The weight of exhaustion clung to me, making every little movement feel ten times harder than it should've been.
My arms felt heavy, my legs stiff, and my head still foggy from sleep.
I just wanted to stay curled up in bed, but that wasn't an option.
"Stand up, peasant. Make me my breakfast," Quinn's voice rang out, pulling me out of whatever half-sleep I was still in.
I groaned, rubbing my eyes before pushing myself up.
The cold air hit my skin, and I shivered as my bare feet met the cool tile floor.
For a second, I sat there, trying to gather the will to move.
My body ached from working late the night before, and my mind... well, my mind never stopped hurting.
Dragging myself toward the kitchen, I could feel Quinn's gaze on me, watching closely like she was waiting for me to collapse.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
The last thing I wanted was to dive into the murky waters of my feelings, especially when I was still trying to paddle my way to the surface.
I wasn't even sure if I'd ever make it out.
"...Okay," she said with a shrug, her attention already drifting back to her phone, fingers tapping against the screen.
The conversation ended there. Or at least, she let it.
I turned away, focusing on the kitchen, the familiar routine of cooking grounding me more than I cared to admit.
My skin prickled under the morning air, and maybe a little under Quinn's gaze, but I ignored it.
The stove clicked as I turned it on, the small flame flickering to life with a soft hiss.
I grabbed the eggs from the fridge, cracking them into a bowl one by one.
The movement was automatic, my body slipping into muscle memory.
Crack. Drop. Whisk. The motions were familiar, easy.
They required nothing from me, no thinking, no feeling.
It had been one year and twenty days.
One year and twenty days.
That's how long it had been since I last saw Ace. Since I had walked away from him. Since he had let me.
The thought made my chest ache in that dull, familiar way. The kind of ache that never really went away, no matter how much time passed.
I hated the word "breakup."
It was too clean, too simple, too... normal.
What happened between us was anything but normal.
It wasn't something that could be tied up neatly with a bow and tucked away as a memory.
It wasn't even something that had truly ended.
It felt more like a wound that refused to close, one that still bled beneath the surface no matter how hard I tried to stitch it up.
I exhaled slowly, flipping the tortilla in the pan, the sizzling sound a small distraction from the thoughts clawing at my mind.
The night before, I had already prepared the vegetables— a small attempt to streamline my morning routine and avoid any unnecessary delays.
Ace didn't love me.
I knew that.
I had always known that.
If he had, he wouldn't have let me go so easily.
He wouldn't have watched me walk away and done nothing to stop me.
He had taken my first kiss, stolen every part of me like it belonged to him, and then discarded me when it was convenient.
And yet, I still loved him.
I always had.
I always would. Pathetic.
And that was the worst part.
He had taken my first kiss. He had taken so much more than that.
And yet, it felt like I had been the only one left holding onto something that didn't exist anymore. If it had ever existed at all.
I wondered if he even thought about me.
If he ever lay awake at night remembering the way my fingers trace his tattoos. If he ever heard my voice in his head the way I still heard his in mine.
Probably not. Never.
He had moved on. He had let me go like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.
And he thought I could do the same.
Like I could just forget him, forget everything, and find happiness with someone else.
Like I was as shameless as he was.
But I wasn't.
I could never let another man touch me. Could never let someone else take his place.
It would feel wrong.
It would feel like breaking something sacred.
Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how far I ran, one truth would always remain—
I was his.
And he was never mine.
I was tainted by him.
The thought made my stomach knot, a sick feeling creeping up my throat.
I finished plating the food, setting the dishes in front of Quinn. She leaned in, sniffing the tacos like a curious puppy before grinning.
At least one of us was happy.
"This smells good!" Quinn exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she pulled the plate closer.
"Don't use your phone while you eat," I scolded gently, taking my seat beside her.
She barely glanced up, her fingers still scrolling.
"Fine, Mom." Her lips curled into a teasing smirk, her tone playful but defiant.
"I'm serious, Quinn. If you don't—" I started, but she cut me off before I could finish.
"If you don't look at food while eating, then what's the point of eating, right?" She mocked, throwing my words back at me with a dramatic eye roll.
I Sighed, but there was no real fight in me. Not today.
Quinn, however, wasn't done.
She studied me between bites, her playful demeanor shifting to something more serious.
"Why don't you go and sleep? The restaurant is closed today," she suggested, her voice softer now, the teasing gone.
I shook my head, unwilling to give in to the heavy pull of exhaustion.
"It's okay," I muttered, even though my body screamed at me to just lie down for a minute. Just a second.
"I'm serious, Iris," she pressed. "You barely slept last night."
I stared at her half-eaten food, the weight of her words pressing into my chest.
It wasn't that I didn't want to sleep. I just... couldn't.
Every time I closed my eyes, memories crawled in.
Some soft, some sharp enough to cut me open.
But they all felt the same in the end—like ghosts pressing their cold fingers against my ribs, whispering things I didn't want to hear.
