The cold water ran down my naked body, sharp as needles against my skin, carving rivulets down my chest, over my scars, washing away the sweat and frustration clinging to me like a second layer of flesh.
My muscles tensed, then loosened, but the dull ache in my head remained—a steady, pulsing reminder that I was pathetic.
I let out a slow breath, inhaling deeply, filling my lungs with the sterile scent of soap and steam.
It didn’t help.
Two days.
Two fucking days.
She hadn’t spoken to anyone.
Her eyes— hollow, lifeless.
A doll with its strings cut.
I didn’t even know if she ate, slept.
If I asked, all I got was silence, a void where words used to be.
For the past two days, she left the house at four in the morning and stayed out until midnight. Alone.
Sitting in some empty park, staring into the abyss like it could offer her answers.
The image of her—so small, so fragile—sitting on a cold bench, the city lights swallowing her whole, made something primal coil in my chest.
Seeing her like this was tormenting me, but I couldn’t do anything.
What was the use of all this power, this empire, this control if I couldn’t even drag her out of her misery?
Couldn’t snap her out of this. Couldn’t force her to speak. To breathe.
A sharp tch escaped my lips, my nails digging into my palms, my vision swimming with something dark, something violent.
Useless. I was fucking useless.
I ran a hand down my face, feeling the water drip from my chin, down my throat.
Liam was still digging, but it would take weeks to unearth her past—every single file on her was fake, rewritten, altered by that bastard before he abandoned her like some broken pawn in his game.
But it wouldn’t stay buried. Not forever. Not if I had anything to do with it.
The second problem? I couldn’t kill Isaac.
Yet.
He was no longer her brother. No longer a shield I had to consider.
Did that change anything?
Could I finally break him, rip him apart, watch the light drain from his eyes the way he did to my Mini for the past days?
The thought sent a shiver of something dark down my spine. How satisfying.
But I needed to know more. More about her. More about everything that had led us here.
I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, steam curling around my frame as I reached for a towel.
Wrapping it loosely around my waist, I stepped into the cool air of my bedroom.
The clock on the wall read 7 PM.
She wouldn’t be home. As always.
I dressed quickly—black shirt, black pants, something simple, something comfortable.
When I walked into the hallway, Liam was already there, waiting, his expression unreadable.
"Did you find him?" I asked, my voice calm, though my mind was anything but.
Liam nodded. "Yeah. Are you sure about this?"
"Of course."
Even though it would take weeks to extract information about her past, visiting him would be useful, too.
I mean—what was the worst he could do?
Kill me?
Tch. He could try.
As we reached the living room, the familiar buzz of conversation hit me.
The others were laughing, amused, chattering about something insignificant.
But my focus snapped elsewhere—
Ares.
Standing at the end of the room.
Ares, who was supposed to be keeping an eye on Iris. Ares, who shouldn’t fucking be here.
The tension in my spine coiled tight, ready to snap.
"Don’t tell me some bastard touched her while you got distracted," I said, voice low, sharp.
"No, boss," he said quickly, and the air left my lungs in silent relief.
Then—
"Ace."
Her voice. Soft. Hesitant.
It stopped me dead.
I turned.
And there she was—
Standing there, shifting on her feet like she didn’t know what to do with herself. Like she didn’t know what to do with me.
Liam and Ares stepped away, giving us space, but I could feel the others watching from the hall.
They couldn’t hear us. That was enough for now.
"I—I’m sorry," she murmured, her voice a whisper, her eyes downcast. "I—I… am sorry for behaving like—"
"Don’t." The word left me sharper than I intended.
I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want her to feel like she had to.
She looked up at me.
And for a moment, we just—stood there.
My heart pounded against my ribs, a steady, involuntary betrayal.
She was wearing a simple blue frock. Nothing extravagant. Nothing eye-catching.
Just fabric covering skin.
But she looked like a ghost.
Like something rare. Something delicate.
Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, a few loose strands framing her face—like she didn’t care enough to fix it.
Like nothing mattered anymore.
I hated it.
I wanted to tear her apart just to put her back together again.
I wanted her eyes to burn again.
She cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.
"Your collar," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
I hummed in response, tilting my head slightly.
"Your collar," she repeated, more insistent this time.
I reached up, fingers brushing against the fabric, but she frowned and stepped closer. Standing on her toes, she adjusted it, her fingers deftly buttoning the top button I had left undone.
A mistake on my part. A careless oversight.
Or maybe… I did it on purpose.
Her hands were featherlight against my chest, her fingers trembling ever so slightly.
I felt her hesitate, her breath catching, her body tensing.
But still, she didn’t pull away.
Good.
I watched her, watched the way her lips parted, watched the way her lashes flickered like she was gathering the courage to look up at me.
Then, her gaze dipped lower.
The pendant.
A simple piece—an octagonal pendant with a black onyx stone embedded at its center.
I could see the way how her breathing shifted ever so slightly, how she bit the inside of her cheek as if forcing herself not to reach for it.
She loved it.
I could see it in the way her fingers curled against her palm, resisting the temptation to touch it.
She didn’t even realize how obvious she was.
Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and I felt a slow, languid pulse of pleasure coil through my gut.
Slowly, almost instinctively, I placed my hands on her hips, drawing her closer until our chests brushed.
A shiver ran through her, subtle but there, like a current under calm waters.
I exhaled, rubbing my thumb over her cheek, watching as she inhaled deeply—her lashes fluttering before she forced herself to remain still.
Her brown eyes met mine, and for a moment, everything else faded away.
But I knew.
She wasn’t here. Not really.
She was somewhere else, buried beneath a thick layer of forced composure. She had tucked herself away, hidden in the farthest corners of her mind, pretending that none of this was real.
I knew because I had seen it before. That empty, hollow look.
She buried it down.
