Ivan POV: I turned my head slightly, just in time to catch the look of pure shock plastered across his face.
His frown deepened, his features twisting in something close to disbelief.
"What?" he murmured, his voice barely audible, as if saying it out loud would somehow make it more real.
He stared at me, his jaw clenched tight, his breathing uneven.
Then—
"You both are fucking kidding me!"
His voice exploded through the room like a gunshot, sharp and filled with fury.
His body jerked forward slightly, like he was seconds away from lunging at me.
"You?" He pointed a shaking finger at me, his voice laced with disbelief and disgust.
"You're actually telling me you've been obsessed with her this entire time?"
I met his gaze with indifference, my smirk barely fading. "Obsessed is a strong word."
"Strong word?" he sneered, his chest rising and falling rapidly, barely able to contain his anger.
"You just sat here, talking like some fucking lunatic about how you've been watching her, wanting her, dreaming about her!"
He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.
"And now what? You want to marry her? To fuck her?" His voice dripped with venom.
I tilted my head slightly, considering his words. "That's the plan."
Isaac let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
"That bitch?" he spat, his face twisting in rage. "Are you serious? Don't tell me she fucking slept with you too!"
My smirk faded for the first time.
"Shut up, Isaac," I hissed.
"No, fuck you!" He took another aggressive step forward, pointing at me like I was the worst kind of fool.
"You're actually insane. Do you even remember what she did to me? To childhood? She's the reason everything went to hell! And you—" He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head again.
"You're standing here talking about her like she's some prize you're gonna put a ring on?"
I know Isaac hates her. More like despise her.
Isaac let out another bitter laugh, this one even uglier than before.
His lips curled into a sneer, his eyes gleaming with contempt.
"You're just another fucking idiot falling for the same tricks."
His words dripped with derision, cutting through the tension in the air like a blade.
I ignored him. He wasn't the one I cared about.
My focus was solely on Ace.
He was watching me, his expression unreadable, but his dark hazel eyes burned with something primal, something barely restrained.
He looked at me like he was inches away from ripping my skin away, like he was calculating exactly how much force it would take to break me apart.
"I am serious, Ace." I leaned forward slightly, my voice lowering to something almost intimate, as if sharing a secret meant just for him.
"I love her cute face, her perfect body hidden under those baggy clothes."
A chuckle escaped me, light and amused, as I imagined the havoc these words would wreak on his mind.
I could almost see the gears turning in his head—the cold, calculating side of him struggling to maintain control.
But raw, unfiltered rage was seeping through, poisoning his restraint.
This was what I wanted.
To see him lose control.
"And also," I continued, my voice dipping into something cruel, something mocking, "your friends left you, and your little girl will also leave you... now."
I stood up slowly, drawing out the moment, relishing the way his shoulders tensed.
I reached into my jacket with deliberate slowness, my fingers brushing against the cool metal of the gun.
I checked my phone briefly, confirming her location.
She was here.
Just as planned.
Everything was falling into place.
Ace's smirk returned, slow and controlled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "She is still with me," he said, his voice steady, deceptively calm.
I met his gaze and let my own smirk widen into something twisted, something sinister.
"Not anymore."
With a smooth, practiced motion, I pulled the gun from its holster, the weight of it comforting in my grip.
Ace stood up, the movement sharp, slow.
A low, irritated growl rumbled from his chest, a sound of pure warning.
He stepped forward, closing the space between us in an instant, his presence towering, suffocating.
He was directly in front of me now, close enough that I could see the slight twitch in his jaw, the flicker of something lethal in his gaze.
"I expected more from you," he said, his tone laced with something almost like disappointment. "But this?"
He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head slightly, as if I had somehow let him down by resorting to such tactics.
I held his gaze, unwavering, unfazed.
And then—I smiled.
"Oh, don't worry, Ace." My voice dipped into something venomous. "I'm not going to shoot you."
His brow furrowed slightly.
Then—
Before anyone could react—
I turned the gun.
The silence shattered.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
A deafening crack split the air, sharp and violent, swallowing the room whole.
Isaac barely had time to register what was happening before the bullets tore through him.
A sharp gasp, choked and ragged, escaped his lips as the sheer force of the shot sent him staggering back.
His body jerked unnaturally, his hands flying to his ribs as if trying to grasp onto something—anything—to stop what was happening.
His eyes went wide, shock flashing across his face.
Not just pain. Not just fear. But something deeper.
Betrayal.
Blood.
Dark and unforgiving, it bloomed across his shirt, a vivid red spreading like ink in water, staining the fabric, his fingers, the floor beneath him.
For a moment, everything was still.
The air, thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder, clung to my skin like a second layer. The metallic tang of blood filled my lungs, suffocating.
And then—
A choked, guttural sound tore from Isaac's throat as he stumbled, his legs giving out beneath him.
He hit the ground hard, his knees slamming against the cold floor.
His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, his chest heaving, blood seeping through his trembling fingers.
Ace hadn't moved.
