—
Something inside me twisted.
Her eyes—red, swollen, brimming with a sadness so deep it made my chest tighten.
She was searching.
For something. For answers. For salvation.
For something I wasn’t sure I could give her.
Her lips parted, her voice trembling as she spoke words that cut straight into me.
“Do you also think... I’m desperate for love?”
My entire body went still.
Each word—fragile, breaking as it left her lips.
A question that shouldn’t have mattered.
A question that was tearing her apart.
I had once thought that of her.
Hadn’t I?
Hadn’t I seen her as weak? As easy?
Did I still?
No.
No.
Her voice wavered again, softer this time.
“I-I want someone to love me,” she whispered.
She took a shaky breath, fighting to steady herself, fighting to hold the emotions inside.
“But it doesn’t mean t-they have to use me for their... s-selfishness.”
Her fingers curled into my shirt.
Tighter.
Like she was bracing herself for something.
“I never force someone to love me,” she murmured.
“Then why did people hurt me?”
I clenched my jaw.
Her pain burned.
Ripped into me like knives.
Because she wasn’t just talking about Isaac.
Her voice turned even softer, as if the weight of her own question was too much to bear.
“Is... is it a sin to seek love from our loved ones?”
She bit down on her lip.
Hard.
Like she was forcing herself not to cry again.
I exhaled sharply.
The sight of her—so fragile, so utterly wrecked—was unbearable.
I leaned down.
Pressed a firm, lingering kiss to her cheek.
It wasn’t just to comfort her.
It was to silence the ache in my chest.
To erase the hollow look in her eyes.
When I pulled back, I let out a shaky breath.
My hand cradled her cheek, my thumb tracing lightly over her skin.
And then, the words slipped out—raw, unfiltered, real.
“Forgive me, Mini.”
She looked up at me weakly, her expression a fragile mix of confusion and hurt.
“Why?”
Her voice wavered, so quiet it was almost swallowed by the silence.
“Because you liked me?”
She swallowed hard, her lips trembling.
“Or took care of me?”
A pause.
Her breathing hitched, her fingers clenching the fabric of my shirt.
“Or trusted me?”
Her words pierced straight through me.
I licked my lips, my mind racing.
I needed to answer her.
I needed to make this make sense.
But the truth was—I didn’t know.
I had no answer that could explain the war raging inside me.
No words that could undo what had been done.
No justification for why I was still holding her like this.
Why I couldn’t let go.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
The words came out hoarse, strained.
I frowned as the realization of my own inadequacy hit me.
For the first time in my life, I had nothing to say.
No sharp retort.
No calculated response.
No carefully manipulated answer to shift the balance back in my favor.
I was lost.
Drowning in the realization of my own mistakes.
I had been wrong.
So, so wrong.
I had believed that I could have her easily.
That she was something I could take.
That her warmth, her softness, her love-starved heart—all of it—was something I could possess without consequence.
But now—
Staring into her tear-streaked face, feeling the delicate tremors of her breath against my skin—
I knew.
I understood exactly how mistaken I had been.
It wasn’t she who was wrapped around me.
I was the one entangled in her.
Completely.
Hopelessly.
She had unknowingly wrapped me around her little finger, making me obsessed.
And I had allowed it.
Welcomed it. Craved it.
Because the truth was—
I needed her.
More than she could ever understand.
Her breathing slowed, her body melting against mine as exhaustion finally pulled her under.
Her lashes, damp from crying, fluttered weakly against her cheeks.
Her nose was tinged pink, her lips a small, tired pout—innocent, vulnerable, completely unaware of the power she held over me.
She owned me.
She just didn’t know it yet.
I tightened my arms around her, adjusting her gently so she could rest more comfortably.
Even though it was far from comfortable for me.
But I didn’t care.
I didn’t want to move.
Didn’t want to wake her.
Not when she needed peace so desperately.
Even if it was just for a little while.
Slowly, I slid my hand beneath her shirt, my fingers carcassing against the soft warmth of her stomach.
She let out a small sigh, shifting slightly.