The sadness. The betrayal. The guilt. The rage.
She swallowed it all like poison, convincing herself that she deserved it, that she couldn’t do anything to change it.
Foolish girl.
I leaned down, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her cheek, and she silently stood there, her body pliant under my touch.
That’s when I knew.
She had given up.
And yet, she was still standing here, in front of me. Looking at me. Speaking to me.
My grip tightened ever so slightly on her waist.
“Thank you,” I whispered, watching the way her brows pulled together.
“For?” she whispered back, voice slightly stronger than before. Not filled with emptiness, but not happy either.
For talking.
For looking at me again.
For willingly standing this close to me without crying over that asshole’s name.
I shrugged, feigning indifference, but my pulse thundered when I caught the tiniest twitch of her lips.
A smile.
Barely there, but real. And mine.
I tilted my head lower, pulling her even closer, until our noses brushed, our breaths mingling.
“My sweet Mini,” I murmured, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to the tip of her nose, feeling her breath hitch.
She wasn’t tense. But she wasn’t at ease either.
It bothered me. More than it should.
“Do you want me to kill anyone?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
I expected her eyes to widen. For her lips to part in surprise, maybe even fear.
But she only kept staring at my neck, shaking her head.
“No,” she murmured.
Her voice was quiet. Empty.
But her lips trembled.
Not a lie, but not the truth either.
She pulled back, her cheeks slightly flushed, her hands folding behind her as if forcing herself to create distance between us.
"You’re going somewhere?" she asked, her voice small, hesitant.
I hummed in response, tilting my head slightly, watching her every move.
She inhaled deeply, nodding to herself before forcing a small, fragile smile.
"Come back soon."
And then she was gone, slipping into the kitchen, the warmth of her body fading from mine like a fleeting whisper of heat before winter’s cold.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space she had occupied.
Foolish, foolish girl.
She thinks she can bury it.
She thinks I won’t see it.
My fingers ghosted over my lips as a slow, wicked grin curled across my face.
“I want to kill Isaac more than ever,” I murmured, chuckling under my breath.
As I turned back and walked into the hall, I heard Aiden and Felix whistling, clearly amused by what they had seen.
Idiots.
They didn’t get it.
"Don’t you have houses?" I muttered, my tongue pressing against the inside of my cheek, keeping the simmering irritation at bay.
They all shrugged, amusement flashing in their eyes like embers in the dark.
Hudson had the audacity to smirk, dragging his gaze over me like he was waiting for a show.
"Nice shirt."
I should break his teeth for that.
Instead, I leveled him with a slow, impassive stare before turning on my heel, stepping out with Liam.
I needed answers. Answers about her.
Not the half-truths, not the carefully crafted lies her brother left behind—I needed the raw, ugly truth buried under the mess of her existence as fast as I could.
The missing pieces of the puzzle that made up Iris, the girl who had slipped through my fingers too many times.
She was fragile now. Cracked. Hollow.
I had seen many people break. I had broken many people myself.
But this? This wasn’t destruction.
This was decay.
She was rotting away in silence, and I wasn’t going to let it happen.
The cold night air slapped against my face as we stepped into the city’s veins.
The streets of East Elmhurst were alive, pulsing with movement, the stench of gasoline and stale food filling my lungs.
The scent of grilled food mixed with the acrid bite of cigarette smoke, the streets lined with cramped markets and corner stores where people bartered over fruit and cheap electronics.
Isaac had chosen his hiding place well.
A neighborhood crowded enough that his face could blur into the background, but not too inconspicuous to draw attention.
A perfect rat’s nest.
But rats could be dragged out and gutted.
We entered an old building, the walls covered in faded paint and cheap graffiti.
The elevator doors screeched as they opened, the inside reeking of rust and mildew.
I stepped in, running my tongue along my teeth, pulse steady but charged.
Liam leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching me in that lazy, knowing way.
"Ace, what if you shoot him? Accidentally," he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
His question made me smirk.
"If I shoot Isaac accidentally, I’ll need someone to bury his body. That’s why I brought you along," I replied, chuckling darkly.
Liam laughed, the sound echoing in the cramped elevator. "Fair enough."
The ding of the elevator doors opening sounded almost too soft for the tension thrumming in my veins.
We stepped out into a dimly lit hallway, narrow and claustrophobic, the flickering yellow light above casting jagged shadows against the cracked walls.
The air smelled of oil and old carpeting, with the faint undertones of sweat and neglect.
People stared as we walked past—parents clutching their children’s hands, teenage girls whispering behind their palms, old men watching with wary eyes.
We didn’t belong here, and they knew it.
Our presence was a disruption, an omen of something violent about to unfold.
We didn’t belong here, and they knew it.
"304?" I asked, confirming the apartment number as we approached.
Liam nodded, and I rang the doorbell. A sharp, deliberate press.
A pause. Then, the sound of movement. Slow, hesitant footsteps approached from the other side.
I exhaled slowly, fingers flexing at my sides.
The door swung open, revealing a young brunette woman.
Her wide, startled eyes reflected the exact reaction I had anticipated—shock, followed immediately by sheer panic.
It flickered across her face like a flame catching on dry wood.
She knew who I was. She knew what I was.
The moment she moved to slam the door, my hand shot out, catching it before it could close.
The force sent a dull vibration up my arm, but it was nothing compared to the amusement curling in my chest.
She should know better.
With a slow, deliberate push, I stepped inside. Not hurried. Not rushed.
I wanted her to feel every second of her helplessness.
Liam followed, the heavy thud of the door shutting behind us sealing her fate.
Her breath came in ragged bursts, hands trembling as she clenched them into fists.
She was trying to mask her fear with anger. Admirable. Useless.
"Get the fuck out of my house, you disgusting bastard!" she spat, her voice shrill, laced with fury.
