The meeting had dragged on for hours, yet we were no closer to finding the snake slithering through my house.
Liam’s voice carried through the room, measured, calculated. "Everyone’s details are clear, not a single sketchy piece of information."
I leaned back in my chair, fingers pressing against my temple. "That’s not conceivable. There must be one mole in the house."
The others murmured in agreement, but their silence spoke louder than their words.
No one wanted to be the first to point fingers.
Susan folded her arms. "We should stick together now. If not, we all will be killed."
Her words settled in the air like a death sentence.
Trust was a luxury we couldn’t afford, not now.
A sharp knock cut through the tension. My patience, already worn thin, cracked like ice beneath the weight of frustration.
"Come in," I muttered, eyes still locked on the computer screen, scanning through every file Liam had pulled.
The door creaked open. A shuffle of hesitant footsteps followed. I didn’t need to look up.
The scent of jasmine reached me before she did.
But it was Leo’s voice that snapped my concentration.
"Ahhh! Thank you, love," he said, his tone unusually light.
Something inside me stilled.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze.
There she was.
My Mini.
A tray of tea in her hands, her delicate fingers curled around the handle.
She moved with quiet grace, offering a warm smile as she set about her task— pouring, serving, easing the tension in the room with something as simple as a cup of tea.
My eyes flicked to Leo. He was grinning at her.
My jaw tightened.
"Leo," I said, my voice low and firm. A warning.
His smile faltered.
"Forget I said that," he backtracked hastily, clearing his throat. "What I meant is— my dear little sister."
I watched as Iris continued, oblivious to the territorial storm brewing inside me.
My gaze followed her every move— the way the fabric of her dress danced around her knees, the way her fingers trembled just slightly when she handed Liam his cup.
The others weren’t blind.
They noticed, just as I did, the stiffness in her movements, the way exhaustion and weakness clung to her like a second skin.
"Hi."
Her voice— soft, hesitant— pulled me from the dark spiral of my thoughts.
She stood before me, the tray still in her hands, offering me the last cup of tea.
I took it, sighing and placed the tea on the table beside me and reached out, gently pulling her into my lap.
She let out a surprised squeak, her eyes wide with embarrassment as a soft flush crept up her neck.
"Ace," she whispered, her voice barely audible, filled with a mix of surprise and confusion.
"Shh..." I murmured, wrapping my arm securely around her waist.
"You look beautiful, Mini," I said, my voice quieter now, softer.
She blinked up at me, flustered. "Thank you," she mumbled, dropping her gaze.
Her fingers fidgeted in my grip, unsure of where to rest.
I guided them to my hand, intertwining our fingers before lifting them to my lips.
A kiss— chaste, slow, lingering.
I smirked, lifting my tea to my lips as if none of it mattered.
My arm remained securely around Iris’s waist, her warmth pressed against me.
The room returned to its earlier focus, everyone diving back into their work.
The moment passed. One by one, they turned back to their work, their attention shifting. But the unease still hung in the air like a faint, lingering perfume.
Iris remained obediently in my lap, her body relaxed, but I could feel the way her breathing had subtly changed, her eyes roaming over the table.
But who is it?
Isaac was a known factor, a piece in the larger game.
But he wasn’t present that day when everything went down.
Someone else was pulling the strings, and that person was still in the shadows, hiding behind Isaac’s bait.
"Laurie."
Iris's voice cut through my thoughts, and my gaze flickered to her.
She was staring at the images spread across the table, her expression unreadable.
The name sliced through the silence like a blade.
A ripple of tension followed, small but undeniable.
The sound of pens scratching against paper stopped. Eyes flickered toward her, toward me.
I took another sip, letting the warmth of the tea settle on my tongue.
"You know him?" My voice carried amusement, but even I could hear the underlying boredom.
"No," she said. "But I saw his photo."
A pause.
"In Ivan’s room."
The amusement died in my throat.
I didn’t react—not outwardly. My expression remained the same, carefully crafted apathy.
But inside?
Something twisted, something old and familiar.
The silence deepened, pressing in on everyone.
"Ivan!" Aiden echoed, his voice tinged with surprise.
Iris nodded, glancing around, her confusion evident.
"Ivan didn’t come to work for two days," Hudson added, cautious.
"Is Ivan a mole?" Liam voiced the question lingering in everyone’s mind, his brows furrowed.
"Who knows?" My fingers absentmindedly ran through Iris’s hair, a soothing motion that was more for me than her. "He’s worked for me all these years. He’s been loyal. But now…."
Iris shifted, pushing herself up from my lap. Her hesitation was clear before she finally spoke.
"Ace, I need to tell you something," she said.
Her voice held something—hesitation, maybe.
I tilted my head slightly, gaze sharpening. "What?"
She sucked in a breath, hands twitching as she wrung them together.
"You remember that morning Ivan was in your room? Without permission?" she asked, testing the waters.
I nodded once, my expression unreadable.
"I wasn’t fully awake, but I heard him. He was taking photos… from your closet. Shuffling through the drawers. But when I got up, he pretended to be looking for you."
Her words settled over me like a suffocating weight.
Anger sparked first.
Then something sharper.
Something that ached.
Ivan had worked for me for years. Protected me. Fought beside me. He had bled for me.
And yet, in the end, he was just like the rest.
I exhaled through my nose, the breath slow, measured, controlled.
“Why was he in your room?” Alex’s voice cut through the tension. “Maybe he’s the one who leaked the tender details.”
I sighed. “Ah… that damn rat.”
The anger still burned, but it didn’t consume.