I rubbed slow, careful circles, mimicking the way I knew she soothed herself before falling asleep.
Her skin was warm, soft—delicate beneath my touch.
But even in sleep, her face remained troubled.
The weight of everything still etched into her features.
A reminder of the hurt I couldn’t erase.
The pain everyone had put there.
I exhaled sharply, my fingers stilling against her skin.
I wanted to wipe that sadness away.
To undo the damage.
But I couldn’t.
Her hair was a mess, disheveled from everything she had been through.
Her skirt had ridden up, resting above her bent knees, revealing the soft, delicate curve of her thighs.
But what caught my attention—
What made my chest tighten—
Was her hands.
Small.
Delicate.
Resting over her heart.
As if she were guarding it.
Even in sleep.
I clenched my jaw.
A wave of something dark, possessive, insidious curled through me.
I wanted to pry those hands away.
Wanted to place my palm over her heart instead.
To feel it. To claim it. To own it.
I sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of my thoughts.
Did I love her?
The question echoed in my mind, demanding an answer.
And even if I did—
Would it matter?
Would she even be capable of loving me in return?
Or had I already ruined any chance of that?
I had caused her so much pain through my own selfishness, hurting her when all she sought was love.
We were opposites in every way.
Yet, somehow, she had become my peace.
A peace I didn’t fully understand.
A peace I had no right to claim.
But still—
I couldn’t let go.
Not now.
Not ever.
I didn’t even realize how much time had passed.
How minutes had bled into hours.
How the world outside had shifted from the fading warmth of dusk to the cool hush of evening.
And yet, we were still here.
Still in the same position. Still lost in the quiet.
I stroked her cheek with the back of my hand, marveling at the heat that still lingered there.
She was beautiful.
Even like this.
Even exhausted.
Even hurting.
There was a tiny mole beneath her right eye.
Barely noticeable—unless you were looking closely.
Unless you were the kind of man who obsessed over details.
I had one in the exact same spot. Though mine was more prominent. More visible.
A strange, almost intoxicating realization settled in my mind.
She and I—
We were already marked the same.
I would’ve laughed if it wasn’t so pathetic.
When did you start talking like this, Ace?
When did you let yourself become this weak?
I hummed softly, the sound barely audible, and began to rock my body back and forth.
A subtle motion.
Rhythmic. Soothing.
Not for me.
For her. Only for her.
And as I held her, as her body stayed perfectly molded against mine, I found myself staring at the ceiling, wondering.
What now?
What would become of us?
Where would this lead?
I didn’t have the answers.
And for the first time in a long time—
I was okay with that.
Because there was only one thing I knew with absolute certainty.
One single truth that had woven itself deep into my soul, inescapable and unshakable.
I wanted her to be happy.
Even if it meant I had to kill.
Anyone.
Everyone.
Author POV:
The old lady’s smile was as wide as her eyes, creased with years of knowing.
She had seen things—many things.
And from the way her gaze settled on Ace, like she was peeling him apart layer by layer, she saw something now.
“Sit down, dear,” Hera murmured, her voice smooth and practiced, an eerie kind of comfort.
The words lingered, wrapping around the dimly lit space like a whisper that refused to leave.
Mila hesitated, then eased herself into the chair opposite, her grip firm around her eight-year-old son’s small hand.
Ace’s fingers were cold.
She hadn’t realized how tight she was holding him until he tried to pull away.
But he didn’t complain.
He simply scowled, his sharp little features twisted into something between discomfort and defiance.
His other hand clutched his teddy bear, the fabric worn from use, but his grip wasn’t that of a child seeking comfort.
No.
He looked ready to throw it at the old woman’s face.
Hera only chuckled, as if amused by his irritation.
“I thought you would never come back to the village,” she mused, her laughter carrying a hint of familiarity— a secret she hadn’t yet spoken aloud.
“Hera, I am in a hurry,” Mila said hastily.
She shifted in her chair, her shoulders tense, her face carefully unreadable.
But Hera saw through it.
“I want to know about his future,” Mila’s voice was flat. Cold. Lacking its usual warmth.