Her face contorted with rage, but her eyes betrayed her.
Wide, alert, searching for an escape that didn’t exist.
I ignored her.
Instead, I took my time, stepping further into her space.
The place was suffocating—cheap perfume, burnt toast, the lingering scent of something stale, unclean.
Liam and I settled onto the couch, sinking into the worn-out, pathetic excuse of furniture.
It sagged beneath my weight, and I had to fight the urge to sneer.
Cheap. Useless. Just like him.
I leaned back, crossing my arms, and let my gaze settle on her. Cold. Unfeeling.
"Where’s he?"
She stiffened. Her nostrils flared.
I could almost hear the gears grinding in her head, debating whether to lie or tell me to fuck off again.
Her lips curled back in disgust. "Get. Out."
I sighed, barely suppressing my irritation, and pulled out my phone.
My thumb casually scrolled through the notifications, the glow of the screen illuminating my face.
She wasn’t worth my full attention.
Liam, on the other hand, let his eyes roam the room. It wasn’t idle curiosity.
It was calculated, methodical—mapping out their life, their routine, their weaknesses.
"Deliah. His girlfriend," Liam murmured, voice devoid of interest.
I raised an eyebrow. "I don’t even know her."
"Her father was one of the royal family’s guards. You killed him."
Ah. That explained the hatred simmering in her eyes.
A slow chuckle rumbled in my throat.
Of course.
And just like that, something infinitely more interesting than Deliah's fury caught my attention.
A notification from Felix.
Iris is making your favorite dishes tonight.
My breath hitched, just slightly.
She was… cooking for me?
My chest constricted—something sickly sweet and sharp, twisting deep inside me.
A grin spread across my lips, slow and easy, like a pathetic fool.
That’s all it took. Her. Just being her.
Iris was still in her shell, still fighting the ghosts that clung to her, but she was trying. For me.
Adorable.
Maybe, just maybe, the thought of slaughtering Isaac had softened into merely disfiguring him.
A relief.
As always, she calmed me down.
The moment was short-lived.
Because then, the door crashed open.
A loud bang. A jolt. A shadow in the doorway.
And there he was.
Isaac.
For a split second, something primitive reared up in me. A vicious, uncontrollable need to destroy.
His expression shifted from a frown to a glare.
"I expected you to show up," he muttered, his voice flat.
No fear. No hesitation.
Just the exasperation of a man annoyed by a minor inconvenience.
I leaned back, tilting my head as he walked further inside.
He barely acknowledged me, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
His lips curled in that same practiced smirk—a hollow attempt at indifference.
The arrogance of a man who thought he still had control.
Pathetic.
Deliah, though, was different.
She stood beside him, her body stiff, her eyes darting between us. She could feel it.
The pressure in the air.
Still, she clung to Isaac.
A blind, desperate woman wrapped around the man who was actively sinking her.
It would have been funny if it wasn’t so disgusting.
"Hey, baby."
His voice softened as he greeted her. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, fingers grazing the back of her neck.
It was deliberate.
An assertion. A manipulation. A show.
I could see it in the way her shoulders stiffened, in the way her lips parted—anger, confusion, but still drawn to him.
Pathetic.
"Why are you here?" Isaac finally addressed me, lowering himself onto the couch opposite mine.
I let the silence stretch, watching him, letting him feel the weight of it.
Then, I said it.
"Iris is not your sister."
His body reacted before his mind did.
The slight looseness in his shoulders. The way his fingers twitched.
The flicker of something behind his eyes— something dark, something raw.
He wasn’t shocked.
He had known.
"What?" Deliah whispered, her voice trembling.
Isaac’s smirk returned, thin, cruel.
"So what?"
His anger flared as he turned to Deliah. Deflection. Evasion.
He was pushing it onto her, making her the problem.
"You said Iris is your sister? Did you lie to me?" Deliah’s voice cracked, her confusion unraveling into something desperate.
Isaac’s patience snapped. "Not now."
His tone had changed. Sharper. Harsher.
Her hands clenched into fists. She stood there for a second, weighing her options.
Then, she walked away.
Not out of defiance.
Out of resignation.
She was already breaking, just like Iris had.
Isaac turned back to me, his expression settling into something neutral, calculated.
But I could still see it.
The rage simmering beneath his skin. The loss of something he refused to name.
"I want to know about Iris’s past."
He scoffed under his breath.
"So, you tracked me all the way here to ask about that cretin?"
That word.
Cretin.
It slithered out of his mouth like filth, desecrating her, reducing her to something small, something worthless.
The storm inside me expanded.
"Positive thoughts, Ace. He has to be alive," Liam murmured.
Alive.
That was the only requirement now, wasn’t it?
Not whole. Not unharmed. Not even sane.
Just breathing.
The bar was so fucking low.
Guns, blood, strawberries, a bloody splattered tub, my Mini sleeping peacefully, her eyes.
My positive thoughts.
"What do you want to know about her?" Isaac finally asked, his tone serious, as if he realized I wasn’t here to play games.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Everything. From the first day to this day."
Isaac let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head.
Then, something in his face changed.
The mockery twisted into something bitter.
"Her family wanted a son, but that woman couldn’t give birth to one. So they had a girl."
Venom coated his words.
Not at them.
At her.
"Iris’s mother couldn’t conceive after that, so they adopted me from some fucking orphanage."
He paused.
I saw it.
The slight narrowing of his eyes.
The memory of something rotting inside him.
"After that, everything went smoothly."
Liar.
"We were a happy family," Isaac started, his voice smooth, like he was telling a bedtime story. "I had a mom, a dad, and a little sister who adored me."
The last word slithered out like a curse, like something sour curdling on his tongue.
Adored.
That was the problem, wasn’t it?
He let out a dry, humorless chuckle.