I had seen too much, lived through too much, to let something as ordinary as betrayal break me.
I pushed to my feet, adjusting my cuffs as I turned toward the door.
Then I walked out.
The door slammed behind me, the echo stretching down the hallway as I made my way to my room.
My pace was brisk, but not rushed. I wasn’t panicking.
But there was a tightness in my chest. A hollowness.
Why?
Why now?
What had changed? What had pushed Ivan to do this after everything?
I reached my room, pushing the door open with more force than necessary.
Straight to the closet.
Everything looked untouched. Perfectly organized. Nothing out of place.
But I wasn’t stupid.
My movements were steady as I pushed aside the clothes, revealing the small safe hidden behind them.
My fingers hovered over the keypad for a second longer than necessary before I finally entered the code.
The beeping sounded too loud in the quiet room.
The door of the safe swung open.
Empty.
No files. No documents. No photos. My mother’s last memory— all gone.
Of course.
Of course, it was gone.
The cold, empty space mocked me, but I wasn’t surprised.
Just… tired.
"Ace."
I barely registered Iris’s voice. I
t was a distant sound, an echo through the haze clouding my mind.
My hands, sweating, slowly closed the door with a soft click.
Time stretched.
Seconds felt longer, heavier.
My heart was pounding. I could feel the sweat beading inside my palms.
The realization hit me like a blade sliding between my ribs—slow, deep, and unrelenting.
Ivan had betrayed me.
And the worst part?
It didn’t even hurt as much as it should have.
I had seen this too many times. Felt it too many times.
Loyalty? Temporary.
Trust? A liability.
People were predictable. Even the ones you bled with.
Still—
There was an ache, buried beneath the numbness.
Why him?
Why now?
My hands trembled slightly, an almost foreign sensation, and I hadn’t even noticed until I felt her.
Iris’s fingers closed over mine, grounding me.
"Ace!"
Her voice was sharp, pulling me from the haze.
Then suddenly, she grabbed my collar, jerking me forward.
I blinked, looking down at her as if seeing her for the first time.
Her eyes—wide, worried, focused entirely on me.
She wasn’t scared for herself.
She was scared for me.
Her fingers moved, brushing against my neck, rubbing slow, steady circles over my pulse.
“It’s okay.” Her voice was softer now, the urgency fading into something gentler. “Deep breaths.”
I let out a quiet chuckle—sharp, humorless.
Deep breaths?
I had seen death, taken lives, orchestrated destruction.
This wasn’t enough to break me.
But the fact that she thought it might— How sweet.
“Snap out of it,” she whispered, her tone laced with a calm assurance that I couldn’t quite believe, but desperately wanted to.
I nodded, but it was an unconscious motion, an automatic response rather than something genuine.
I wasn’t here. Not really.
My mind was elsewhere, spiraling into the same fucking question.
Why?
Why did Ivan do this?
Why now?
The thoughts dug into my skull, pressing in, crawling beneath my skin like parasites I couldn’t shake.
I turned, walking without thinking, my feet carrying me to Ivan’s room.
But when I arrived, the door was already open.
And they were there.
Hudson. Aiden. Liam. Alex– all of them.
The room felt small. Suffocating.
And then—
The video.
A silent film of horror, betrayal, and bloodshed.
The projector’s quiet hum filled the oppressive silence as the footage played.
As it looped back.
Over and over again.
How…?
How the fuck did Ivan find it?
Maybe it was him all along.
Maybe I had been too blind.
Too comfortable.
Too stupid.
I will make his bones and skin shrink until he is nothing but a skeleton before his body touches the coffin.
The air was thick with tension, the weight of disbelief pressing against every inch of space.
Rage. Sorrow.
The kind of emotions that turned people into something feral.
"Please tell me the video is fake."
Hudson’s voice— desperate.
It wavered, cracked at the edges.
He turned to me, his eyes searching mine for something, anything—
Hope. A lifeline.
Something to make this all go away.
But I couldn’t give him that.
I wouldn’t.
Because the video kept playing.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The truth was undeniable.
“No.”
The word barely left my lips, but it hit like a physical blow.
Hudson’s face twisted, the anguish contorting his features into something ugly. Something painful.
His fists clenched and unclenched, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
He was trying to hold it in.
Trying to swallow the rage, to cage it.
But then, suddenly—
He snapped.
A guttural roar tore from his throat as he lunged at me.
His fist collided with my lip, the impact sending me stumbling back.
Pain flared, sharp and stinging.
I tasted blood.
I didn’t fight back.
I couldn’t.
Because if I did— I would kill him.
"How could you do it?"
His voice was raw. Shattered.
A punch to my stomach.
The air rushed out of my lungs.
"You killed him!"
Another hit.
"You motherfucking bastard!"
His words were a blade—cutting, tearing, sinking deep.
Another punch.
And another.
Until I collapsed onto the floor.
Gasping. Suffocating.
But he wasn’t done. Not yet.
Hudson was on me in an instant, his hands wrapping around my throat.
Tightening.
Tighter.
Tighter.
Black spots clouded my vision.
The room blurred.
I could feel my body screaming for air, my muscles locking, my lungs begging—
This is it.
This is the part where someone else would have panicked.
But I didn’t.
I shoved him off, snickering.
Rolled to the side.
Coughed—gasped—sucked in air like it was a drug.
And Hudson—
Hudson wasn’t done.
"ALL THOSE YEARS YOU LIED!"
Hudson’s voice cracked, but I barely reacted.
I just watched.