"...Okay," I finally relented, my voice quieter, heavier.
I made my way back to the bedroom, my feet dragging.
The room was small—barely enough space for the two single beds pushed up against opposite walls and the tiny table wedged between them.
The walls were a dull beige, the kind that never really felt warm no matter how much sunlight poured in.
Quinn had a good life now.
Her jewelry business had taken off, bringing in enough money to live comfortably.
And then there was me—still working at the restaurant, still getting by paycheck to paycheck.
My earnings were decent, but nothing compared to hers.
And yet, here we were, still sharing this tiny room in Newark.
I want to die. So badly this time.
I flopped onto the bed, the mattress groaning beneath me. It wasn't the best, a little too firm in some places, a little too soft in others.
A deep sigh left me as I pulled the thin blanket over my body, the fabric rough but warm.
I curled up, pressing my cheek against the pillow, hoping—just hoping—that maybe sleep would be kinder this time.
But as my breathing slowed, as my body sank deeper into the bed, the past crept in like it always did.
Laughter—his laughter.
The heat of his hand against my skin.
The weight of his gaze.
The way his voice curled around my name like a secret only he was allowed to keep.
Even in my dreams, he found me.
Even in sleep, he wouldn't let me go.
God, please help me.
I am lost.
Every single person in my family has been ripped away from me. Died in front of me.
The weight of my grief is crushing, pressing against my chest like a thousand stones, making it impossible to breathe.
My breath comes in short, sharp gasps, my ribs aching with every attempt to pull in air.
But what's the point?
What's the point of breathing when there's no one left?
I lost my brother. My Isaac.
The brother who raised me. Who carried me on his shoulders when I was too small to reach the world.
The one who promised—promised—that I would never be alone.
But now...
He took them from me.
A strangled noise rips from my throat, somewhere between a sob and a scream.
I clutch my chest, my fingers digging into my own skin, as if I could reach inside and tear out whatever is left of me.
"He killed them."
Ace's voice rings in my ears, a relentless echo that refuses to fade.
No.
No.
I shake my head violently, gripping my hair, my vision blurring as hot tears spill down my cheeks.
He's lying. He has to be lying.
Because if he's telling the truth... then my entire life has been a lie.
But how—how—am I supposed to believe him?
When he was the one holding the gun.
When I saw it.
I saw Isaac's blood streaked body.
My Isaac.
The one who held me through nightmares. Who wiped my tears when I scraped my knees. Who told me he would never hurt me.
And Ace—
Ace killed him.
I trusted him. I trusted him!
And he betrayed me. Just like everyone else.
Just like the rest of the world.
A cold, bitter laugh bubbles out of my throat, shaking, broken.
I am such a fool.
Every sweet promise he made was a lie.
Every moment we shared—just another trick.
I should have known.
I should have never let myself love him.
My chest tightens, my stomach twisting into a sick knot.
How could I believe anything that came from his mouth after everything?
I stumble forward, falling to my knees in the middle of the street, the rain pouring down in heavy sheets around me.
The cold bites at my bones, but I barely feel it.
"Die like your parents."
Isaac's last words echo in my skull, a deafening roar that drowns out the world around me.
Why would he say that?
WHY? WHY? WHY?!
"W-W-h...y..." My voice cracks, a pathetic whisper lost in the storm. I stare at my trembling hands, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The edges of my vision blur, dark spots swimming before my eyes.
I know Isaac hated me. I've always known after our parents died.
I saw it in his eyes, in the way he looked at me like I was nothing.
But why... why would he say that?
Why would his last words be so cruel? So final?
A new kind of sickness curls in my stomach. A tiny, venomous doubt that creeps through my mind like a whisper in the dark.
What if...
What if Ace was telling the truth?
No. No, no, no!
I clutch my head, shaking it violently. I refuse to believe it. I can't.
I clutch my head, shaking it violently, the damp strands of my hair sticking to my face.
I refuse to believe it. I can't.
Because if Ace was right—if Isaac really did kill Mama and Papa—then that means...
A choked laugh escapes me, bitter and shaking, barely even a sound. My chest tightens like a vice, squeezing the air from my lungs.
This is a nightmare. A cruel, twisted joke.
Swallowing hard, I wipe away my tears, the salty residue stinging my already raw skin as I stand up, my body swaying.
My legs feel like they aren't even mine anymore, heavy and weak, like they might buckle beneath me.
The mansion looms in the distance, its silhouette barely visible through the curtain of rain.
I fist my palms, nails biting into my skin as my chest boils with anger, with hollowness, with something I don't even have the words for.
Even now, I can't fully doubt him.
Why am I like this?
Why does even the smallest part of me hesitate? Even though I want to walk away... I can't.
My steps falter, my breath hitching as the mansion slowly comes into view, its darkened windows staring back at me like the empty eyes of a corpse.
Why do I have to live like this?
When I finally thought I had everything, you snatched it away.
Are you happy?
I am alone.
Are you happy now?