"But when I was fifteen, Iris’s father discovered my involvement with some… unsavory people. Certain gang members, certain deals." His fingers twitched against his knee, a tell.
"Her father, that arrogant bastard, thought he could fix me. Thought he could ‘discipline’ me into obedience."
He licked his teeth, the smirk widening.
"My stupid mother, being the loving, devoted woman she was, believed my lie instead. Thought her husband was making it all up. And me? I played my role perfectly." His eyes flickered with something mean, something sharp-edged.
"So things went back to normal. They fought, I made money, and life moved on."
Then his expression darkened.
"But Iris. That dumb fucking girl."
There was a shift, a slow-burning rage creeping into his voice.
His fingers curled into a fist, the leather of his couch groaning under the pressure.
"She ruined my life."
He spat the words out like venom.
"Suddenly, she was the golden child. The one they doted on, the one they trusted. They stopped looking at me. Stopped listening to me. Everything was about her." His teeth bared, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.
"They used to tell me I was special, that I was their pride. But then it was her. Iris, the sweet, obedient daughter. Iris, the perfect little angel."
His breath was ragged, his nails digging half-moon crescents into his palm.
"And I was nothing."
Liam let out an exaggerated groan, slumping back against his seat.
"Look, can we skip ahead? I don’t really care about your sad little brother complex. Let’s get to how her parents died."
Isaac turned to him sharply, a flicker of annoyance passing over his features before it vanished beneath that carefully constructed mask.
"They died in an accident," he said, voice lighter now, almost conversational.
"Or maybe… I planned it. Maybe I waited until the perfect moment to make sure they wouldn’t come home that night. Maybe I made sure they took that specific route."
He tilted his head slightly, considering.
"But then—" he smiled, and it was a cold, gleeful thing. "Iris wasn’t in the car."
Silence.
"She was playing with some stray dog in the street, and because of that, she lived."
There was something so deliberate about the way he said it.
"You should’ve seen her face."
Isaac closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply as if reliving the memory.
"She just stood there. Perfectly still. Like a pretty little doll, watching her parents’ bodies burn in a twisted pile of metal. Not crying. Not screaming. Just blinking, slowly, like she didn’t understand."
His voice turned wistful.
"Ah… I always cherished that memory."
My fingers stilled.
The urge to crush his fucking skull was an itch I had to actively restrain.
I tilted my head slightly, my voice coming out low, cold, deadly. "Why did you change and alter her records?"
Isaac’s expression barely flickered.
"Why not?" he mused, like he was genuinely considering the question for the first time.
A muscle in my jaw ticked.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my gaze locked onto his like a knife pressing against skin. "You erased her existence."
Isaac let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly.
"Did I?" His eyes glowed with something unreadable, something almost amused. "She’s still breathing, isn’t she?"
He said it like it was a favor.
Like I should be thanking him.
I imagined jamming the barrel of my gun into his mouth, feeling the resistance of bone as I pulled the trigger.
But I didn’t.
Not yet.
"You want the truth?" Isaac asked, his smirk fading just slightly.
I said nothing.
His lips parted, his next words soft, almost disappointed.
"Because she wasn’t mine anymore."
The room felt colder.
"Mine?" I repeated, my voice dangerously low.
Isaac swallowed, but his gaze didn’t waver.
"She was mine first."
Something slow, something lethal coiled inside my chest.
Isaac let out a humorless laugh, leaning in slightly, his voice turning almost gentle.
"You don’t get it, do you?" His breath was shallow, his pupils slightly blown out. "I made her. She was nothing before me."
Silence.
I let it stretch.
Then I asked, quietly, "Nothing?"
His lips twitched.
"A girl locked inside her house. That’s all she was. But after I came into her life? She played with me. Loved me. Rooted for her big brother. She followed me everywhere."
Then his voice twisted, souring.
"And then they took her away from me."
A bitter laugh spilled from his lips.
"Just because I didn’t listen to them. Just because I didn’t fit into their mold. They started to adore her. Cherish her. Look at her like she was everything."
He sneered, shaking his head.
"That girl ruined what was mine."
And then, that cruel, fucking smirk returned.
"So I ruined everything of hers."
I exhaled, slow. Controlled.
"It was fun to watch her struggle through the streets," Isaac continued, relishing the words. "Getting slapped for minor inconveniences. The way she clung to a promise that was never real."
I let the silence settle again, let him think he was winning.
Then, softly, I said, "You know why I’m not killing you despite knowing everything?"
The room tightened.
His smirk didn’t waver, but I saw it then—the brief flicker of unease.
"For her," I stated, my voice sharp as a blade.
A beat of silence.
Then—that fucking smirk widened.
"I know. That’s why I’m sitting here."
My jaw clenched.
He was playing with fire.
And he knew it.
The air between us was thick, filled with an unspoken animosity that had been brewing for far too long.
Then, in a voice too measured, too calm, I asked, “Why is Iris so oblivious? So naive?”
He exhaled through his nose, eyes half-lidded, bored.
"Their parents' fault," he muttered with a dismissive wave, like the subject was barely worth his breath.
Like Iris was barely worth it.
"They always kept her inside the house, homeschooled her, wouldn’t even let her play outside with anyone. So, she was raised this way. Pathetic, really."
There was no remorse in his voice. Not even an ounce of guilt.
It was just a statement. A fact. Like he was listing off something insignificant—something broken beyond repair.
Then, his lips curled into something meaner. Sharper.
"I pitied her before. But not now."
His words came slow, deliberate, as if savoring the shift in the air, the thickening tension pressing down like a weight.
"But really, she is crazy from the inside. Any person would see her as an angel, but she’s a freak. An unhinged, obsessive girl."
A pause. A small, cruel smirk.
"So better be careful that she don’t get attached to you."