His rage, his anguish, his grief—it was all pouring out of him like an open wound, raw and festering.
His entire body shook, his fists clenched so tight his nails probably dug into his own skin, but none of it fazed me.
"YOU FUCKING LIED!"
I tilted my head, the faintest smirk tugging at my lips.
I let him scream. I let him break.
Because this moment?
This was inevitable.
"You—" He staggered forward, his breath ragged.
"You stood in front of me for years, pretending, lying to my face, knowing what you did—knowing you killed my father!"
I remained still, letting his words crash against me like waves against a stone.
He expected guilt. He expected regret.
But I gave him nothing.
"You let me call you my brother," he snarled, his voice shaking. "You let me trust you! You—"
He exhaled sharply, his hands gripping his hair as if trying to tear the betrayal out of his own skull.
And then, a sharp, hollow laugh ripped from him.
"You enjoyed it, didn’t you?"
I smiled. This time, fully.
Hudson’s breath hitched—just for a second. Just enough for me to see it.
That realization. That flicker of horror.
"You did," he whispered, his eyes widening, like he was finally seeing me for the first time. "You enjoyed killing him."
"And?"
My single word sent ice through his veins.
His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. His fists trembled. His expression twisted, like he was trying to find a shred of the man he thought I was.
But there was nothing left to find.
"You son of a bitch," he choked out. "He raised you. He saved your life. He treated you like his own—"
I chuckled.
"Better than his own," I corrected, my voice smooth, unbothered.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then—
The punch came fast. Hard.
His knuckles slammed into my jaw, my head snapping to the side, but I barely flinched.
"FUCK YOU!" he roared, swinging again.
"YOU KILLED HIM LIKE HE WAS NOTHING!" Another punch. His breathing was frantic, erratic.
"YOU TOOK MY FATHER FROM ME!"
His breath came in ragged, unsteady gasps, his body trembling with fury.
His words dripped venom, his lips curling in pure disgust as he stared down at me, searching—begging—for something.
Regret. Guilt. Anything.
I gave him nothing, again.
"It was always you," he spat. "THE ONE PERSON HE TRUSTED THE MOST."
His hands shoved me back, his body shaking so hard it was almost pathetic.
And then—that laugh.
Sharp. Bitter. Broken.
He took a slow step back, then another, like he couldn't stand to be near me anymore.
"Fuck," he whispered, voice cracking like something inside him had just snapped. "You're not just a liar."
His bloodshot eyes bore into me, unblinking, haunted. "You're a fucking monster."
I tilted my head, licking the blood off my lip.
His hands curled into fists again, but this time, he didn’t swing.
"You can't be trusted," he muttered, almost to himself. And then, quieter—sharper:
"Agostino was right."
That made me angry.
A bit.
That’s kinda disrespectful, though.
I exhaled slowly, rolling my jaw. Hudson must have seen something in my eyes because his expression twisted into something uglier.
"You kill everyone who trusted you, wouldn’t you?" he rasped, voice breaking at the edges.
Tears streamed down his face, but his tone remained steady—filled with a certainty that made me chuckle.
I wiped the blood from my lip, smirking.
His lips parted slightly as he saw my reaction.
"Maybe," I admitted.
His throat bobbed. His hands shook.
And then he chuckled.
A sharp, hollow sound, filled with something far uglier than amusement.
"Maybe that’s why you’re like this, Ace," he whispered, voice darkening. "You should have never saved me."
I raised a brow.
"If you hadn't, I would have never seen this day."
He exhaled sharply, his chest heaving as he dragged a shaky hand through his sweat-damp hair.
His eyes flickered across my face—searching for the friend I used to be.
And then he started talking.
"Of course… the man who didn’t even think before killing a little girl and a whole village. Why would he care about a man who just gave him shelter, love, a home?" His lips curled into something bitter and broken. Something hateful.
"You murdered innocent people, Ace. Women. Children. You slaughtered them. You set fire to their homes. You let them burn. You even listened to their screams and felt nothing.”
I tilted my head, watching the way his hands clenched into fists, the tendons in his arms taut with barely restrained rage.
“And I—” His voice cracked, his breath hitching. “I was stupid enough to believe in you. To fucking defend you.”
His nails dug into his palms as he took a step back, shaking his head.
"Why the fuck was I even thinking that maybe—maybe—you had no choice?" His laughter was jagged, cruel. “But you did, didn’t you? You had a choice."
His whole body tensed, his fists trembling at his sides.
"You had a choice not to kill my father.”
The words hit.
Not because they meant anything to me.
But because of the way they shattered something inside him.
His fingers curled into his pants, his breathing turning uneven.
“Die, Ace.” His voice cracked, his throat bobbing. "Nothing good comes from you. Nothing. And I'm tired. I'm so fucking tired of fixing you again and again.”
I scoffed. “I am not something to be fixed, and I never fucking asked you to.”
Hudson let out a sharp, bitter laugh, but it sounded more like a sob.
I leaned forward, smirking.
“I explicitly told all of you to run back to your families, but you stayed with me,” I said, voice laced with amusement.
His lips twisted, his eyes narrowing in disgust.
“Don’t make me laugh and say I didn’t give you a choice, Hudson Lincoln.”
Something in him snapped.
His knees hit the ground, his head hanging low, his shoulders shaking.
He sobbed.
Right there in front of me.
A broken man.
"Why did you do it?" His voice was so quiet, it was almost a whisper.
The room was dead silent.
Aiden stepped forward first, his face unreadable, his voice flat. “Let’s go.”
No hesitation. No warmth. Like I wasn’t even worth the rage.