She wasn’t here for herself.
She wasn’t here for curiosity.
She was here because she had to be.
Ace frowned, watching as the old woman’s gaze lingered on him.
His stomach twisted.
He didn’t know why, but he didn’t like this.
Didn’t like her.
He stayed silent, but his fingers flexed against the bear’s soft belly, the urge to throw it still twitching inside him.
Hera smirked, tilting her head. “I thought you didn’t trust these kinds of things.”
Mila bit her lip. Looked away.
“Things we do for our family,” she murmured.
Her voice was too light, like she was trying not to let something heavy slip through the cracks.
Hera didn’t press further. Instead, she stretched out a weathered hand, palm up.
Mila exhaled slowly before reaching for Ace’s right hand and placing it over Hera’s.
The moment their skin touched, Hera’s smile faltered.
“Left hand,” she corrected.
A beat of hesitation.
Then, carefully, Mila turned Ace’s wrist, guiding his left hand into Hera’s grasp.
Hera’s fingers closed around his palm.
And for the first time, she looked deeply unsettled.
Her pupils widened. Her breath slowed.
A silence stretched between them, thick, suffocating.
Hera traced the lines of his hand, her own fingers trembling slightly as if she had touched something alive.
Something that breathed beneath his skin.
A shadow flickered across her face.
“Darkness and evil,” she whispered, almost too softly to hear.
Mila stiffened.
Ace didn’t react.
His little face was unreadable, except for the slight twitch in his brow.
“Darkness and evil are looming over him,” Hera continued, her voice heavier now, as if the weight of what she saw had settled in her bones.
Her lips parted again, but this time, she hesitated.
Her gaze flickered from the boy’s palm to his face.
And for the first time, her voice dipped into something just shy of fear.
“He will get what he wants,” she murmured.
“But—” She stopped abruptly.
Her nails dug into his palm slightly, but Ace didn’t flinch.
The air in the room seemed to shift, colder, heavier.
She inhaled sharply.
“You have to pay a price.”
Ace blinked. “What price?”
Hera didn’t answer.
She was staring now, staring so deeply into his dark hazel eyes that for a moment, she wasn’t looking at an eight-year-old boy.
She was looking at something else.
Someone else.
Someone who did not yet exist.
But would.
Will.
“A sacrifice,” she whispered, her voice like a dying candle.
Mila exhaled, already resigned.
She knew it. She had known it before coming here.
“Is he going to die soon?” she asked flatly.
“Who knows,” Hera shrugged her shoulders.
She turned towards Ace, and her eyes lowered to the teddy bear on his lap.
“But I do know one thing,” she said.
Her thin lips curled, almost like she wanted to laugh.
But it wasn’t funny.
Ace could feel it.
Something was wrong.
“He will carry life and death with him when he grows up.”
Mila’s brows furrowed.
“What does that mean?”
Hera didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she lifted Ace’s hand again, her fingers barely grazing over the longest line in his palm—
A lifeline that ran too deep.
Too unyielding.
Too strange.
Her voice dropped into something soft, something so final that it sent a shiver down Mila’s spine.
“He will hold her in his hands.”
Mila inhaled sharply. “What?”
Hera nodded.
“Life and death. They will be one and the same for him. A single person.”
Her eyes flickered to Ace, and her next words felt like an echo of something inevitable.
“He will either love her—”
A pause.
The candlelight in the room flickered wildly.
“Or he will destroy her.”
Ace’s small fingers clenched.
The teddy bear’s head twisted violently in his grip.
And for the first time since arriving—
He was scared.
Ace yanked his hand away from Hera’s grip so fast that her bony fingers barely had time to loosen.
His pulse pounded against his ears, a storm of confusion, anger, and something else— something cold curling at the edges of his mind, something he didn’t understand.
Hera only laughed.
A sound too sharp, too knowing.
He scowled at her, mumbling something under his breath that was lost in the growing tension.
Hera’s lips curled into an unsettling laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
“He will die, mercilessly,” Hera said, her tone now a chilling finality.