His voice was devoid of warmth. Just flat. Empty. Uncaring.
I didn’t speak. I just stared at him.
And then he said it.
"She must have been good in bed for you."
The room stilled.
A slow, creeping tension slithered up my spine, wrapping around my throat like a noose.
Even Liam—who had been feigning boredom—visibly tensed, his face contorting with revulsion.
He turned sharply toward Isaac, eyes narrowing.
"Have some fucking shame," Liam snapped, disgust curling in his voice. "You're still her brother."
Isaac blinked once. Then he shrugged. Unbothered. Indifferent.
"I don’t care."
And I believed him.
That was what made it worse.
He truly didn’t care. Tch.
Isaac leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
His expression was unreadable, his lips pressing into something thoughtful, as if debating whether or not to share his next words.
Then, he exhaled.
"My friends used to hit on her, you know."
I said nothing.
His smirk widened slightly.
"They said her innocence could manipulate any man’s heart."
A low chuckle.
"That kind of purity, that kind of helplessness—" he tilted his head slightly, his voice coated in something dark, something twisted. Something vile.
"It’s dangerous."
His eyes flickered toward mine, watching for a reaction.
"And I mean, let’s be honest, she has a great body underneath those shabby clothes she wears."
He dragged his tongue over his teeth, amusement flickering across his face.
"No wonder my friends used to joke about breaking her. Seeing how long it’d take before that innocence cracked. Before she realized she wasn’t special—just another stupid girl who didn’t know how the world worked."
Another slow breath, dragging out the silence, making it heavier.
"But she never even noticed, did she? She just looked at people like they were—what? Good?" He scoffed.
"I used to watch her smile at them. Fucking smile, Ace. Like they wouldn’t eat her alive the second she let her guard down."
His fingers tapped against his knee, casual, detached.
"She wanted to believe in people so badly."
But he wasn’t done.
"You know, at night, she used to sleep with me," he murmured, dragging out the words just to watch for a reaction.
"Hugging me close to her, all small, soft and trusting, like I was the only thing keeping her safe."
He smiled.
I moved.
Before I even processed the thought, I was on my feet, my body taut with barely restrained fury.
The room was too small, too suffocating, my muscles coiling so tightly they trembled.
The distance between us shrank in a blink.
I could hear my own breath, ragged, heavy, the air thick and charged with something violent.
The sickening sound of my pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out everything except the overwhelming, blistering urge to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze.
To feel his pulse stutter and slow beneath my fingers.
To watch that smirk fade into something else entirely.
He didn’t deserve to sit there so fucking smug after the shit he’d done to my Mini.
I loomed over him, my fists clenched so tightly my knuckles blanched white, trembling with the barely contained rage that clawed at my insides.
Isaac didn’t move.
He just smiled, tilting his head like a man studying something amusing.
Like he was watching me wrestle with my own self-control and loving every second of it.
The rational part of my brain was screaming at me to stop.
But the anger, the fury burning in my chest was louder.
"Let’s go."
The words were forced through gritted teeth, low and dangerous, each syllable drenched in something lethal.
My boots thudded against the floor as I turned sharply toward the door, each step a barely restrained promise of what I would do if I stayed in that room a second longer.
At the threshold, I stopped.
Turned my head slightly.
And when I spoke, my voice was quiet. Steady. Unshakable.
"Isaac."
He looked up, still smirking.
"Next time when I see you, I will kill you."
The words were not a threat.
They were a vow.
Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked out, the tension in my muscles refusing to unwind even as I put distance between us.
The cool night air hit me like a slap, sharp and biting, but it did nothing to calm the inferno raging inside me.
My breath came out in sharp, visible puffs, my lungs burning from the sheer effort of holding myself together.
I ripped open the car door and slid into the passenger seat, the leather cold against my back, the silence deafening.
Liam didn’t say a word. He started the engine, and the deep, throaty rumble of the car echoed in the night, a sound that mirrored the turmoil churning inside me.
The car lurched forward, the tires crunching on the gravel as we began the drive to the mansion.
"I want you to run a full background check on everyone in the mansion," I said, my voice as smooth as a blade, cutting through the silence. "Every. Single. Person. Dig deeper into Ivan's and the royal family's details, again."
Liam’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening under the dim glow of the dashboard.
His eyes flicked toward me for the briefest moment, but he didn’t question it.
He knew better than to ask why.
Because this wasn’t just about security.
This was about trust.
And I didn’t trust a single fucking soul.
I could feel Liam’s hesitation, the way his jaw tensed.
He didn’t need to say it—I knew he wanted to ask about Isaac, about what happened back there, about the things I didn’t let myself do.
But instead, he settled for something else.
"You didn’t ask him about the royal family?" His voice was careful. Too careful.
I shook my head once, curt. My fingers twitched against my knee, a slow, deliberate movement.
I needed to calm the fuck down.
Five years ago, the Royal Family was untouchable.
The wealthiest, the most influential, the most feared business tycoons in the world.
They weren’t just partners in crime—they were the architects of an empire that thrived on suffering.
They sold humans like cattle, locked in shipping containers, barely old enough to speak full sentences.
They ran brothels—thousands of them, sprawling across countries, catering to men whose pockets overflowed with filth.
They kidnapped the wealthy, the powerful, draining every last cent before dumping their bodies in back alleys like discarded trash.
And worst of all— They profited from child pornography.
I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth might crack.
That night, I went to them as a businessman.
I left as a fucking executioner.
I didn’t just kill them.
I slaughtered them.
Every last one.
But that wasn’t the part that haunted me.
Because someone else died that night.
A secret I had buried deep.
A name that could destroy me.
And the worst part?
If I had just killed them all—if I had killed the ones sitting in my mansion right now— maybe I would be free of this burden.
Maybe I wouldn’t be trapped in this never-ending cycle of secret and regret.