Liam and Alex moved to pull Hudson up, but his limbs were slack, his body lifeless. Like all the fight had drained out of him.
But his eyes.
They never left mine.
And I saw it.
The hatred. It burned.
One by one, they all filed out.
Disgust. Betrayal. Revulsion.
Susan was at the door when she turned, her lips curling in something between a sneer and a grimace.
"Ace, don’t even think about coming back to us for anything."
Leo was the last to leave.
He walked past me, slow and deliberate, stopping just close enough for his words to sting.
“Leave Iris," he murmured, tilting his head. "Or you’d kill her too.”
A beat.
Then, he chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.
"Never mind."
The door slammed shut.
The room fell into silence.
And I sat there.
Alone. Unmoved.
I smirked as I looked at the screen, watching the video play out again— the scene where I stabbed him, over and over, the blade sinking into flesh, the blood pooling beneath him.
The grainy recording flickered, the sound of pained gasps and dying breath filling the otherwise empty space.
A shadow fell across the room, pulling me from my thoughts.
I frowned, turning to see Iris standing by the wall, her figure still, her gaze frozen on the screen.
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out at first.
Then, barely above a whisper— "Is he Hudson’s—"
"Dad," I replied, wiping the blood from my lips with the back of my hand.
Her eyes snapped to mine, dark brown burning with something I couldn’t quite place.
Cold. Distant. Sharp.
“Why did you kill him?”
It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t anger.
It was something worse.
Genuine curiosity.
I met her stare with one of my own, my voice hardening. “It’s none of your business.”
I pushed myself to my feet, but the second I moved, pain tore through my stomach, white-hot and unrelenting.
A hiss slipped through my clenched teeth. I doubled over, gripping my side as my vision blurred for a second. Fuck.
“Sit here,” she said suddenly, her voice softer now as she pointed to the bed.
I hated the concern in her tone.
Hated the way she cared.
But my body wasn’t in the mood to argue.
With slow, strained movements, I made my way to the bed, collapsing onto the mattress with a groan.
The room spun for a moment, and I shut my eyes, willing the pain to go away.
Then something cold pressed against my stomach.
I flinched at the sudden chill, but it was a relief against the burning pain.
When I opened my eyes, Iris was sitting beside me, gently dabbing a damp towel against my bruised skin.
She didn’t say anything at first.
Didn’t curse me. Didn’t pity me.
She just sat there. Taking care of me.
The touch of the towel was cool, gentle—too gentle for someone like me.
Her lips pressed together, and I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands trembled slightly as she worked.
“I’ll get the guards,” she mumbled after a moment, voice shaking as she hurriedly stood up.
She was distressed.
But before she could take another step, I grabbed her wrist.
She looked down at me, her eyes wide—not in fear, but in concern.
"Everyone left. Why are you still here?" I asked, my voice devoid of emotion.
She stared at me, but instead of pulling away, she did something unexpected.
She took my hand in hers.
Her thumb brushed against my knuckles, the warmth of her touch slow and deliberate.
"You believed me that day," she said quietly, her voice carrying a softness I wasn’t used to. "Even when your friends didn’t."
Her grip tightened slightly.
"Now, why do you want me to leave you?"
I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. Her words twisted something in my chest.
When I opened them again, she was still looking at me—earnest, unwavering.
"You watched the video," I said, voice heavy. "And it's true. I murdered my friend's father. I kept it from him all these years. I lied to his face every single day.”
She swallowed hard. But she didn’t let go.
"But why, Ace?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she sat down beside me again.
"There must be a reason."
Her fingers brushed against my forehead, pushing damp strands of hair away from my face.
Why does she look at me like that?
Like she’s still searching for something in me.
Like she still sees something in me.
Her words hung in the air, a lifeline I was too afraid to grasp.
My hands trembled as I struggled to find the right words, to explain the unexplainable.
But instead of speaking, I let my fingers curl into the fabric of her dress, pulling her closer.
It was a mistake.
Because the moment I did, she leaned in—so close I could feel the warmth of her breath against my skin.
"I trust you, Ace," she murmured.
And that—that—made something inside me ache.
My throat tightened. My grip on her dress tightened.
How could she say that?
How could she still trust me after seeing exactly what I was?
What I’ve done?
Iris's eyes remained on me, searching—for what, I didn’t know.
Her breath brushed against my jaw as she pressed a soft kiss to my chin.
"It’s okay," she murmured, exhaling deeply.
No, it wasn’t.
Nothing was okay.
But the warmth of her breath, the gentleness of her touch, the way she looked at me—as if I was still worth something— it unnerved me more than I cared to admit.
My body tensed as her thumb ghosted over my lips, grazing the cut Hudson had left.
A dull sting shot through my skin, but I didn’t flinch away.
She was softer than she should be.
Softer than I deserved.
Her eyes traced over my face, taking in every bruise, every wound I barely felt anymore.
"I wish I could stop your skin from having scars," she whispered, her fingers lingering on my lips, her touch light, hesitant.
Then she leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek.
I should’ve pushed her away.
I should’ve told her to leave.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I let her stay close, let her thumb graze my skin, let the warmth of her seep into my bones.
For a moment, my breathing steadied. The pounding in my skull faded into a dull ache.
And then—
THUD.
The door slammed open, shattering the fragile moment between us.
Iris pulled away sharply, eyes wide, startled. Her hand froze midair before she let it drop to her side, fingers curling into a fist.
Ares.
His stance was rigid, his dark eyes sharp as they scanned the room, as if expecting an attack.