I swipe at my wet cheeks, the motion so rough it burns. But I can't stop.
I scrub harder, as if wiping my face clean will erase everything—the betrayal, the grief, the suffocating weight pressing down on my chest.
The rain is relentless, pouring down in heavy sheets, soaking me to the bone, drowning out every other sound except the dull roar in my ears.
And then—through my blurry vision—I catch a glimpse of movement.
A car.
Someone is getting inside.
The door slams shut, and without hesitation, the vehicle speeds off, its tires screeching against the slick pavement before vanishing into the storm.
I don't react. I don't move. I just watch—empty, drained, too tired to feel anything anymore.
The rain keeps falling. My breath keeps coming. And for a moment, it's just me and the storm.
But then—my focus shifts.
A dark shape.
Lying motionless on the road.
I stare at it.
My breath slows. My pulse hammers so hard it feels like my ribs might crack under the pressure.
Cold. I feel so cold.
Tilting my head, I stare straight ahead, realization sinking into me like a slow, creeping fog.
The figure isn't moving.
I blink. Once. Twice.
A warning bell rings somewhere deep in my mind, distant, muffled, but I don't process it right away.
I should react.
I should rush forward.
But I just stand there.
Seconds stretch. The rain keeps falling. The wind howls, whipping my hair against my face, but I don't feel it.
My fingers twitch at my sides.
Go, I tell myself.
Move.
Go.
And finally, with leaden limbs, I stumble forward.
One step.
Then another.
The closer I get, the worse it gets.
The shape sharpens. Clothes. Shoes. Limbs flared out. A faint sheen of red pooling beneath them, mixing with the rain.
My stomach churns.
I know this sight. I know what it means.
But my brain refuses to connect the pieces.
Not yet.
Not until I'm standing right over them, until I can see—
Oh.
Oh, God.
The world tilts violently, my lungs seizing as the truth slams into me.
Ace.
I stop. Just for a moment. Just long enough for the thought to creep in—Walk away. Just walk away.
He lied to you. He used you.
My throat closes. My legs buckle.
I don't even remember falling to my knees beside him, but suddenly, I'm there—so close I can see every wound, every stab, every drop of blood clinging to his skin.
My breath catches in my throat, hands trembling uncontrollably as I shake him gently, hoping—praying—for a reaction.
"A-Ace?" My voice is barely a whisper, breaking apart before it can even leave my lips.
He doesn't move.
I tell myself to get up. To leave.
I shake him instead. Harder.
"Ace! Wake up! Wake up!"
The words leave me in a desperate, shattered cry, but he remains motionless beneath my touch.
This can't be happening.
Not him. Not like this.
"Open your eyes...You..you're also...leaving me." My voice cracks, my hands fisting into his soaked shirt, my fingers curling into the fabric as if I can hold him here, as if I can make him stay.
My hands are shaking so violently that it takes me three tries to pull my phone from my pocket.
My breath stutters as I press Hudson's number, my heart hammering so hard it hurts.
The line rings once. Twice.
Pick up, pick up, pick up.
And then—
"Hudson!" I blurt out, my words tumbling over each other in my haste. "Ace is dying—he's not moving!"
"What?!" Hudson's voice comes through, alarmed and immediate.
"Please, please help me. He's not moving!" I plead, the words spilling out in a rush, and I struggle to catch my breath, panic tightening around my throat like a vice.
"Okay, okay, where are you?" he asks, his tone shifting to one of urgency.
"In front of the mansion, but a little bit far," I say, my voice shaking as I glance around, desperate for anyone to appear.
"Ok, I'm coming. Breathe, Iris. Breathe," Hudson reassures me, his voice urgent yet firm, but his words feel distant—like they're coming from another world, one I no longer belong to.
I can hear him moving, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing through the line.
But I can't breathe.
Because Ace isn't moving.
And no matter how much I tell myself to let go, to leave him here to die alone—
I just can't.
I don't want him to die.
The phone slips from my fingers, the call ending with a dull thud as it hits the wet pavement.
The sound barely registers over the erratic pounding of my heart.
I turn back to Ace, my hands reaching for him with a desperation that makes my chest ache.
My fingers curl around his shirt, shaking him with every bit of strength I have left.
But he remains limp. Heavy. Unmoving.
A strangled cry rips from my throat, frustration and fear twisting inside me like a blade.
Save him.
Please, God. Please, take my life instead, but save him.
He saved mine. For that sake!—please, take mine.
The rain beats down harder, drumming against my skin, mixing with the warmth of his blood that sticks to my fingers.
My body trembles as I lower myself onto his chest, pressing my forehead against the bruised, battered skin.
And then—
A heartbeat.
Weak. Unsteady.
But there.
A choked sob escapes me, relief crashing into me like a violent wave.
He's still here.
I close my eyes, squeezing them shut against the tears that won't stop falling, against the overwhelming terror that refuses to release its grip on me.
I can't lose him.
Summoning every ounce of strength left in my broken body, I try to lift him.