Not a single step.
His face twisted—an expression I had never seen before.
Realization.
Disbelief.
And underneath it all, the anger that still burned, hotter than ever, like a barely restrained inferno waiting to consume everything in its path.
He took a step back, his gaze flicking between Isaac's body and the gun in my hand.
I wasted no time.
With a sudden, forceful shove, I thrust the gun into Ace's hand, the cold metal slamming against his palm.
His fingers curled around the weapon instinctively, but his grip was loose—hesitant.
"Are you happy now?!" I yelled, my voice raw, echoing through the now silent room.
Ace's eyes snapped up to mine, dark and unreadable, his fingers tightening around the gun.
His breathing was sharp, controlled—but I could see it now.
The crack in his restraint.
"What the fuck are you doing?" His voice was laced with something sharp, something dangerous. Not just anger.
Frustration.
I took a step closer, my blood pounding in my ears.
"Why the fuck did you shoot him?!" His voice rose, rough and unsteady, his fury barely leashed.
"Just because you want to make me suffer, you can't fucking kill him!"
He exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening, his entire body coiled like a wire stretched too thin, ready to snap.
Ace POV:
THUD.
The sound reverberated through the room like the final beat of a dying heart, a hollow echo of something irreversible.
My breath hitched, a strange sensation tightening in my chest—one I couldn't quite name, but I knew it wasn't fear. It was something worse.
My eyes snapped to the entryway of the hall.
There she stood.
Iris.
She stood frozen, her body stiff as if the weight of the world had suddenly settled on her shoulders.
A small white box lay at her feet, toppled from her grasp. But that wasn't what captured my attention.
It was her face.
Her wide eyes, frozen in a gaze that didn't blink, didn't waver.
Her fingers trembled, barely clasped together, and her lips—parted just slightly—quivered as if she was struggling to breathe.
Like her lungs had forgotten how to take in air.
"Iris," Ivan's voice cut through the suffocating silence, dripping with feigned concern, his tone a mockery of sincerity.
She didn't react.
She didn't even look at him.
Her gaze was locked onto the scene before her, onto him.
Isaac.
His body was splayed out across the cold, unforgiving floor.
Blood pooled beneath him, the deep crimson stark against the tiles.
His chest barely rose, his breaths coming in shallow, gurgling gasps.
I saw her pupils dilate as her mind tried to grasp what she was seeing—what she was losing.
And then—
She smiled.
She pressed her hands to her stomach, as if trying to hold something in, her shoulders rising and falling with uneven, hitched breaths.
Her lips curled upward, but it wasn't happiness. It wasn't even relief.
It was denial.
"I-Isaac..." She let out a breathy chuckle, shaking her head like she was trying to shake off a bad dream. "Why are you lying on the floor?"
No one answered.
No one moved.
She took a step forward.
Another.
Another.
She stopped beside him, towering over his limp body, her head tilting ever so slightly as the reality of it all started to creep in, sinking into her skin like poison.
The smile vanished.
Everything vanished.
Her breath caught, her lips parting in a silent gasp as her mind shattered past the illusion—this wasn't a joke.
This wasn't some twisted trick. It was real.
Isaac was dying.
A violent, hacking cough tore from his lips, sending a fresh spray of blood splattering across the floor.
The wet, sickening sound snapped her out of her trance.
Her entire body jolted.
She stumbled backward, her knees giving out beneath her. She hit the floor with a soft thud, but she didn't even feel it.
Her eyes never left him.
Not for a second.
And then she moved.
Scrambling forward on her hands and knees, her breaths coming in quick, frantic bursts.
She reached for him, hands shaking so violently that they barely obeyed her commands.
Her fingers brushed his cheek but the heat was fading.
"N-No...no, no, no, no!" she rambled, pressing her hands desperately against the wound in his ribs, her palms immediately soaked in red. "Don't leave me... Please!"
Her voice cracked on the last word, raw and drenched in panic.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, falling onto his blood-streaked face.
"Please, please," she sobbed, gripping his shoulders, trying—failing—to lift him up, to hold him, to keep him from slipping away.
Isaac suddenly gasped, a sharp, rattling sound as he struggled to inhale, his body jerking against her hold.
"It's okay, it's okay," she mumbled, rocking slightly, her whole body trembling with the effort of keeping herself together.
Ivan moved.
He crouched down, arms slipping around Isaac's waist, pulling him up into a half-seated position.
Isaac's head lolled weakly against him, his breath wheezing, his fingers twitching as if trying to grip onto something.
"Die..." Isaac's voice cracked, barely above a whisper, his lips stained red.
"No, no," Iris sobbed, shaking her head frantically.
Her hands cupped his face, thumbs stroking over his blood-slicked skin, her tears mingling with the crimson staining her fingers.
"Don't close your eyes!" she suddenly screamed, shaking him violently, her own voice ripping through the silence like glass shattering.
"Don't you freaking close your eyes!"