"Βασιλιά, είσαι καλά; (King, are you okay?)" His voice was laced with something dangerous.
My jaw tightened.
"I’m fine."
The words left my mouth colder than I intended.
I pushed myself up from the bed, but a sharp pain shot through my ribs, tearing a hiss from my lips.
Iris moved, instinctively.
Her hands hovered near me, ready to catch me if I stumbled.
I ignored the way my stomach twisted at the sight of her concern.
Instead, I reached for my shirt, dragging it over my bruised skin.
The fabric felt rough, clinging to the sweat on my body.
Everything ached, but I forced myself to move. To stand.
My fists clenched at my sides, my nails digging into my palms as I leveled my voice.
"Βρε Ιβάν (Find Ivan)," I ordered, my tone like ice.
Ares nodded once and turned sharply, already moving.
I took one last look at Iris, who was still standing beside the bed, her eyes filled with worry.
I forced my feet forward, my steps slow but deliberate as I stepped outside the room.
Ivan thought he could watch me break. Cry. Beg.
He was wrong.
I would make him suffer.
Ivan POV:
I gritted my teeth, staring at the shattered remains of my phone, the tiny fragments scattered across the floor like broken promises.
My chest rose and fell heavily as I tried to calm the seething rage coursing through me, but it was useless.
Everything—every fucking thing—had been going according to plan.
I had spent years waiting for this moment, years gathering the proof, the leverage, the strategy to tear Ace’s life apart piece by piece.
I wanted him to suffer the way I had suffered, to feel the excruciating pain of loss, of betrayal, of being left with nothing but his own failures rotting inside him.
I had watched them leave.
One by one, his so-called friends had turned their backs on him, disgusted by the truth I had exposed.
They had abandoned him, just like I knew they would.
Ace was alone.
Or at least, he should have been.
But then—her.
Iris.
The damn bitch wouldn’t leave.
She stayed. She touched him. She kissed him. She comforted him.
Why?
My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms as I replayed the scene over and over in my mind. I had set up the webcam to watch Ace fall apart, to witness him break in real-time.
I wanted to see his regret. His pain. His despair.
But instead, I saw her.
Iris, brushing her fingers over his lips.
Iris, kissing his cheek, whispering that it was okay.
Iris, sitting beside him, tending to his wounds like he was worth saving.
A frustrated growl tore from my throat, and before I knew it, I had slammed my fist against the desk.
The force rattled the lamp, sending it crashing to the floor with a dull thud.
Why won’t she leave him?
Can’t she see? Doesn’t she understand?
Ace isn’t someone to love.
He is a murderer. A monster.
He killed Hudson’s father.
He burned innocent people alive.
He doesn’t deserve her trust.
He doesn’t deserve her loyalty.
He deserves to rot alone.
And yet—she stayed.
I ran both hands through my hair, tugging at the strands as I tried to think, to piece together why the hell she wouldn’t walk away.
What was it about Ace that kept pulling her back?
"Master," a voice cut through my thoughts.
I turned sharply, my eyes narrowing at the figure standing in the doorway.
Isaac.
He stood stiffly, his expression neutral, but I could see the caution in his eyes.
"What?" I snapped, barely keeping my anger in check.
"His friends left him. Why are you still angry?" Isaac asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.
I scoffed, pacing toward the window. My jaw clenched as I stared out at the city lights flickering in the distance.
"Because your sister won’t leave him," I hissed, my fists tightening.
Isaac didn’t react immediately, but I saw the way his lips pressed into a thin line.
"Why does it matter?" he finally asked, crossing his arms. "We can kill him now. No one will care about him or save him."
My lips curled into a sneer.
"No," I said, my voice dangerously low. "That’s too easy."
Isaac frowned, watching me carefully.
"I want every single person in his life to abandon him," I continued, stepping closer to him.
"I want him to feel what I felt. I want him to watch as everything he loves is ripped away, just like he did to me. Just like he did to my brother."
Isaac's gaze flickered with something unreadable.
He knew about Laurie. Knew how much I lost.
But then he said, "Iris won’t abandon him. No matter what you do, she—"
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh, cutting him off.
"Oh, she will," I murmured darkly, a slow smirk creeping onto my face. "She just needs a little... push."
Isaac’s frown deepened.
"You," I said, pointing a finger at him. "You’re going to manipulate her."
His face twisted with skepticism.
"I don’t think she’ll listen to me," he admitted, shaking his head. "After everything, she cut all ties with me. She doesn’t have anything to lose anymore."
I tilted my head, eyes narrowing as an idea took root.
"That’s where you’re wrong," I mused, a sinister glint in my gaze. "She does have something to lose."
Isaac's brows furrowed. "What?"
I patted his shoulder, my smirk widening.
"First, go and prepare the crew," I instructed. "We’re going to attack soon."
Isaac exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Can I get an hour’s rest first?" he muttered, exasperated.
I chuckled, shaking my head.
"Come on," I said, feigning sympathy. "You can rest as much as you want after destroying him"
He rolled his eyes. "If I rest that long, who’s going to guide the crew?"
My smirk deepened, my voice dropping into something darker.
"Oh, trust me," I whispered, my tone laced with menace. "You can rest peacefully. No one will wake you up. Even if you want to... you won’t be able to."
Isaac hesitated for a second, then huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he turned to leave.
My smirk vanished, replaced by a steely glare.
Ace, your sins are finally coming back for you.
Ace POV:
"Nothing."
The word tasted like ash on my tongue.