His dead weight drags against me, his broad frame too heavy, too unyielding.
I let out a shaky gasp, my limbs burning with exertion as I struggle, but it's useless—he's too big, too strong even in unconsciousness.
My knees buckle, sending me crashing back down beside him, my hands fisting against the wet pavement.
"Somebody help me!" I scream into the night, my voice hoarse, raw with desperation.
But there's no one.
No guards.
No maids.
Nothing but the howling wind and the relentless downpour, the rain washing away the blood, as if trying to erase him from this world.
No.
I won't let him be erased.
Not like this. Not when I can still feel the faint echo of his heart beneath my touch.
With shaking legs, I rise, turning in every direction, searching—praying—for any sign of life.
It feels like I've been abandoned. Like the world has turned its back on me.
On him.
My lips part, another cry of help forming on my tongue, but it dies before I can speak.
Because deep down, I already know.
No one is here to help.
The screech of tires against wet pavement shatters the stillness, and my head snaps up just in time to see headlights slicing through the rain.
Gravel spits up as the car comes to a skidding halt, the driver's side door flinging open before the vehicle has fully stopped.
Hudson.
Relief crashes into me, stealing my breath, my limbs trembling as I surge forward, the only thing keeping me from collapsing under the weight of everything.
"Hudson!" I scream, his name tearing from my throat like a desperate prayer.
He's already moving toward me, his steps urgent, his gaze scanning the scene before locking onto Ace's unmoving body.
I see the exact moment his expression changes.
His features harden, his jaw clenches, and the sharp, burning anger in his eyes sends a chill through me.
"Give me a hand," I say quickly, gripping Ace's shoulder, trying to lift him even as my fingers shake. I can't bear this. I can't bear to see him like this.
"Please, Hudson, help me get him into the car—"
"I didn't come here for him." The cold, emotionless finality in his voice knocks the breath from my lungs.
I freeze.
My grip on Ace slackens.
"...W-what?" The word barely makes it out.
He doesn't answer.
His hand shoots out, fingers clamping around my arm in an iron grip, yanking me away from Ace's lifeless body.
"No!" I twist against his hold, my pulse roaring in my ears. "Hudson, please!"
He doesn't budge.
I dig my heels into the asphalt, but his strength easily overpowers mine.
He pulls me farther away, his grip bruising, his movements firm and unwavering.
Panic surges through me, my heart twisting painfully at his indifference.
"Please! Hudson, help him!" I choke out, my voice breaking under the weight of my desperation. "I know! I understand everything! But please, I beg you!"
I don't care about pride. I don't care about dignity.
I would throw myself at his feet if that's what it took.
Because I can't let Ace slip away.
I won't.
But Hudson's expression doesn't soften.
If anything, the fury in his eyes deepens, his contempt for Ace twisting into something ugly, something raw.
"Iris," he bites out, his voice a sharp, angry growl. "Let's. Go."
He tugs at my arm again, but this time, I collapse.
My knees hit the wet pavement hard, pain ricocheting up my legs, but I barely register it.
I clasp my hands together, fingers gripping so tightly they turn white as I bow my head in pure, unrestrained desperation.
"Please!" My voice shatters as sobs wrack my body. "He's bleeding, Hudson! Help him, please!"
Hudson looks down at me, stunned.
For a moment, he hesitates, but then—his face hardens again.
"It's his fate," he says coldly, his voice devoid of sympathy. "Don't make me change it."
I shake my head violently. "No," I rasp. "You can't just leave him here! Not like this!"
I see the war in his eyes.
Hudson despises Ace, now.
And why wouldn't he?
Ace betrayed the man who raised him. The man who trusted him. He burned every bridge, shattered every bond, tore apart everything that ever meant anything to him.
To Hudson, Ace doesn't deserve saving.
To Hudson, this is justice.
"If you want him dead so bad," I whisper, my voice shaking, "then kill me instead."
Hudson's head snaps toward me, his brow furrowing.
"What?"
"Take my life instead of his." I lift my chin, meeting his stare head-on, despite the terror coursing through me. "Finish your pain."
Hudson's jaw tightens. A muscle ticks.
"Don't be stupid," he snaps, hauling me to my feet with too much force.
I stumble but refuse to let go, my fingers curling around his sleeve like a lifeline.
"Do you have any self-respect?!" His voice is sharp, furious, filled with something almost close to disgust. "You're begging for him? For a man who killed the person who raised him like a son?"
I flinch, but I don't back down.
But I can't.
Because the moment I let go, the moment I stop fighting—Ace is gone.
And I don't think I can live with that.
"Please, Hudson," I whisper, my voice hoarse, raw from screaming, from crying, from breaking. "Save him."
Hudson's breathing is uneven, his eyes flickering with something unreadable.
I grip his leg, my head bowing as I press my forehead to his knee, lowering myself in complete surrender.
"I don't have anything," I rasp, my voice breaking, my chest caving under the weight of my own words. "Right now, all I have is him. So please— save him."