Isaac's lashes fluttered. His body jerked slightly, like a marionette with cut strings.
He was slipping away.
"No, no, no—" Iris sobbed, her breaths coming in short, panicked bursts.
She could feel it.
The life draining from him.
The warmth leeching from his skin.
And yet—
She refused to accept it.
Ivan let out a slow, heavy sigh beside her, his expression unreadable, detached.
"It's no use taking him to the hospital," he murmured, his tone eerily calm, void of hope.
The words crashed into her like a physical blow.
Iris snapped.
Her entire body stiffened, her breath caught in her throat.
Her head whipped towards Ivan, her face twisting into something wild, something feral.
"No!" she shrieked. "No, you're not a doctor! You don't know that! He's going to be fine—" Her voice cracked, breaking into pieces before she could finish.
Isaac's hand tightened weakly around her fingers.
"I-I-Iris," his voice came out in a whisper, barely a thread of sound, frayed and fragile.
Her gaze snapped back to him, frantic.
"Yes—yes, I'm here. I'm right here." She forced a wobbly smile onto her lips, even as her vision blurred with tears.
"You'll be okay. We'll—we'll take you to a hospital, and you'll be fine, and I swear—" She shifted, struggling to lift him, slinging his arm around her shoulder.
"Isaac, help me, please! Just a little bit, okay? Just stand—"
She gritted her teeth, knees buckling beneath her weight.
And then—
His entire body tensed.
His fingers twitched.
And he whispered, "Die... I-Iris."
She froze.
Her entire world condensed into those two syllables.
Isaac's dull, unfocused gaze found hers, his face contorted with something raw, something venomous.
Hatred.
"No. No, no, no. Don't say that." Her hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as if she could hold him here, keep him with her.
"Ivan! Help me!" she screamed, desperate, pleading.
"Iris..." Ivan's voice was sharp, cutting through the chaos, but she ignored it.
"Help me lift him, please!" she sobbed, struggling against Isaac's limp weight.
But then—
Isaac shoved her away.
She barely registered the movement before she was knocked back, her hands slipping from him.
He coughed violently, more blood bubbling past his lips, spilling down his chin.
His body trembled, then suddenly collapsed from Ivan's grasp, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.
"Issac!" Iris lunged forward, reaching for him, but she froze.
His mouth parted, blood coating his teeth. His breath came in shallow, fading gasps.
And then—
"Die... j-just... li-like you-r p-p-pare-n-t-ts." His voice cracked.
And slowed.
And then—
Stopped.
Iris's entire body locked up. Her breath hitched.
She stared at him, eyes wide, chest heaving.
"Isaa..c?"
No response.
"I-Isaac, what did you say?" she whispered, her voice a fragile thing, trembling between hysteria and disbelief.
His hollow, lifeless gaze stared at her.
His chest didn't move. His body didn't twitch.
Still. Silent. Gone.
Her bottom lip quivered.
"I-Isaac?"
Her voice cracked.
Her fingers twitched as she reached forward, almost scared to touch him—as if acknowledging his stillness would make it real.
A strangled sob burst from her throat.
"No, no, no, no—"
She lurched forward, cradling his head in her lap, rocking him gently like a child.
"Isaac, you're joking, right?" she forced out a weak, broken laugh, shaking his shoulders.
"You—you're just mad at me. I get it. I deserve it, but please—" Her voice faltered, cracked.
She pressed her forehead against his, fingers tangling in his blood-soaked hair.
"Please don't do this to me."
Tears dripped down onto his face, streaking through the sweat and blood.
She let out a choked sob, her entire body trembling violently.
"I can fix this. I can—" Her fingers pressed against his neck, desperately searching.
For a pulse. For warmth.
For anything.
But there was nothing.
A strangled cry tore from her throat as she clutched him closer, her nails digging into his skin.
"Why would you say that?" she sobbed, her voice trembling. "Why would you say that?!"
Tears cascaded down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting, dripping onto the blood-soaked shirt.
Her entire body trembled violently, not just with grief—no, this was something deeper. More primal. More consuming.
It was agony.
Raw, unfiltered, all-consuming agony that spilled into the air, thick and suffocating.
Her sobs weren't soft. They weren't delicate little cries. They were ragged, brutal, suffocating.
The sound stretched, distorted, twisting into something almost inhuman—an animal caught in a trap, bleeding out into the darkness.
"Isaac... p-please don't l-leave me," her voice came out in broken, gasping syllables.
She rocked his limp body against her own, her shaky fingers carding through his hair in trembling, frantic strokes.
"Please, Isaac, please, stay with me—" Her voice cracked into nothing.
She pressed her forehead to his, her tears slipping onto his lifeless skin, soaking into him like a desperate prayer.
But there was no response.
Not a twitch.
Not a sound.
Nothing.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, and then—
Her restraint shattered.
"WHY! WHY!"
The scream tore from her throat, a soul-crushing wail that ricocheted off the walls, filling the air with something so visceral it made the room feel smaller.