I rubbed my forehead, my fingers pressing into my temples in an attempt to ease the pounding headache that had been gnawing at me for hours.
The tension in my body was a living thing, coiled tight beneath my skin, waiting to snap.
"Did you check every single room?" My voice was sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care.
"Yes, sir. Ivan is nowhere to be found in the city," one of the guards answered, his voice laced with helplessness.
The answer I dreaded. The answer I expected.
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to keep my temper in check.
Blowing up wouldn’t change anything.
Ivan was gone—disappeared into thin air—but I wasn’t foolish enough to believe he had fled.
No, that bastard was watching, waiting for the right moment to strike again.
"Keep looking," I ordered, my voice cold and final. "I want him alive. No one will kill him."
One by one, they nodded and left, vanishing into the corridors to continue the search.
I remained still, staring blankly at the wall, my mind racing through every possibility, every angle I might have missed.
Then, slowly, I pushed myself out of the office chair.
My body protested the movement, exhaustion settling deep into my bones.
I wasn’t just tired—I was drained.
I stepped outside, the cool night air doing little to soothe the fire burning beneath my skin. A black car waited at the curb.
Ares was behind the wheel, his sharp eyes flickering toward me as I approached.
He didn’t say anything, but I saw the way his gaze lingered, the concern etched into his features.
I slid into the passenger seat, letting my head fall back against the headrest.
For a brief moment, I closed my eyes.
Ivan had planned this for years.
Every move, every calculated step—he had played the long game, and I had walked right into it.
He didn’t just leak the tapes.
He messed apart my empire from the inside.
He had stolen information—real, damaging information.
Blackmail files on politicians, evidence of secret deals, weapons shipments, coded bank accounts, offshore holdings.
All of it was now compromised.
My business profits? Gone.
Funds were frozen, investors pulling out one by one like rats abandoning a sinking ship.
Mafia connections? Exposed.
Deals I had spent years cultivating were now in jeopardy, my associates questioning whether I was still someone they could trust.
And then there was the personal attack.
He took the photos.
Not just any photos—the ones that mattered.
And my mother’s anklet—the only thing I had left of her.
He took what he knew mattered to me most.
He didn’t just want revenge— he wanted me to suffer.
And yet… I wasn’t.
Not in the way he wanted.
My friends, those who had stood by me, were gone. Forever. They wouldn’t come back.
I should have told Hudson the truth. Maybe, in some twisted way, it could have made a difference.
But what good would it do now?
The truth wouldn’t bring his father back.
The truth wouldn’t undo the choices I made.
And the truth?
It would break him even more than the lies ever could.
Maybe some lies really were better. A bitter pill to swallow, but one I had long since learned to live with.
I expected this.
From the moment I pulled the trigger and ended Hudson’s father’s life, I knew this was coming.
So, no. I wasn’t sad.
They should leave.
I wasn’t mourning friendships that were destined to crumble the moment they realized who I really was.
I was waiting.
Waiting for the day they would all leave and crawl back to their families.
Waiting for the day they would finally see me the way I always knew they would.
And that’s what would get under Ivan’s skin.
The fact that I wasn’t shattered.
That I wasn’t on my knees, begging for redemption.
That I was still here, standing, breathing.
I could almost see him, fists clenched, seething at the thought of my indifference.
And that?
That made this all the more satisfying.
"King."
Ares’s voice was quiet, careful.
I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror.
He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t have to.
He was worried. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but it was there, clear as day in his expression.
I gave him a small nod—I’m fine.
It was a lie, but Ares understood that some lies were necessary.
The car slowed to a stop.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, the sky dark and heavy with an incoming storm.
I stepped out, the cool wind biting against my skin.
The weight of the day pressed down on me like a physical force, but I kept moving, kept walking.
Inside, the room was silent.
The air was thick, suffocating.
I sank onto the couch, slumping against the cushions as the exhaustion finally caught up with me.
I let my head fall back, closing my eyes, trying to ignore the relentless ticking of the clock in the frigid room.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The sound was a cruel reminder of time slipping away. Of opportunities lost.
"It’s okay."
The voice was soft, gentle— Iris.
My eyes snapped open.
The room was empty.
My breath hitched slightly as I lifted my head, scanning the dimly lit space.
Shadows stretched across the floor, flickering under the glow of the lamp.
But there was no one here.
I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down my face.
It was just a phantom voice. A trick of exhaustion. An echo in my head.
I groaned, low and frustrated, and let myself sink deeper into the couch.
The exhaustion was suffocating, and despite it being only 7 in the evening, it felt like I hadn’t slept in years.
The fatigue finally pulled me under.
And I fell.
Into the restless, tiring sleep.
"Ace."
A voice, soft but insistent.
"Ace."
A whisper. A breath against my skin.
"Ace…."
I cracked my eyes open, blinking against the dim light of the room.
My eyes fluttered as I tried to orient myself, my gaze darting around for the source of the voice.
Nothing.
The room was empty.
I shifted, feeling something cold press against my stomach.
My fingers brushed over a damp towel, and I frowned.
What the hell?
I pushed myself up slightly, the movement sluggish.
That’s when I noticed it—my shirt was unbuttoned, the fabric pushed aside as if someone had tended to me.
A blanket had been draped over my hips.
I didn’t grab a blanket.
I frowned deeply, my mind racing through the possibilities.
My security wouldn’t dare enter my space unless I called them.
Ares wouldn’t have bothered with something like this.
That left only one person.
As if on cue, Iris stepped into the room, her soft footsteps barely making a sound.
She wasn’t in a rush.