The silence that follows is suffocating.
I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting, waiting, until—
A long, reluctant exhale.
And then—movement.
Hudson strides forward, his steps heavy, filled with fury, with conflict, with something I can't understand.
He scoops Ace into his arms, throwing his unconscious body over his shoulder without another word.
I let out a breath—a weak, trembling breath—as the weight crushing my chest eases just slightly.
As we rush to the hospital, I press cloth against his bleeding wounds, my fingers trembling as I try to staunch the flow.
The car bounces slightly as Hudson navigates the road, but I barely notice, my mind consumed with thoughts of Ace.
Staring down his face, my lower lip quivered as I remembered the look on his face when he begged me to stay.
I had never seen him like that.
Not Ace. Not the man who commanded rooms with just a glance, who played with people's fear like a twisted symphony.
But in that moment.....a man staring at me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
"Why?" I whisper, fisting his hair, my voice cracking under the weight of emotions I don't understand.
The minutes feel like hours, the urgency of the situation stretching time into a cruel mockery of reality.
I don't know what I'm feeling right now—rage, sadness, panic, or something else entirely.
But I do know one thing.
No matter how much I should hate him.
No matter how much I want to hate him.
I can't let him die.
It takes ten agonizing minutes to reach the hospital, but it feels like hours—like I'm trapped in a nightmare
The car screeches to a halt, and before it even fully stops, Hudson throws the door open, carrying Ace's bloodied, lifeless body inside.
The sharp scent of antiseptic burns my nose, mixing with the metallic tang of blood still clinging to my skin.
I couldn't breathe properly until they wheeled Ace away, disappearing behind the sterile white doors.
Please, God. Please let him live.
Hudson handles the paperwork swiftly, his movements brisk, efficient, detached. Looking down at Ace like he was nothing more than discarded trash.
I steal a glance at him, his face still carved from stone, but his fists remain clenched at his sides.
A war rages within him, one I don't dare to disrupt.
The moment the doors swing shut, I collapse onto a cold, hard bench outside Ace's room, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a constant, torturous hum.
The sterile hospital air feels thick, suffocating. My clothes are soaked in water and Ace's blood.
It's drying now, sticky against my skin, but I don't dare to wipe it away.
The hours crawl by at an unbearable pace, stretching into an eternity of silence and waiting.
The dread festers in my stomach, a sick, twisting thing that refuses to settle.
And then, one by one, they arrive.
Ace's friends enter like a storm, their heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.
Aiden spots me first.
His eyes widen, a flicker of concern breaking through his hardened features as he rushes toward me.
"What the hell is happening?"
His arms wrap around me, his hug tight, urgent.
I can't even respond. My throat locks up, my body shivering against his.
Felix's voice cuts through the tension next, his worry laced with frustration. "Iris, talk to us. What happened?"
I struggle to find the words, my lips trembling.
"I don't know... we-we had... Someone beat him and left in some car," I stammer, my voice barely coherent, my mind still reeling from the horror of it all.
Silence.
Then—
"Hud, why did you help him?"
Leo's voice is cold as ice, the accusation sharp enough to slice through flesh.
"Have you forgotten he's a betrayer?"
Hudson exhales sharply but says nothing.
"I know, I know," I whisper, my fingers twisting in the fabric of my ruined clothes. "But I'm the one who called Hudson."
A heavy pause.
Susan steps forward now, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. "Are you still staying with him, Iris?"
I hesitate, then nod, shivering slightly as Alex silently drapes his coat over my shoulders.
I bow my head in gratitude.
"Why?" Susan's voice tightens with disbelief.
I press my lips together, my heart pounding, trying to find the right words. "I can't just abandon him like this."
My voice is firm. Steady.
"He's alone without all of you."
Susan scoffs, her laugh dry, bitter.
"Alone, my foot! He's a liar! A fucking liar! A betrayer and a traitor!" She practically spits the words out, her frustration boiling over.
I flinch at the venom in her tone, my heart clenching painfully, but I don't let her words shake me.
The conversation screeches to a halt as a doctor emerges from Ace's room.
I shoot to my feet, my entire body trembling. "Is he okay?"
The doctor's face is grave, his eyes heavy with concern.
"He's lost too much blood," he explains, voice calm but urgent. "And his blood type is O negative—rare. We don't have any in stock. We'll check with other hospitals, but in the meantime, you might want to start searching on your end as well."
My heart plummets.
I turn sharply to Hudson, my pulse a frantic, uneven drumbeat. "Do you know anyone with O negative blood?"
He exhales, a sound so heavy it feels like the weight of the world is pressing down on him.
His gaze shifts to the others, something silent and dangerous passing between them.
Tension crackles through the air like a live wire.
I can't take it anymore.
"Who is it? Aiden? Su? Felix? WHO THE HELL IS IT?"
My voice is raw, desperate. The outburst echoes down the halls, making the others flinch.
Then—
"Liam."