Tsk.
I exhaled sharply, tilting my head back against the seat. The cold leather bit into my skin.
When we pulled up to the mansion, I stepped out, my movements stiff with unspent aggression.
The house loomed in the night, dark and vast, a shadowed beast waiting to swallow me whole.
My breath came out slow, sharp. I was still too wound up, the adrenaline refusing to let go of me.
I walked inside, expecting the usual sounds of my men—talking, arguing, the occasional crash of something hitting the floor.
But instead—
Laughter.
I froze.
Too light. Too carefree.
Like they had nothing to worry about.
I followed the sound to the dining hall.
The moment I stepped inside, the scent of hot food hit me. Garlic, roasted meat, and something faintly spiced, curling into the air like a whisper.
The guys were seated on the floor, gathered around a large, ground-level eating table.
It was unexpected. Nostalgic, even.
The food was steaming. Plates set neatly, dishes overflowing, the air thick with warmth.
"Finally! You're here!" Aiden groaned happily, stretching his arms above his head, a wide grin spreading across his face.
His black hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and he looked entirely too comfortable.
"Ace, Iris didn't let us touch the food until you both arrived because..." he continued, his voice rising in mock complaint as he scanned the room, his eyes glinting with mischief.
"Family doesn’t eat alone!" Felix chimed in, his voice loud and slurred, already too deep into his drinks.
His laughter rang through the dining hall, rich and unbothered, the kind of laughter that only came from being drunk and surrounded by people you trust.
Even Liam, usually composed and sharp-edged, was laughing— a peculiar sight.
And then I saw her.
My Mini.
She sat alone in the corner, her small frame huddled in on itself, as if she were trying to shrink, to disappear into the shadows of the room. Yet—
She was smiling.
Like she hadn’t spent years clawing her way out of the fucking gutter because of Isaac.
Like she wasn’t the reason I had to stop myself from putting a bullet between his teeth earlier tonight.
My fingers twitched at my side.
Isaac’s words still slithered in my head, poisonous, rotting.
"At night, she used to sleep with me, hugging me close to her—"
I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, inhaling deeply.
No.
Not here. Not now.
Her smile—that soft, hesitant thing—was wrong.
It was too small, too uncertain, as if she was testing the waters, unsure if she even belonged among the laughter and the warmth.
I didn’t love it.
I strode forward, dropping down beside Hudson with a quiet thud.
The scent of food wrapped around me, rich and spiced, the heat from the dishes warming the cool air.
The conversation hummed, easy and familiar, but my focus was elsewhere.
I turned my head slightly, my gaze pinning her.
"Mini," I muttered, low and firm.
I patted my lap. A silent invitation.
Her wide, startled eyes snapped to mine.
I could see the hesitation, the flicker of conflict in her gaze.
She shook her head quickly, the movement barely perceptible—a refusal.
But I just smiled.
A coaxing smile. Carefully measured, warm enough to ease her nerves, sharp enough to leave no room for defiance.
I patted the floor beside me this time, softer, a quiet demand disguised as patience.
Her gaze darted around the room as if she were afraid of the attention it might draw.
And then—
A small, almost imperceptible sigh.
She moved. Slow, cautious, stiff-limbed.
She crawled towards me, each motion hesitant, as if she expected the floor to collapse beneath her.
When she finally settled beside me, her body was still tense, rigid—
But she was there.
That was enough.
I leaned in, brushing a kiss against her cheek.
The warmth of her skin lingered on my lips for a fleeting second, her scent a quiet mix of something sweet and delicate.
Before I could say anything more—
"OK, can we eat now?"
Leo’s voice cut through the moment, dry and exasperated. He was already reaching for his plate, impatient as always.
I hummed in response, giving a slow nod.
But my attention—my full attention—was still on her.
And Leo? Leo knew exactly how to make it worse.
"Excuse me, we were asking her." His voice was playful but pointed, deliberately shifting the focus.
And just like that—the room fell silent.
Every single gaze turned to her.
Her body stiffened.
Her eyes—those deep brown eyes flecked with gold—widened in panic.
I could almost hear her heartbeat. Fast, frantic.
I could see the tremble in her fingers as she realized—they were all waiting.
She nodded quickly. Too quickly. The movement was frantic, desperate to end the moment.
A nervous smile tugged at her lips—strained, forced—but enough.
The tension shattered. The room exhaled.
Conversations resumed. Plates clattered, laughter returned, and just like that—it was over.
But as I observed the scene before me, I noticed something missing.
The guards.
The maids.
The ever-present watchful eyes.
For the first time in years—there was no one else.
Just us.
The realization hit me like a punch to the ribs, knocking the breath from my lungs.
Happiness. Sadness. Nervousness. Terror.
A flood of emotions, crashing over me, pulling me under.
Then—a touch.
Soft. Warm. Steady.
I looked down, startled.
Iris’s delicate fingers rested on mine, small, fragile, but strong.
A quiet kind of strength, the kind that didn’t come from power or dominance but from something deeper.
She smiled, gentle yet knowing.
"It’s okay, Ace."
Her voice was quiet but firm, like a thread of calm in the middle of a storm.
Her thumb moved over my knuckles, slow and soothing, tracing circles into my skin, grounding me in a way I hadn’t even realized I needed.
"Sometimes you have to stop thinking and go with the flow. If not, it would disappear in the blink of an eye."
She didn’t say it like an empty phrase.
She said it like she knew.
Like she understood what it meant to lose things—to have something slip through your fingers before you even had a chance to hold onto it.
My chest tightened.
Because, of course, she did.
Iris had spent her entire life trapped in a world someone else built for her. Sheltered. Controlled.
She had been taught to obey, to follow, to be seen but never truly heard.
And yet—she still spoke of freedom like it was something she could reach.