She clutched his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric, knuckles turning white from the sheer force of her grip.
And then she started shaking him.
"Wake up! Wake up, Isaac! FOR GOD SAKE, PLEASE!" Her voice feral, breaking apart on every syllable.
She yanked at him, her hands slipping on his blood-slicked clothes, her body wracked with violent sobs that made her shoulders convulse.
But he didn't move.
She let out a guttural, inhuman shriek, one that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.
It was a sound of loss.
She pressed her shaking hands against his chest, as if she could force him to breathe, as if she could undo what had already happened.
"Come on—come on! Breathe, damn it! Breathe!"
Her hands, trembling, pressed harder, her fingers digging into his flesh as if she could hold him together with sheer willpower alone.
She screamed again—louder, rawer—like a wounded animal left to die.
But still, he didn't move.
And yet she refused to let go.
"No, no, NO!" Her sobs wracked through her as she cradled his head in her lap, rocking him, refusing to accept it.
Her fingers dug into his cheeks, gripping his face too hard, shaking him as if that would wake him up.
"You're not gone. YOU'RE NOT GONE!"
A broken whimper left her lips as she buried her face into his shoulder, her entire body convulsing with sobs so violent they seemed to shake her apart.
And then—
She turned her gaze toward me, slowly.
And everything stopped.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Her eyes—
There was nothing left in them.
No warmth.
No light.
Only a dark, bottomless abyss of grief, fury, and pain so monstrous it swallowed everything whole.
The gun in my hand felt heavier, as if it was made of lead.
I hadn't pulled the trigger.
But that didn't matter.
Ivan had played this game too well.
He had orchestrated everything.
And I—
I had walked straight into his trap.
"Mini, it's not—"
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Her scream ripped through the air, sharp and venomous, making my chest tighten.
She had never looked at me like this before.
Not even when I had broken her.
Not even when I had hurt her.
This was different.
This was hatred.
I watched her rise to her feet, slow and unsteady, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Her hands lifted to her face, wiping away her tears with trembling fingers—but it was pointless.
New ones kept falling. Endless. Unstoppable.
"Iris, I am sorry I couldn't save him," Ivan's voice slithered through the room, smooth, practiced, dripping with mock sympathy.
I stiffened.
He smirked.
That slow, cruel, calculated twist of his lips.
My stomach churned.
He planned this perfectly. Tsk.
And I—
I had played right into his hands.
Like they say—
Old tricks always cause more pain than new ones.
"You... you lied... you killed him."
Her lips quivered, her breath coming in shallow gasps, as if speaking those words alone was suffocating her.
She was breaking right before my eyes.
And it was my fault.
I could have helped her, could have stopped this—but I didn't.
Because I wanted Isaac dead.
I was happy to see his lifeless body on the ground.
But her—
I looked at her crumbling, falling apart at the seams, and all I felt was a pain I couldn't even begin to understand.
"You promised... YOU PROMISED!"
Her scream ripped through the air, cracking at the edges, burning with betrayal.
"IF YOU WERE GOING TO DO THIS, THEN WHY?!"
I flinched. For the first time, I flinched.
"YOU'RE ALL THE SAME! YOU ALSO BROKE MY TRUST!"
Each word was a hammer, slamming into me with a force that I wasn't prepared for.
I had seen her angry before.
I had seen her fight, resist, even scream at me.
But this—
"ARE YOU HAPPY, ACE?!"
She grabbed the front of my shirt, yanking me toward her, her small fingers trembling with sheer rage.
"I AM ALL ALONE NOW!! ALONE!" Her voice cracked. The sound shattered something inside me.
I had seen grown men beg for their lives.
I had watched them cry, scream, curse me until their final breath.
None of it ever felt like this.
"TELL ME! ARE YOU HAPPY?! I AM CRYING! DO YOU WANT TO KILL ME TOO?! DO IT!!"
She shoved me. Hard.
Her small hands balled into fists as she slammed them against my chest.
Again.
And again.
Each strike was meant to hurt me.
Desperation, agony, grief, and rage colliding all at once.
"My whole family died in front of me, and I couldn't even tell them I loved them one last time!"
Her voice was barely a whisper now, her breaths ragged, but those words cut deep.
She pushed me again, her hands trembling as she shoved at my chest.
"TELL ME! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!"
I didn't move.
I just stood there, letting her break herself against me.
And then—
She pounded her fists against my chest again, but this time her grip on my shirt tightened.
She wasn't shoving anymore.
She was holding on.
Holding on to something—even if it was just to tear it apart.
"You're a mistake."
I stilled.
Her voice had dropped to a whisper, barely audible amidst the chaos of emotions drowning the room.
"You've always been a mistake in my life."
I felt my breath hitch, a foreign sensation clenching around my ribs.
Mistake...Her diary....The boy.
But when I met her eyes—
I saw it.
Not just anger. Betrayal.
But something worse. Something final.
She wasn't just hurt.
She was done.
"I regret it. I regret EVERY SINGLE THING."