There was no hesitation in her movements, no awkwardness or uncertainty—like taking care of me was just something she did. Like it was natural.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice was gentle, filled with concern.
I nodded automatically, my gaze locked on her face as she moved closer.
She didn’t look different.
And yet… something felt off.
The way she was looking at me—soft, calm, unafraid.
I clenched my jaw, shifting slightly as she reached out and pressed the back of her hand to my forehead, murmuring something under her breath.
The touch was light. Brief.
But it sent an unfamiliar sensation rolling through me, something I couldn’t quite place.
Then, without warning—
"Why don’t you go and talk to them?"
The question came out of nowhere, slicing through the silence like a knife.
I stiffened.
I averted my gaze, staring at the dim glow of the lamp. "I don’t want to."
It wasn’t just that.
It was that there was nothing left to say.
Her fingers slid through my hair, a slow, delicate motion that made me tense up before I could stop myself.
Why was she doing this?
Her voice was almost a whisper, soft as silk. "It’s all right, Ace. God is always watching."
I scoffed. Tsk.
Yeah. That’s what he always does.
Watch.
And only watch.
Iris sat beside me quietly and I let my head fall onto Iris’s shoulder, my body sinking into the couch, feeling the weariness seep into my bones.
My head stayed on her shoulder, our hands loosely clasped together, her fingers lightly intertwined with mine.
She wasn’t holding on tightly, but she didn’t let go either.
For what felt like half an hour, we sat like this.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She just existed beside me.
No words. No distractions. No pretenses.
Just silence.
The only sounds were the faint ticking of the clock and the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing.
The warmth of her skin against mine was oddly grounding, keeping me tethered in a way I hadn’t expected.
Then, finally, she broke the silence.
"You know, when I came to your house, it felt weird."
Her voice was soft, light, like the edge of a memory.
"In my home, there’s always bickering, and chattering voices are always heard."
She giggled softly, and the sound caught me off guard. Playful. Gentle.
Before I even realized it, a chuckle slipped out of me.
It was quiet. Faint. But it was real.
Then she shifted slightly, her fingers tightening around mine.
"Ace," she whispered, her voice turning more serious, more deliberate.
I felt her hesitate.
A pause. A breath. A quiet battle within herself.
"I have something to tell you."
She bit the inside of her cheek. Her fingers twitched against mine, as if she was debating whether to pull away or hold on tighter.
I didn’t push her.
I just waited.
I hummed in response, pressing a soft kiss to her earlobe, my fingers brushing against hers in silent reassurance.
Whatever it was, whatever had her hesitating, she would tell me in her own time.
But before she could say another word—
"Βασιλιάς (King)," Ares’ voice cut through the moment like a blade.
I didn’t look at him immediately. My eyes stayed on Iris.
I saw the way her fingers twitched, the moment cracking between us.
"Λυπάμαι, Βασιλιά, αλλά είναι επείγον (I am sorry, King, but it's urgent)."
Iris slowly rose, her warmth slipping away as she gave Ares a small nod.
"I'll put the food on the table," she murmured, her voice carefully neutral.
But I could hear it—the underlying embarrassment, the unspoken I’ll give you space.
My jaw clenched, irritation rising at the disruption.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice clipped.
"We discovered some people near our location who were attempting to invade the mansion. They were armed," Ares stated, his tone grave.
"Where are they?" I asked, already reaching for the buttons of my shirt.
"We killed them and burned their bodies," Ares said plainly.
A slow breath left me.
"Good job."
Ares gave a firm nod before turning and exiting the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more.
Iris was gone.
The warmth of her presence had left the room, replaced by the cold weight of reality crashing down once again.
I let out a long exhale before making my way to my room, freshening up in an attempt to rid myself of the lingering unease.
But no matter how much I tried, the moment with her—the almost-moment—clung to me.
She had wanted to tell me something.
And she didn’t.
After a quick dinner, I retreated to my office, throwing myself into work in an attempt to clear this mess.
The hours blurred together. Reports. Surveillance footage. Information that led to nothing.
By the time I finally stretched my hands, the clock read 1 AM.
And still, I had no leads on Ivan’s whereabouts.
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly as I pinched the bridge of my nose.
Ivan.
The ghost that refused to disappear.
My mind kept circling back to the same question.
Why did Ivan have Laurie's photo in his room?
Ivan had been an orphan when he joined the mafia.
He had nothing—no family, no connections.
He worked his way up, became one of the most trusted men under my rule.
But Laurie...
Was he just a friend?
Or was there something more?
I pulled open the file again, staring at the image of the small, slightly worn photo tucked away in Ivan’s things.
Laurie’s face, frozen in time.
Smiling.
Ivan had always been fiercely loyal. But his loyalty had never been to me.
Had it been to Laurie?
If so...
A sudden knock on the door snapped me out of my thoughts.
I sat up straighter, my muscles tensing as my mind immediately shifted into defense mode.
My fingers wrapped around the cool metal of my revolver, lifting it with practiced ease.
Anyone knocking at this hour was either stupid or had a death wish.
I moved toward the door, my grip firm on the handle as I yanked it open—prepared for an intruder, an enemy, or something worse.
But it was her.
Her wide, startled eyes immediately locked onto the gun in my hand, and for a split second, she froze.
I saw it—that flicker of fear, quick as a heartbeat, but unmistakable.
She took an unconscious step back, her throat bobbing as she swallowed.
That twisting sensation in my stomach returned.
"Uhh… You're awake," she stammered, her voice uneven.