Alex says it without emotion, but the name hangs in the air like salvation.
Without hesitation, I rush toward Liam, nearly tripping in my haste. I grab his hands, clutching them like a lifeline.
"Liam, please."
My voice cracks.
Tears blur my vision, slipping down my cheeks unchecked.
"You said you'd help if I ever needed it, right? Help me now. Give him your blood. Please."
Liam studies me, his blue eyes piercing, unreadable.
Then, softly, almost too softly—
"Do you love him?"
The words are a whisper and a demand, a challenge and a lifeline.
The air leaves my lungs.
Do I?
Do I still love Ace?
My heart pounds violently.
"Yes."
I swallow hard, barely able to breathe through the emotion constricting my throat.
"Yes, I do. Please, help him."
Liam exhales sharply. For a moment, something flickers across his face—something pained, something I can't quite name.
But then, finally—
He nods.
A heavy sigh leaves his lips, and without another word, he turns, following the doctor toward the blood donation room.
Hudson's voice is behind me, barely above a murmur. "How... more like why?"
But I don't answer.
I don't have an answer.
It was almost 2 in the morning, and the waiting room felt colder, emptier now that Leo, Felix, and Susan had left—cursing Ace to their heart's content before slamming the doors behind them.
I couldn't sit still.
I stood before the opaque door, my fingers twitching at my sides, my heart a frantic drumbeat against my ribs.
If I could just see him.
Just one glimpse.
The discomfort in my toes burned as I stretched upward, the dull pain grounding me in a reality I couldn't escape.
"Iris, he's not going to wake up for now. Sit down."
Alex's voice cut through the silence like a blade—sharp, edged with frustration, but beneath it, a thread of concern.
I didn't move.
"I know," I murmured, my eyes fixed on the door, as if my sheer willpower could pull it open.
Then—
"He did it on purpose."
Liam's voice was quiet, but the weight of his words crashed over the room like a tidal wave.
Aiden, leaning against the wall, arched a brow, her boredom barely masking her intrigue.
"What?"
Liam's fingers tapped against his knee, a slow, thoughtful rhythm. "Iris said there were only Ivan, Isaac, and Ace in the mansion when she arrived." He paused, his brows knitting together in a deep frown.
"Ace isn't weak. He would have fought back." His voice dropped lower, more to himself than to us. "So why didn't he?"
The question hung in the air, cold and damning.
Aiden sat up straighter. "He was planning to die."
The realization settled over me like a death sentence.
Aiden's voice, usually so light, so teasing, was laced with something unfamiliar. Dread.
"That has to be it," he muttered, his movements slow, almost detached, as he stood. "He sent away the guards. The maids. Even Ares."
No one spoke.
Hudson turned to me, his voice quieter than usual, but steady. "Iris. What happened there?"
I sucked in a shaky breath.
And then I told them.
Everything.
Every wound. Every word. Every detail that led us to this moment.
By the time I was done, the room was silent.
The tension was thick, pressing down on all of us, suffocating.
Their eyes were different now—no longer just angry, but troubled. Wavering.
They weren't ready to forgive him.
But they were listening.
That was enough.
I lifted my chin, my voice cutting through the silence like steel.
"If I can trust his words, even after everything I saw— even after watching him hold a gun with my brother's body on the floor—then you should also try to find the reason why Ace killed your father."
Hudson's shoulders tensed.
I pushed forward. "You've been his friends for years. Decades. And yet, you abandoned him without trying to understand why."
Their faces flickered with something unreadable.
Doubt.
Fear.
"Ace told me Ivan was the one who killed Isaac," I continued, my voice unwavering. "I didn't believe him then. But I do now."
I turned to Hudson, my heart pounding.
"I don't know what happened between Ace and your father."
"But he's your friend."
"And in times like these, you should trust each other. Not turn away."
The room felt like it wasn't breathing.
No one spoke.
Then—
"What if he really did kill Isaac?"
Liam's voice was softer now, but his words were sharp, cautious.
"What if he's lying?"
I met his gaze head-on.
"He wouldn't."
The conviction in my voice left no room for doubt.
"I trust him that much."
A bitter chuckle escaped Liam. "That's blind faith, Iris."
I shook my head. "No. It's not."
My voice didn't waver, didn't crack.
"If he lied, he wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed right now."
Liam exhaled sharply, crossing his arms, his fingers gripping his biceps like he was holding himself together. "But what if he's manipulating you?"
"What if this is all a game to him?"
My patience snapped.
"IT'S NOT A GAME."
The desperation in my voice struck through the room like thunder.
"You don't know him like I do!"
Liam's jaw clenched, but he didn't interrupt.
I pushed forward. "He's not perfect. But he's not a liar."
A long silence stretched between us, thick, suffocating, filled with everything none of us could say.
Liam ran a hand down his face, his frustration evident. "Iris... you're putting a lot of faith in him."
"What if you're wrong?"
I didn't hesitate.
"Then I'll deal with it."