Each word was ice in my veins.
"I regret that I trusted you. I regret that I believed in you. I REGRET THAT I LOVED YOU!"
....What?
My eyes widened fully as I stared at her.
She—
"I trusted you always, no matter what people said about you because I loved you from the start," she whispered, her head bowing as if the weight of her words were too much to bear.
Her love.
She had...loved me.
"I always loved you, but you didn't. You never did. You never even tried to understand... You just used me for your selfishness...like everyone else."
My breath caught.
I wanted to say something.
Anything.
"Min—"
"I SAID DON'T CALL ME THAT!"
She shoved me away, her rage burning hotter than ever.
Then—
Her hand rubbed violently against her dress, wiping at the spot where she had touched me—
Like I was something disgusting.
A sickness.
A stain she couldn't scrub away fast enough.
"I wish you didn't save me that day."
Silence.
Everything inside me stilled.
I felt cold—like the room had suddenly dropped to freezing temperatures.
"What?... Iris." My voice barely carried past the pounding of my own heartbeat.
She didn't look back.
Didn't even hesitate.
She just... walked away.
As if staying would kill her.
A part of me wanted to lunge forward, grab her, force her to look at me—force her to take those words back.
But I couldn't.
My feet wouldn't move.
I just stood there, frozen in place, staring at the empty space where she once stood.
Then—
A chuckle.
"Oh my... look who's crying," Ivan mused, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
I barely registered him at first.
Then I felt it.
The wetness on my cheeks.
Raising my hand, I touched the moisture with my fingertips, staring at it as if it were foreign.
Tears.
A laugh—low, bitter—escaped me.
"You used a very old cliché trick," I rasped.
Ivan smirked, shrugging as he started to walk away.
"I know, but I knew it would work on her. You know she's a bit fragile, so I thought cliché was safe."
A cold, dull throb started in my chest.
I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand, anger seeping through the cracks of my composure.
A mistake... I saved her...
What the hell was she saying?
Was I the boy she wrote about in her diary?
Was I the mistake?
I had always known she had a past, but never once did I think—
Never once did it even cross my mind that she—
That she loved me.
A sharp, suffocating feeling gripped my throat, forcing the air from my lungs.
She had loved me all along.
Every damn second.
Every time she had stood by me.
Every moment she trusted me when no one else did.
And I—
I had torn it apart with my own hands. As always.
Something snapped inside me.
I couldn't let her leave like this.
Before I could even process it, my legs moved on their own—fleeing from the room, chasing after the only thing that had ever felt real.
I stumbled through the corridors, vision blurred, breath coming in ragged gasps as I burst through the front doors.
The rain slammed into me like needles—cold, relentless, but it didn't matter.
I was already drowning.
And then—
I saw them.
Beyond the gates.
Ivan. And her.
He had his arms wrapped around her, holding her close like she belonged to him.
His lips were near her ear, whispering something—something only she could hear.
And she let him.
She clung to him.
Seeking comfort in the arms of the man who had orchestrated this drama.
Something inside me fractured beyond repair.
A dark, all-consuming fury swallowed me whole.
My nails dug into my palms, the sting barely enough to keep me grounded.
I didn't think.
I just moved.
Storming toward them, each step heavier than the last.
Ivan saw me first—his smirk widening, mocking.
And then I saw her eyes.
They weren't warm.
They weren't full of light.
They were empty.
Gone.
Like I had killed something inside her.
"Get your hands off her." I barely recognized my own voice. Deep. Dark.
Laced with a rage that would kill him if he didn't let go.
Ivan raised a brow, not moving.
But she—
She didn't even flinch.
Didn't react.
Like she didn't even care that I was there.
And that—
That drove me insane.
In one motion, I grabbed Ivan by the collar and ripped him away from her, shoving him back with all my strength.
He stumbled.
And I didn't hesitate.
I slammed my fist into his jaw—hard enough to send him crashing into the wet pavement.
A sharp, satisfying crack.
His groan of pain barely registered.
But her gasp did.
"Ivan!"
Iris's scream tore through the rain-soaked air, her voice raw with panic and desperation.
She dropped to her knees beside him, hands trembling as she reached for the man who had done nothing but try to destroy her peace.
The sight made my stomach churn.
How could she still choose him?
Didn't she see?
Didn't she understand what I was trying to do for her?
Disgust curled in my gut like poison.
I couldn't let her be near him.
Not after what he'd done.
Not when he was trying to take her away from me.
I couldn't let that happen.
My body moved before I could think, instinct taking over.
I grabbed her arm, my grip tight and unyielding, dragging her away from him.
She struggled.
Hard.
Her body twisted, legs kicking against the wet ground, her wrist jerking in my hold.
"LET GO OF ME!"
Her scream ripped through me, raw and filled with fury and anguish, but I didn't loosen my grip.
I couldn't.
I felt her nails dig into my skin, clawing, scraping, but I ignored the sting.
She was fighting me.