Her gaze flicked between my face and the revolver still resting in my palm.
Slowly, I lowered the gun, clicking the safety back on before tucking it behind me.
"I just came to check up on you," she murmured, her voice softer now, filled with something I didn’t have the patience for—concern.
I exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over my face. I was exhausted. Frustrated.
My patience was a threadbare thing tonight.
"I am not a baby that you have to check up on me every time," I replied bitterly, my voice rough with irritation.
She chuckled—soft, almost amused, like she knew something I didn’t.
I clenched my jaw.
Why wasn’t she leaving?
Her head tilted slightly, warmth still lingering in her gaze, despite the sharpness of my words.
Why did she always look at me like that?
I felt something snap inside me.
"I have work," I said, sharper than I intended.
She hesitated, her lips parting slightly, like she wanted to argue. But then she only nodded slowly, her brows pinching together.
"Oh... but you look tired," she said, the worry still evident in her voice.
That irritation flared again, sharp and hot.
"Look, I have work. I can't sleep with you every night. If you can't sleep alone, then don’t fucking sleep. Fucking hell, just get lost!" I snapped.
The words left my mouth before I could think. Before I could stop them.
And I felt the shift instantly.
Her expression faltered, the warmth in her gaze dimming like a candle snuffed out.
Her shoulders tensed, and for the first time, she looked small. Smaller than she already was.
The silence that followed was thick.
Uncomfortable.
And then, her voice came—soft, almost fragile, but sharp enough to cut through the air like a blade.
"Every time I wanted to sleep with you," she began, her head tilting downward as if gathering her thoughts, her voice trembling slightly, "it was because I saw how tired you looked. How late you stayed up every night. How you sometimes didn't sleep at all. I didn't want you to ruin your health."
She lifted her gaze to meet mine again, and the raw honesty in her eyes made my chest feel tight.
"You think I wanted to sleep with you because I can't sleep alone?"
The way she asked it—so quiet, so pained—made something inside me clench.
She let out a breathy, humorless laugh, shaking her head slightly.
"I have spent my days alone all these years, Ace. I can sleep anywhere. I was worried about you… but… I guess I crossed my line… again."
Her words hit me like a gut punch.
I had been so caught up in my own guarded thoughts, my paranoia, my instinct to not trust her fully, that I hadn’t even considered what she was actually trying to do.
She wasn’t asking for comfort.
She was offering it.
To me.
There was an accusation lingering in her gaze—not anger, not even disappointment, but something worse.
Resignation.
As if she had finally realized that no matter how much she tried, no matter how much she cared, I was always going to push her away.
She inhaled sharply, steadying herself, as if finally accepting it.
"If you think I’m annoying you," she continued, her voice steady even as emotion wavered in it, "you could just say that, and I will stay in line. Sorry."
She didn’t wait for a response.
She just stared at me for a lingering moment—searching for something I didn’t know how to give her.
Then, finally, she turned.
And walked away.
I stood there, frozen, as her words echoed in my mind, unraveling the carefully constructed defenses I had spent years fortifying.
It was a strange kind of silence that followed— not the peaceful kind, not the kind I found solace in.
It was hollow, almost deafening, as if something had been taken from the air itself when she walked away.
I wanted to scream at her, to release the torrent of frustration and confusion swirling inside me, to force her to understand what she was doing to me.
I wanted to grab her—slit her throat, watch the light in her eyes flicker and fade, make her see that she was dumping her care on filthy foul.
She was doing something far more dangerous than just annoying me.
She was pushing at the walls I had cemented with blood, with loss, with the cold reality that care and trust was just another weakness waiting to be exploited.
She was restoring hope in me. And that was terrifying.
And the worst part?
She wasn’t even trying to.
She wasn’t manipulating me. She wasn’t deceiving me.
She was just… being herself.
And that was far more dangerous than any enemy I had ever faced.
Because it meant I couldn’t fight her.
I couldn’t put a bullet in her skull and be done with it.
I couldn’t rip her from my life because she had already seeped into the cracks.
Hope.
That was what she was giving me.
And hope was a curse.
A slow-acting poison that gave you just enough sweetness to keep drinking until you were drowning.
Hope in kindness.
In the foolish, impossible idea that someone could truly care for me without expecting anything in return.
I had buried that hope long ago, convinced that it was better to live without it than to suffer the inevitable disappointment when it all came crashing down.
But there she was.
With her soft voice, her unwavering concern, her foolish need to see the best in me.
Digging up that buried hope, piece by piece.
And I hated it.
I hated her for making me feel again.
For making me question the life I had chosen.
For making me wonder—just for a moment—if I had been wrong all this time.
For making me want something I had spent years convincing myself I didn’t need.
I hated her for caring.
Because no one cared without a reason.
People loved because they wanted something.
Affection was a currency.
Kindness was a debt.
Loyalty was a leash.
I had seen it over and over. I had learned it through every betrayal, every false promise, every person who had smiled at me only to stab me in the back.
And yet…
As I stood there, my fists clenched, my pulse pounding against my skin, I realized something that unsettled me even more than the anger.
It wasn’t hatred that burned through me.
It was fear.
My throat tightened at the thought.
I didn’t trust her.
I couldn’t trust her.
Not completely.
Because to trust her would mean letting go of the things that kept me alive.
It would mean letting down my guard.
And I didn’t know how to do that.
Not anymore.
But Iris—this stubborn, impossible girl—stood before me, unafraid.
Not because she was reckless.
But because she saw me in a way no one else did.
She looked at me like I was something more than just a monster.
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