Mila’s eyes widened in shock. “What!” she exclaimed, her voice breaking as fear crept in.
“No, no… you—you’re lying,” Mila stammered, shaking her head violently, as if sheer denial could force the words back into Hera’s throat before they could fully take root in reality.
But Hera only smiled.
That knowing, cruel smile—one that didn’t need to be loud to be loud.
It was in the creases of her weathered face, in the gleam of her ancient eyes.
Ace, small and defiant in the grand scheme of the world, scoffed. “Sure, I will die one day,” he said, rolling his eyes.
His small hands clenched into fists around his teddy bear. He glared up at Hera. “But I think you’ll die first, creepy old lady.”
A sharp, almost pleased chuckle left Hera’s lips.
Mila shot her son a warning look. “Ace,” she said, voice taut, her grip on his wrist tightening in silent reprimand.
But Ace turned to her, eyes brimming with a child’s confusion, with a rare flicker of something fragile— something Mila hadn’t seen in him in a long time.
“Mom,” he said, a slight quiver beneath the surface of his voice, though he fought to mask it. “Why did you bring me here?”
Mila stood up abruptly, her movements hurried and frantic as she backed away, her mind racing to process the chilling predictions.
Ace barely had time to process it before Hera’s voice coiled around him once more.
“Ace,” she called, her voice wrapping around his name like a whispered curse.
His head snapped toward her, his small frame bristling with something ugly, territorial— the beginning of something neither he nor Mila could yet understand.
“You’re a curse to your family,” Hera said.
Ace’s breath stalled.
Her words didn’t sting. They didn’t wound.
They burned.
Like they belonged to a truth buried beneath his skin, waiting for the right moment to ignite.
His jaw clenched, his knuckles white around his teddy bear’s worn fur.
“You don’t know anything about me!” he snapped, his small voice fierce, wild, the room almost too small to contain it.
Hera’s eyes gleamed with something sinister. “Oh, little one,” she murmured, her smile unfaltering. “I know everything.”
Mila tugged Ace toward the exit, her breaths coming quicker now, a cold sweat dampening her spine.
But as they left, Hera’s voice slithered after them, one final prophecy curling around Ace like a whispered noose.
“She will be your life, and she will be your death.”
Ace glanced back.
Hera was smiling, the flickering candlelight casting jagged shadows across her face.
Then the door shut behind them, and her laughter still echoed in his ears.
Knock.
Ace’s eyes shot open.
His breath was steady. His heartbeat was not.
For a moment, his mind remained tangled in the remnants of the dream—no, the memory.
It clung to him like smoke, thick and suffocating, curling in the recesses of his subconscious.
Then—
Warmth.
A slow inhale against his chest. A quiet exhale, featherlight against his skin.
The weight pressed against him was small, delicate—her.
The tension in his body unraveled just enough for awareness to seep in.
Iris was curled in his lap, tucked beneath his chin like she belonged there.
The realization unsettled him.
He had slept.
Not lightly, not with half a mind still in control.
No. He had fallen asleep. Completely. Deeply.
With Iris in his arms.
It was dangerous.
His jaw tightened.
Then—
“Wow.”
Ace’s head snapped up.
Leo stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a look of outright amusement on his face.
The smirk forming on his lips made Ace’s irritation spike.
“Knock,” Ace growled through gritted teeth. His voice was low, warning.
Leo merely shrugged. “I did. You didn’t hear.”
Ace’s frown deepened.
He hadn’t heard.
The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Before he could snap a response, the door creaked wider—too wide.
More footsteps. More voices.
Then—intrusion.
His friends filed in, their faces alight with curiosity, laced with something dangerously close to amusement.
Fucking hell.
The warmth in his lap stirred.
Iris let out a soft, content hum, shifting ever so slightly against him.
She burrowed closer, closer, her cheek pressing against his bicep, oblivious to the disruption, to the eyes watching.
Aiden let out a long, exaggerated hum, his smirk audible.
Ace felt something snap.
“Get out.”
The words were sharp, cutting, his voice filled with undiluted venom.