Like it was something she had ever known.
And me?
I had lost everything, too.
But I destroyed mine with my own hands.
Her life had been taken.
I had set mine on fire.
I exhaled slowly, my gaze locked on her as she took another bite, her eyes flickering with quiet contentment.
There was an innocence in the way she ate, like food wasn’t just fuel to her but something to be savored, something to be appreciated.
I wasn’t like that.
I never had been.
Even as a child, every bite I took had been calculated—eaten under someone’s watchful gaze, measured, accounted for.
At my mother’s side, I had been raised with the traditions of a queen’s heir, where every movement mattered.
A future king did not slouch at the table, did not eat too quickly or too slowly.
He did not spill, did not waste, did not indulge.
I had learned young that food was a necessity, not an enjoyment.
And under my father’s rule, it had been even worse.
The Russian mafia did not raise sons. They forged weapons. I had not been nurtured.
I had been honed—cut, carved, molded into something unbreakable.
My meals had been tests.
Could I eat without losing focus?
Could I remain alert, aware of my surroundings?
Could I take a bite and still be ready to kill if the moment demanded it?
Because that was what my father had always demanded.
To survive.
I clenched my jaw, staring down at my own plate.
The food in front of me was no different from any other meal I had ever had, but for the first time in years, I wondered.
Would it taste different if I let myself enjoy it?
I picked up my fork, mimicking her movements, letting myself feel the act of eating rather than just performing it.
"Enjoy the moment."
The words played over and over in my head, pushing against every instinct I had.
But for once, I listened.
I forced my shoulders to relax, forced my mind to quiet, forced myself to let go— if only for a second.
Because if there was anyone who knew how quickly something could disappear… it was us.
++++++++++++++++
It was past 11 at night, the air in the room heavy with the lingering scent of food and the warm buzz of alcohol.
We had all eaten our fill, sprawled lazily on the floor, the edges of our vision softened by the tipsiness— everyone except my Mini, of course.
She was the only one who hadn’t indulged, sipping on her Sprite instead, nursing the drink like it was some fine liquor.
Every few moments, she let out a small burp, and each time, I couldn’t help but chuckle.
There was something undeniably cute about the way she tried to cover her mouth, her hand shooting up in a feeble attempt to stifle the sound, her cheeks warming with embarrassment.
It was innocent. Simple.
She was, after all, in her usual spot—my lap, her own personal chair, as if she belonged there.
I tightened my grip around her waist, pressing my palm flat against her stomach, feeling the soft rhythm of her breathing beneath my fingers.
Hudson’s voice cut through the low hum of conversation, his tone light and teasing.
"I'm telling you, Su, get some cooking lessons from Iris," he joked, casting a playful glance in Susan’s direction.
"Shut up, Hudson," Susan snarled back, flipping him the middle finger without missing a beat.
I downed the rest of my wine in one smooth motion, savoring the warmth it left in my throat.
A slow, satisfied smile spread across my face as I leaned into Iris, tucking my head against her neck.
"Did you like the food?" she murmured, turning her head slightly to look at me.
Her voice was soft, almost tentative, as if she were seeking my approval.
I scoffed. "No, I didn’t like the food, that’s why I ate three plates."
She chuckled at that, a sweet sound that made her eyes crinkle at the corners.
It was infectious.
I found myself grinning before I even realized it.
And then—
A burp.
Loud. Unexpected.
It echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls.
Her cheeks flushed red as she let out an awkward giggle, trying to play it off. "Hehehe."
Leo chimed in with a mischievous grin. "Don’t be embarrassed. Aiden farts like loud fireworks."
"HEY!" Aiden protested, his voice rising above the laughter. "Burping and farting are not related!"
The conversation continued, the laughter filling the space between us.
But I wasn’t laughing anymore.
Not because of her burp. Not because of the ridiculous argument unfolding in front of me.
Because I was watching her.
Really watching her.
Two days ago, she had locked herself away.
She hadn't eaten. Hadn't spoken. Hadn't let anyone in.
And now she was here, laughing like nothing had happened.
How?
I pressed a delicate kiss to her neck, letting my lips linger against her warm skin.
She shivered slightly but didn’t pull away.
She looked at me then, her eyes sparkling with laughter, a soft giggle escaping her lips.
I kissed her again, this time on her nose, then her eyes, her soft cheeks, and finally her temple. Each kiss was light, almost featherlike.
She was warm against me, her body relaxed and at ease in a way that made everything else in the world feel distant and unimportant.
Everything felt soft.
But I knew the truth.
She wasn’t fine. Not really.
I nudged my nose against her earlobe, making her smile and shiver slightly in response.
"Let’s sleep," I whispered, my voice low and coaxing.
I could see the sleepiness in her eyes, the way her blinks were becoming slower, her posture more relaxed.
But even though she was clearly tired, there was a hesitance in her.
She was too well-mannered to just leave the room and go to bed, especially when everyone else was still here.
I could see the internal struggle on her face as she stood up, looking at me expectantly, almost as if she needed my permission.
"Go," I said, tapping her thighs lightly to encourage her.
She pouted, her lips forming a small frown as she let out a sigh.
There was a hint of frustration in the way her shoulders slumped, but she didn’t argue.
Instead, she grumbled under her breath and turned to leave the room, heading toward our bedroom with that adorable little frown still on her face.
As I watched her go, I couldn’t help but smirk, imagining the small fit she was probably throwing in her head.
She’d never admit it, but I knew she didn’t like going to bed without me.
My little Mini was probably sulking already, upset that I wasn’t right there with her.
I could picture it—the way she’d climb into bed, curling up in the sheets, maybe huffing out a little sigh as she pulled the blankets over her head.
The thought curled my lips into a smirk.
But it didn’t last.