The same way she would fight an enemy.
The same way she would fight someone she hated.
And then—
"LEAVE ME, ACE!"
She screamed it, voice cracking with the weight of every emotion crushing her.
I let go of her wrist.
But before she could slip away, my arms encircled her waist, yanking her against me.
One hand clamped around her jaw, tilting her head up to face me.
She thrashed, body writhing in my grip like a caged bird, her limbs hitting against me in a blind frenzy.
"I HATE YOU!" she spat, venom dripping from every syllable.
It cut. A deep, sharp wound that split open something I wasn't ready to acknowledge.
"I HATE YOU SO MUCH!"
Her words sank into my bones, leaving a wound I couldn't stop from festering.
She wasn't just pushing me away.
She was trying to rip me out of her life.
"You hate me, why?" My voice was low, trembling with something I didn't recognize—something dangerous.
"Because I didn't tell you the truth about your brother?"
Her breathing hitched.
"Because I didn't tell you that the man you loved, the man you thought of as family, was the one who KILLED your parents?"
Her eyes widened.
She shook her head, her lips parting—denial curling at the edge of her expression.
I didn't let her escape it.
"Because I didn't tell you that HE NEVER CARED FOR YOU? That he was pretending all along? That he despised you every single day? THAT HE NEVER LOVED YOU?"
Each word came out sharper, crueler, slicing through the rain between us.
She froze.
The breath in her lungs seemed to catch, her entire body going still in my hold.
For a moment, just a moment, I saw the cracks form.
The storm of emotions colliding within her—raging, battling, trying to make sense of the truth that had just shattered everything she knew.
Then—
"You're lying."
It was barely a whisper.
A plea, not a statement.
A desperate attempt to cling to the illusion she had built.
"Isaac... h-he wouldn't..."
But her voice betrayed her.
It shook.
Because she already knew.
Somewhere deep inside, she had always known.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my fingers trembling where they still held her jaw.
"I have never been a good person to you."
My voice cracked.
I didn't care.
"But I promise you, Iris, I am not lying. I didn't kill him. I promised you."
Her breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling in erratic gasps.
I watched her eyes dart—searching for something, some way to deny it, some reason to call me the liar instead of facing the truth that would ruin her.
I had destroyed the last thing holding her together.
And yet,
She looked at me like I was the one who had betrayed her the most.
"YOU'RE LYING!"
She shoved me.
Hard.
Her small hands slammed against my chest, pushing me back, back, back, until the space between us felt like an open wound.
The rain poured between us, cold, relentless—but nothing compared to the coldness in her eyes.
"YOU'RE LYING!"
Her voice broke.
And then—
She took a step back.
Then another.
I felt it happening before I could even process it.
She was leaving me.
She was choosing to walk away.
Choosing to believe a dead man over me.
"You said you would trust me," I reminded her softly, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
A promise.
A lie.
Something that once held meaning but now felt like a cruel joke between us, twisted and bleeding in the downpour.
"Until the day you die..."
Her breath hitched, and then—
"STOP IT!" She screamed, hands flying to her ears as if she could block out my voice—block out the truth that had shattered everything she believed in.
A sharp, slicing pain tore through my chest at the sight of her like this—shaking, breaking, unraveling before me.
"Why.." she whispered, her voice cracking, her lips trembling as she clung to the last remnants of a world that no longer existed.
"Hel-lp me... it..hurts."
The sound of her breaking filled the space between us, twisting something deep and ugly in my chest.
I took a step toward her—
But she stumbled back.
Two steps.
Three.
Like she was terrified of me.
Like I was the thing that had destroyed her.
I froze.
I had never hesitated before. Never doubted.
Not when it came to her.
Not when it came to what was mine.
Her hands fisted into her hair, her breath coming out in jagged sobs, her knees almost buckling under the weight of it all.
"Mama... Papa... help me... PLEASE!"
The rain had long since soaked through both of us, but at that moment, she looked so small.
So lost.
So... alone.
"Iris—"
I reached for her, fingers brushing against her trembling arms, but she ripped herself away with a force that nearly sent her to the ground.
Like my touch burned.
Like I was the thing she feared most.
She wiped at her tears roughly, her hands trembling as she tried—futilely—to pull herself together.
Her small, fragile form swayed slightly, as if the storm around us wasn't only outside, but inside her as well.
She was breaking.
And she wouldn't let me hold the pieces.
No.
No.
"Please..." My lips parted, the word coming out wrecked, as I searched for something, anything, that would make her believe me.
That would make her stay.
She was slipping through my fingers.
"I beg you, please." The words tore from my throat, louder, harsher.
The rain pounded down between us, soaking through my clothes, mixing with the heat of my breath as it left me in heavy bursts.
I wasn't above begging for her.
Not now.
Her lips quivered.
A flicker of something passed through her gaze—something uncertain, something hesitant.
And then—
"Then who killed him?"
The words were barely audible over the storm, but they shattered me.