The fire in my voice never wavered.
"But I'd rather trust him and be wrong than abandon him when he needs us most."
"IRIS!"
The voice ripped through the night.
And my eyes snapped open.
A sudden, brutal pull back into reality.
"IRIS."
Again, the voice shattered the lingering haze of my half-conscious mind.
I blinked, disoriented, the world around me sluggish and blurred—until Quinn's face came into focus.
Her hair was a wild, tangled mess, her eyes sharp with amusement, and in one hand, she casually held a beer.
With the other, she playfully tapped my cheek. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"What?" My voice was thick with sleep, my body sluggish, unwilling to wake up just yet.
"Your boyfriend is here," she announced with a lazy grin, plopping onto my bed.
She barely glanced at me before her attention shifted back to her phone, where a movie flickered across the screen, its colors painting her face in shifting hues.
Boyfriend.
The word made my stomach twist.
"He's not my boyfriend," I muttered irritably, the words spilling out too quickly, too defensively.
Quinn's eyes flicked up to me, rolling dramatically before she returned to whatever held her interest on the screen.
"Whatever you say, Iris."
The amusement in her voice made my skin prickle.
I dragged myself out of bed, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in my bones.
Without thinking, I grabbed a wrinkled shirt from the back of a chair and tugged it on, barely glancing at myself.
"Don't tell me you're going out there like that."
Quinn's voice was laced with barely-contained laughter.
I turned to her, raising a brow. "Why?"
"You look like a Victorian child who won't survive the winter," she said with a smirk, taking another sip of her beer.
I scoffed, running a hand through my tangled hair. "Good. Maybe he'll break up with me."
The idea of being rejected seemed like a relief, a way to escape the tangled web I found myself in.
Quinn's smirk faltered for half a second before she shook her head, like she pitied me but was too entertained to care.
I didn't wait for her response.
The moment I stepped outside the room, I saw him.
Jeremy.
He sat stiffly in a chair just outside the bedroom, his posture tense, too proper, too composed. Resting in his lap was a bouquet—too vibrant, too fresh, too much like an apology wrapped in petals.
The second he saw me, his face lit up—his eyes crinkling at the corners, his relief almost too easy to read.
He looked happy.
Guilt slammed into me, a tidal wave crashing over my already unsteady footing.
He didn't deserve this.
He didn't deserve the coldness in my voice, the irritation in my tone, the way I refused to meet his gaze for too long.
But I couldn't stop it.
Because the truth was—I felt trapped.
Trapped by the expectations of others. Trapped by the weight of my own indecision. Trapped by the memory of that night.
The night he had proposed.
It had been too public, too loud, too much.
A crowded restaurant. His friends cheering. A small circle forming around us as he dropped to one knee.
I had felt every pair of eyes on me.
Waiting.
Watching.
Expecting.
And I had panicked.
The fear of humiliating him, of being the villain in some grand, romantic gesture, had paralyzed me.
So I had said yes.
Even though every fiber of my being had screamed no.
"Iris."
Jeremy's voice carried the warmth of someone who cared too much. Too much for someone like me.
He stepped forward, arms opening wide for a hug.
Panic slammed into me, sharp and sudden. My body stiffened before I could stop it.
Not this. Not him.
"Wait, I haven't brushed or showered," I blurted out, stepping back quickly, putting distance between us.
A brief flicker of disappointment crossed his face. Subtle, but there.
He covered it up quickly.
"Come on, we've been together for a month and not even a hug?" He tried to joke, forcing a mock pout, but the weight of my rejection hung between us.
Jeremy was always so touchy. So eager to close the space between us.
But I didn't want it.
The smile I forced felt foreign, stretched too tight over my face.
"Jeremy, what are you doing here?" I asked, my voice a little too careful, laced with something like guilt.
He didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he did and chose to ignore it.
"Well, we're going on a date tonight, remember?" His grin widened, and he held out the bouquet toward me. "I just came here to remind you since you always forget our dates."
The sight of the flowers made my stomach knot.
I took them carefully, feeling the soft petals against my fingers. The scent was sweet—too sweet.
Another forced smile. Another tiny betrayal.
He was trying so hard. And here I was, thinking of ways to escape.
As I clutched the bouquet, an idea formed—a terrible one, but the only one that made sense.
What if I made him break up with me?
If I embarrassed him enough—if I became unbearable, unappealing, anything but the person he thought he loved—then he'd be the one to walk away.
He wouldn't be heartbroken. Just disgusted enough to end things on his terms.
It was a coward's way out. But wasn't that better than looking him in the eye and breaking his heart outright?
Yeah. Fantastic plan, ninjaty ninja.
Jeremy leaned in slightly, just enough that I could feel the warmth of him, the familiar scent of his cologne.
Too close.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up—I backed away, my spine straightening like a board.
His face faltered. Just a little.
The unspoken question hung in the air between us.
What's wrong?
Why won't you let me in?
He muttered something under his breath, words too soft to catch. Maybe he wasn't even sure what he was saying himself.