A voice slurred through the air, slicing through the warmth that had settled in my chest.
"You motherfucker, if you didn’t like her…"
Felix’s voice. Dripping with alcohol, sluggish and loose.
"I would have proposed to her by now."
The room tilted. Or maybe it was just my vision.
The warmth drained from my body so fast it left behind a hollow, frozen void.
For a moment, I didn’t move.
My fingers, still ghosting over the spot where Iris had sat, curled slightly, flexing, as if they were adjusting to the shift inside me.
My smirk was gone.
Silence spread, thick and suffocating. Or maybe it was just my ears ringing.
I wasn’t sure.
But something in me was sure.
And it didn’t love what Felix had said.
I stood up, slow and deliberate, the movement sending a ripple of awareness through the room.
Aiden shifted away immediately, muttering something under his breath, but his words didn’t register.
I was already moving.
Felix barely had time to process it before my hand shot out, fingers curling around his shirt collar. In one swift, effortless motion, I yanked him up.
His body jerked violently, limbs flailing for balance as he was ripped from his drunken haze and thrown into something much sharper—fear.
His bleary eyes widened, pupils dilating as they locked onto mine.
His mouth opened slightly, as if his slow, intoxicated brain was trying to form a response.
A slow, wide smile stretched across my lips.
Not warm. Not amused. Something twisted, something cold, something cruel.
My thumb pressed against his throat, just under his jaw, where the skin was soft, where the pulse was fragile.
His breath hitched.
“You think I would let you…” I murmured, my voice low, smooth—almost soft.
My fingers tightened, nails digging just enough to make him flinch. “Don’t you, by now, know to back off on your own, Felix Smith?”
A little pressure. Just a little more.
His pulse fluttered beneath my grip, rapid, uneven, weak.
"He’s drunk!" Susan’s voice cut through the tension, sharp with alarm.
But she was background noise.
Everything else in the room had faded.
There was only Felix. And the words he had dared to speak.
"I would have proposed to her by now."
The image it conjured made my blood turn molten.
My muscles coiled, my body humming with something primal, something territorial, something dark.
I exhaled, slow, controlled, measured.
Then, I let go.
Felix stumbled back, his body collapsing into the couch with a heavy thud.
I tilted my head slightly, watching him, drinking in the disoriented panic in his eyes, the way he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he realized—finally fucking realized—that he had messed up.
But I wasn’t done.
"Even if she is of no use to me," I said, my voice velvety smooth, laced with something venomous. "I will not give her to anyone."
I stepped forward, my foot pressing down against his throat, just enough to make him tense, just enough to remind him that I could go further if I wanted to.
Felix’s hands shot up, his fingers barely gripping my ankle, but he didn’t push, didn’t resist.
He knew better.
He knew if he tried something funny, he’d end up with his hands twisted the wrong way.
Adorable.
"Stop…" Felix groaned, his voice taking on a petulant tone, like a child throwing a tantrum after being scolded.
I clicked my tongue, shaking my head.
Then, I leaned down, lowering myself just enough so he could see my eyes up, see the darkness swimming in them.
"When I looked into her eyes… from that moment, she belonged to me."
The words came out smooth, absolute, final.
"My pretty doll."
Felix sucked in a breath, his drunken haze clearing just enough to let understanding settle in.
Good.
I let my foot drop away from his throat and straightened.
Without another glance at him, I turned and walked toward the bedroom, my movements slow, unhurried, controlled.
There was a slight skip in my step, a small, satisfied smirk playing on my lips.
As I opened the door, I found her exactly as I had expected—lying in bed, pouting, her arms crossed over her chest, her bottom lip clenched ever so slightly. Adorable.
She must’ve heard my footsteps because the moment her eyes landed on me, the pout wavered.
Her expression softened, surprise flickering across her face, followed by something warmer.
Happiness.
A small, shy smile tugged at her lips, hesitant at first, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to feel relieved.
Like she wasn’t sure I’d actually come.
I felt my chest tighten, my heart giving that strange little flip it always did when she looked at me like that.
Without a word, I reached for the hem of my shirt and peeled it off, the cool air brushing against my skin.
I felt her gaze on me, watching intently as I unbuttoned my pants, letting them drop to the floor.
She didn’t look away.
There was a curious glint in her eyes, the faintest trace of something unspoken. But she didn’t say a word.
Instead, she lifted the blanket beside her, making space for me, offering me a silent invitation.
"Sleep?" she asked, voice soft, tinged with hope.
How sweet.
I didn’t break eye contact as I climbed into bed, the mattress dipping slightly under my weight.
The second I was under the blanket, she pulled it up, tucking it around me like it was some unspoken ritual, her fingers brushing against my bare skin in the process.
A satisfied look crossed her face, like having me beside her was enough to make everything right in the world.
And for some reason, I let her believe that.
We got tangled in the sheets without trying, our bodies naturally gravitating toward each other, fitting together in a way that was more comforting than anything else.
Her warmth seeped into me, her scent settling around us—faint traces of jasmine and coconut.
My head rested on her shoulder, close enough to feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.
It was slow. Steady. Peaceful.
Her fingers found my tattoos, tracing them lazily, half-asleep, as if mapping out the inked stories on my skin.
But as she did, my mind wandered.
To the truth.
To the bastard who had taken everything from her, the one she still called brother.
The one she had trusted, loved, and defended.
I should tell her.
Shouldn’t I?
But how could I?
How could I be the one to shatter whatever small piece of peace she had managed to carve out for herself?
She had been through too much already.
So, maybe I wouldn’t tell her.
Maybe I didn’t want to.
Let her have her peace.
Let her have this little world she created for herself, where things weren’t broken, where things made sense.
And if she asked me for something—anything—I’d give it to her.
Because no matter how much of a monster I was, no matter how cruel, how twisted—
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