Because in that moment, despite the pain, despite the hatred, she was still asking.
She still wanted to believe me.
I latched onto that, onto the fragile, breaking thread between us.
"Ivan."
I said it without hesitation, my voice steady despite the war raging inside me.
Her breath hitched. Body stilled.
I held her gaze, willing her to see the truth in my eyes, to understand that everything I had done, every secret I had buried, every lie I had told—
It had all been for her.
For us.
For her protection, her happiness—even if she couldn't see it yet.
But then—
Then the realization crashed over her like a wave.
Her body stiffened, and I felt the moment she broke.
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
Because the truth wasn't freeing her.
It was crushing her.
"What? You saw the gun in his hand," Ivan's voice cut through the storm, filled with a casual arrogance that made my blood boil.
Even now, he was trying to warp the truth, twisting it in his favor, trying to plant doubt in her mind.
But Iris didn't react.
She didn't fight.
She didn't even turn to him.
She just...Closed off.
Her lips pressed into a tight, bloodless line, her hands trembling at her sides as she drowned in her own silence.
And I could see it—
The war inside her.
The love she had for her useless brother.
The trust she had once placed in me.
The truth she had just been forced to face.
And in the end, the weight of it all was too much.
Without a word, she turned.
And she began to walk away.
Slow.
Heavy.
As if every step forward was a fight against the world itself.
As if she had no choice.
And I—
I couldn't breathe.
I watched, frozen, as the rain drenched her retreating figure, soaking through her skin, through every part of her I had once held so tightly in my grasp.
She was walking away from me.
She was choosing to leave.
No.
No, no, no.
I couldn't lose her.
Not like this.
"Mini, please stay with me," I called out after her, my voice raw, tinged with desperation.
She didn't stop.
She didn't turn back.
Her silence was more damning than any words she could have spoken.
It crushed me. It burned through my veins like acid, settling deep in the pit of my stomach, a gnawing, agonizing void that I couldn't claw my way out of.
"MINI!"
I screamed.
The sound of it cracked through the storm, ragged, unhinged.
And then—
"Iris, I love you!"
The words left my lips in a choked, frantic cry. Raw. Real.
The howling wind stole my words. The relentless downpour swallowed them whole.
And she never turned back.
She was gone.
No.
I could still go after her.
But before I could move, pain exploded at the back of my skull. A sharp, blinding crack of force.
My vision blurred, my ears ringing as my body lurched forward.
Ivan.
I staggered, catching myself before I could collapse completely.
My pulse thundered in my ears as I lifted a hand to the back of my head. Warm, sticky blood coated my fingers, mixing with the rain that poured down my face.
"Fuck," I exhaled, voice rough with pain, but my stance remained firm.
A slow, mocking chuckle slithered through the storm.
"Let's end this here," Ivan's voice cut through the downpour, sharp and merciless.
I forced my gaze up, meeting his dark, venomous stare. He stood over me, an iron rod clenched in his grip, his smirk widening with sick amusement.
"That night you killed my family—tonight, I'm killing you," he vowed, his words low, measured, filled with unshakable conviction.
I barely had time to shift before the iron rod came down with brutal force.
My calf burned as searing agony shot up my leg, my knee buckling from the impact.
But I didn't scream—I gritted my teeth, locking my jaw as I fought through the pain.
Another strike. This time to my ribs.
My body jerked instinctively, muscles tensing as I staggered back, rain-soaked gravel crunching beneath my boots.
Again. A sharp crack against my forearm as I barely managed to block the next blow.
I exhaled through gritted teeth, my breaths sharp and uneven, but my focus sharpened.
Pain was nothing new. I had endured worse.
But Ivan—he wanted me to crumble. To beg.
That wasn't happening.
"You know," Ivan sneered, voice dripping with cruel satisfaction, "if Iris had stayed with you, I would've killed her by now. But I guess she's lucky tonight."
Rage flared in my gut.
A dangerous growl built in my throat as I straightened, rolling my shoulders despite the pain screaming through me.
My breathing was ragged, but I wasn't done.
Ivan pulled out a pocket knife, the blade glinting under the dim streetlights.
"Fight back," Ivan taunted, stepping closer, the pocket knife glinting as he twirled it between his fingers. "Come on, Ace. Show me you're not as pathetic as you look right now."
Then he struck.
The first slash tore through my chest, sharp and searing.
I sucked in a breath, my body jerking at the sudden sting.
Then another cut—deeper, more vicious.
The pain bloomed beneath my skin, hot and pulsing, as my blood mingled with the rain, dripping onto the gravel below.
Ivan didn't stop. He wanted me to react, to snarl, to lash out—to give him the satisfaction of resistance.
But I didn't.
Not because I couldn't.
Because I didn't want to.
This time, I didn't want to survive.
I let him yank me forward by the collar, forcing me to meet his gaze.
His eyes were hollow, soulless, filled with nothing but hatred.
He laughed, the sound sharp, biting, void of warmth.
"Fight back," he goaded, shaking me.