A silence stretched, thick and charged.
Ace’s fingers twitched, his arms tightening instinctively around the sleeping girl as irritation clawed at his skin. They were looking.
At her.
Ace reached out and smoothed her skirt down, his touch almost gentle.
A stark contrast to the silent rage flickering behind his eyes.
His movements were slow, deliberate, an unspoken warning.
Aiden’s smirk widened, but he didn’t comment.
Leo, however, chuckled. “Didn’t take you for the nurturing type.”
Ace ignored him.
“Did you find it?” Liam asked, his tone neutral as he glanced at Iris, then back at Ace.
“Yeah,” Ace replied curtly. He carefully shifted Iris off his lap, cradling her gently as he stood.
She made a small, sleepy noise—one of those soft, unconscious murmurs people made when they were drifting in and out of dreams.
His grip on her tightened before he forced himself to let go.
He placed her back on the bed with deliberate care, his fingers ghosting over her skin longer than necessary as he tucked the blanket around her.
As he did so, she whimpered softly, turning her face slightly toward him.
A pang of something unrecognizable stirred deep in his chest.
Focus.
Ace’s fingers moved smoothly, almost absently, as he pulled his phone from his pocket.
The glow of the screen illuminated his face, casting sharp shadows as he scrolled to the photos he had taken earlier.
Iris’s original birth certificate.
His jaw tightened.
He extended his phone to Liam, who immediately snatched it and began scrutinizing the documents.
Liam’s face was a mask of focus.
He adjusted his glasses, shifting slightly on the couch as he pulled his laptop onto his lap.
The soft glow of the screen flickered against his sharp features, the rapid clacking of his fingers against the keys the only sound in the room.
No one spoke.
They knew better than to interrupt Liam when he was working.
Ace leaned back against the couch, his arms crossing over his chest as he watched Liam work.
Minutes stretched into hours.
Liam was thorough.
He didn’t just compare the birth certificate to Ivan’s documents— he cross-checked government records, ran forensic metadata scans, and even attempted to access restricted databases.
His eyes flickered between multiple screens, one hand absentmindedly running through his hair while the other typed with expert precision.
“Fake seals... who the hell forges a government record this badly?” he’d mutter under his breath.
Aiden, on the other hand, had grown restless.
He paced around the room, his energy crackling in the silence. “Can we just get to the point? My ADHD is kicking my ass.”
“Your ADHD is always kicking your ass,” Hudson muttered from the couch.
“Yeah, well, it’s winning right now,” Aiden huffed, dramatically flopping onto the bed.
His landing was met with protests.
“Jesus Christ, watch it!” Alex grumbled, shoving Aiden’s shoulder.
“Could you not land on my arm?” Leo added, shifting away.
“You weigh a ton,” Felix muttered, sounding deeply inconvenienced.
Susan, entirely unaffected by the chaos, leaned closer to Iris, her expression softening.
“Gosh, her eyelashes are so pretty,” she whispered, almost to herself.
Alex gave her a deadpan look. “You creep.”
Susan shot him an unbothered glance. “What? I do everything to make my eyelashes look decent, but they still end up looking like dried leaves.”
She absently touched her own lashes, as if comparing them to Iris’s.
Ace clenched his jaw.
He was seconds away from throwing everyone out of the damn room.
But then—
Susan tilted her head. “Do you think she’s a virgin?”
The air shifted.
Ace went completely still.
Across the room, Liam’s hand paused over the keyboard. Hudson slowly looked up.
Felix didn’t even hesitate.
“No,” he said automatically.
Then, after a beat, his gaze flickered to Ace—as if waiting for confirmation.
Ace let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Of course.
This conversation was straying far from where it needed to be.
“Didn’t know a girl could be a virgin this long, especially living with you,” Susan mused, her voice light with amusement. “Lucky girl.”
Ace gritted his teeth.
Aiden let out a loud bark of laughter. “That might be the first time I’ve ever heard anyone call Iris ‘lucky.’”
Susan shrugged. “I lost my virginity when I was, like, eighteen,” she added, her tone far too casual.