I just stared at him, breathing heavily, my body aching, burning.
I could fight.
I could break every bone in his body, snap his wrist before he got another chance to cut me again.
I had the strength—I always did.
But what was the point?
I was too tired. Too weary of the endless cycle of violence and pain that had consumed my life.
My body felt heavy, weighed down by the agony pulsing through every nerve.
The world around me blurred, the edges of my vision darkening as I let my eyes close, surrendering to the darkness that beckoned me.
In those final moments, my thoughts drifted to them.
My friends—who had stood by me through every mistake, every failure.
The people I had led into war, into chaos. The ones I had protected, only to lose in the end.
And then there was her.
The girl who had loved me unconditionally. Who had seen something in me worth saving when I had given up on myself.
My Mini. My Iris.
Perhaps you were right, Mom. Not everyone deserves love.
The words echoed in my mind, bitter and cruel.
But Mini—my sweet Mini—she had made me feel like I was more. Like I could be more.
Yet now, in the end, I had lost everything.
I wished I had controlled myself that night.
The night I let my anger consume me. The night I destroyed everything.
If I had just stopped myself... maybe none of this would have happened.
Maybe I could have met Iris in another way.
A different life—one where the weight of blood and betrayal didn't stain my hands.
The golden flecks in her brown eyes would have caught the light when she looked up, meeting my gaze.
A small, polite smile. Nothing more.
And maybe, just maybe, I would have had the chance to be someone else for her.
Someone worthy.
But that wasn't our story.
Our story was written in blood, in mistakes, in pain. I had met her in the worst way possible.
I could feel Ivan's knife carving into me, the blade dragging through flesh. I could hear his laughter, his mockery cutting just as deep.
I groaned, my breath ragged, my body trembling from the pain and the cold. But I didn't care.
All I had to do was reach inside. Press the button.
Call for help.
But now... I didn't want to.
I was tired.
There was a time when I had yearned for love. For affection. For peace.
And all I received was brutality, indifference, and hate.
So I stopped expecting anything. I buried the pain, the loneliness, and in its place, I nurtured the darkness inside me. I fed it. And in return, it gave me power.
It made me a monster.
And then I began to kill. Ruthlessly. Without remorse.
Their screams, their begging, their blood—none of it mattered. If anything, it brought me satisfaction.
The bloodlust had consumed me for so long. It had driven me into the abyss.
But now... all I craved was her.
Just her.
The one thing I could never have.
The one thing I had destroyed with my own hands.
Pain surged through me as I opened my eyes, the weight of my injuries dragging me back to the present.
The reality of my broken body pressed in, suffocating and inescapable.
My head throbbed, a dull, merciless pounding that sent waves of agony through my skull.
My ears rang, the world around me slipping in and out of focus, distorted and fragmented.
Every breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, the taste of blood thick on my tongue, filling my mouth as I coughed.
The cold seeped into my bones, the rain hammering down in relentless sheets, mixing with the warmth of my blood as it pooled around me.
"Ace, wake up!"
Her voice.
It was so clear, so desperate. It cut through the haze of pain and darkness like a blade, sharp and urgent.
For a moment—a single, fleeting moment—I almost believed she was here.
That if I just turned my head, if I just reached out, my fingers would find hers, warm and real.
But she wasn't.
She was gone.
She had walked away from this nightmare. Left me behind.
She had also believed a dead body over me.
Just like everyone.
Every single time.
The betrayal still burned, but more than that, the truth settled in like a cold, crushing weight.
I knew if I dragged her back now, I would kill her.
For sure.
Not because I wanted to.
But because I couldn't control it.
The darkness inside me—this monster I was—wouldn't let her go unscathed.
It would taint her, suffocate her, devour her until she was just as broken as I was.
And she never trusted me, not truly.
Not enough to stay and trust me.
"Sometimes the past can be more comforting than the present."
She had said that once, in a moment of quiet reflection, her voice soft, almost wistful.
At the time, I hadn't understood. I had scoffed at the idea, dismissed it as one of her sentimental musings.
But now, I finally understood.
But I couldn't tell her I loved her.
Maybe because I had never really let myself believe I was capable of love.
Maybe because I had spent my whole life convinced that no one would ever love me in return.
Or maybe because, deep down, I had always known that love wasn't meant for men like me.
And yet, she had been there.
She had looked at me like I was something more than the monster I had become.
She had tried to reach me, to pull me from the abyss, even when I had done nothing to deserve it.
The darkness pressed in, curling its fingers around me, pulling me under.
And I let it.
I let the pain consume me, the exhaustion drag me down.
In those last moments, I clung to the only thing that still mattered. The memory of her.
The warmth of her smile, the way she had been stubborn sometimes.
The softness of her touch, the way she had reached for me even when she should have run.
The way she had seen something in me, something worth saving, when I had long given up on myself.
She had been my salvation.
As the world faded away, as the cold crept into my bones and my vision blurred, I held onto that one truth in the darkness.
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