Aiden groaned, rubbing his temples. “Susan. For the love of all things holy, shut up.”
She blinked. “Why? You jealous?”
“I will strangle you,” Aiden deadpanned.
Then—
Liam let out a sharp breath.
The sound cut through the room.
Everyone immediately tensed.
Ace straightened. “What?”
Liam didn’t answer right away. His fingers hovered over his keyboard before he finally leaned back, exhaling.
His expression was unreadable, but his voice was firm.
“Not matched.”
Liam didn’t look up, his fingers already pulling up a side-by-side comparison.
“Look at this.” He spun the laptop around. “The official records say Iris was born in Boston, right?”
Everyone nodded.
“Well,” Liam exhaled, clicking on another file, “according to the hospital archives I just broke into, there’s no record of an Iris being born there under this name or with these credentials.”
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Ace’s jaw tightened. A slow, creeping sense of unease settled in his gut.
Hudson frowned, crossing his arms. “So… she was born somewhere else?”
“No,” Liam said, his voice clipped with certainty. “There’s no record of her birth. At all.”
Ace’s jaw tightened, the pressure behind his eyes building.
Liam’s fingers flexed over the keyboard. He was silent for a moment before he spoke again, this time softer. “It gets worse.”
He flipped to another tab, highlighting key details.
“The birth certificate she has? It’s a fake.” He pointed to the subtle inconsistencies.
“The font is slightly off, the state seal is misaligned by half a centimeter, and the document ID doesn’t match the registry format used in Massachusetts for that year. It’s a really good forgery, but I’ve seen better.”
Hudson let out a low whistle. “Damn. Imagine living your whole life thinking you’re someone else, just to find out—plot twist—you’re not.”
Susan frowned. “That’s kinda sad.”
“Yeah, but on the bright side,” Alex mused, stretching his arms above his head, “at least it means she’s not related to that guy.”
Aiden rubbed his chin. “What if she’s related to someone worse?”
The thought settled over them uneasily.
But Liam wasn’t done. His fingers were already pulling up deeper searches.
“If her birth certificate was altered, that means someone went through a lot of trouble to hide her real identity.” His eyes flicked to Ace. “And whoever did it knew what they were doing.”
Ace’s chest tightened.
Isaac.
Liam continued, his tone shifting from analysis to something more unnerved. “It’s not just her birth certificate. I tried pulling school records, but she doesn’t have any.”
Susan blinked. “Maybe they just weren’t digitized?”
“Nope. Nothing. No transfer records, no standardized testing, no attendance history. Even if she was homeschooled, there should be something—state registration, private tutor reports, even basic legal documentation.”
Ace already knew why there wasn’t.
Isaac had kept her out of the system.
Leo, who had been mostly silent until now, frowned slightly. “Okay, but even if he kept her out of school, you can’t just… erase someone’s entire existence.”
“You’d be surprised.” Liam’s fingers resumed their frantic typing. “Medical records should be my next step, but I doubt I’ll find much.”
“You think those were erased too?” Felix asked, shifting slightly.
Liam shook his head. “Not erased. Rerouted.”
He pulled up another window, scanning rapidly. “If someone wanted to alter an identity, the best way would be to create a false paper trail. Meaning—”
His fingers stilled. He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Her vaccinations, checkups, and any other medical data were either filed under a different name… or not recorded at all.”
Alex whistled. “That’s next-level paranoia.”
Ace barely heard them. His mind was racing.
Isaac had done this.
Aiden let out a low chuckle. “Damn. Big bro really went full ‘ghost protocol’ on her life.”
Liam rubbed at the back of his neck. “You know, I was expecting maybe one forged document. Not an entire fabricated life.”
Susan leaned forward, tucking her legs beneath her. “Wait—so we don’t know anything real about her?”
Liam tapped a few keys. “Not yet.”
Felix exhaled through his nose. “So basically, we have a ghost in our midst.”
Ace’s grip tightened.
Isaac had erased her past before leaving her. He had cut every tie, erased every trace.
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