I didn't say anything.
Silence was crueler.
"Bye," he finally said.
The warmth had drained from his voice, replaced with something quieter, something uncertain.
He hesitated, his eyes searching mine.
Looking for something—anything—any sign that I wanted him to stay.
He found nothing.
And so, he left.
Sighing, I closed my eyes, letting the tension drain from my body as the door clicked shut behind Jeremy.
Relief.
And guilt.
Twisting together into something suffocating.
I leaned back against the wall, the cool surface pressing into my back, grounding me as I tried to sort through the mess in my head.
The silence barely lasted before Quinn's voice cut through it.
She stood in the doorway, Cheetos in hand, bright orange dust staining her fingers.
She crunched on them thoughtfully, eyes flicking over me like she was studying something pathetic.
Probably was.
"He's not good."
Her tone was so blunt it almost startled me. Like she was stating something as simple as water is wet.
I frowned. "What?"
Quinn shrugged, popping another Cheeto into her mouth.
"You're not a horrible person, Iris."
She said it like it was a fact. No room for doubt. No sarcasm, no teasing. Just truth.
A kindness that I wasn't used to hearing from her.
"But I am."
The words left my lips without thought, soaked in guilt.
"He's a good man who just wanted love from a girl."
Quinn scoffed, loud and unbothered.
"He's using you."
Silence.
I stared at her.
Not processing.
Not understanding.
Just staring.
"Using me?" I echoed, the words slow and foreign.
Quinn sighed. Dramatically.
"I'm not an expert in relationships," she admitted, finally dropping the bag of Cheetos onto the table.
She stepped forward, crossing the room in that confident, fluid way she always did.
"But he doesn't look at you with love—it's just lust."
The words were sharp. Precise. Clean.
They cut through the fog in my head like a knife.
"Lust?" I repeated. Dumbly.
Quinn rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.
"Gosh, you're stupid!" She groaned, exasperation dripping from every syllable.
"Lust means he wants to fuc—" She stopped herself, making a show of clearing her throat before finishing in a mock-serious voice.
"JUST THE S WORD."
I froze.
Like a switch flipped in my brain.
The idea of intimacy—any kind of intimacy— with someone other than Ace made my stomach twist in protest.
Disgust. Uncertainty. Wrong.
I had slept with Ace.
And I knew one thing for certain.
I would never do it with someone else.
Not Jeremy. Not anyone.
I shook my head, feeling heat rise to my face, creeping up my neck.
Quinn plopped onto the couch, looking at me with a smirk.
I hesitated before sitting down beside her, guilt intensifying at the edges of my voice.
"Only married people do that... right?" Does that mean he wants to get married.....no. God, I am a horrible person."
Quinn blinked at me.
Hard.
Like she was debating if I was joking or if I had truly managed to survive this long in life being this stupid.
Her mouth opened.
Then closed.
Then opened again.
"I can't believe how you survived in this world being this naive," she finally blurted out, voice a mix of exasperation and genuine concern.
She ran a hand through her short, boyish hair, shaking her head as if trying to physically shake off my words.
As Quinn continued to talk, her voice a steady background hum, as my mind drifted.
Ace.
It always came back to Ace.
Did he think about me?
Did he ever stop and wonder where I was? What I was doing?
Or had he moved on, his life continuing effortlessly, unburdened by the weight of what we had been?
I could almost see it—Ace lounging in some dimly lit room, a crystal glass of scotch in his hand, swirling the amber liquid with the same casual cruelty that he once used on me.
Maybe he was with someone else now, some ethereal woman with legs that stretched for miles and the kind of sophistication I could never fake. Tsk.
She'd be rich. Educated. Composed.
The kind of woman who could sit beside him in a five-star restaurant without fidgeting with her silverware.
She wouldn't flinch at his touch, wouldn't stiffen under the weight of his gaze.
She'd meet his eyes with something equally confident, equally untouchable.
And I?
I was just some girl he used in boredom. A bed-warmer, a fleeting amusement, a complication he'd long since discarded.
A bitter taste curled at the back of my throat.
The thought of him with someone else made my stomach churn with something ugly and nauseating, something I didn't want to name.
The only thing I had left of him was his shirt.
A simple, worn-out gray thing that smelled less and less like him with each passing day.
I clung to it anyway, like an idiot, like a pathetic fool, dumb butt.
God, my life is a mess.
A voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, sharp and intrusive.
"You know," Quinn drawled lazily, her voice slicing through the thick fog of my mind, "I saw one of his friends staring at you."
I blinked, barely processing. "What?"
"One of his friends," she repeated, licking the cheese dust off her fingers like she had all the time in the world. "He was staring at you. Hard."
I let out a slow breath, trying to summon some semblance of interest.
But the truth was, I didn't care. Not even a little.
The thought of another man's attention was so far down on my list of priorities that it didn't even register as an afterthought.
Why did it matter?
The only thing that matters is the fact that the only pair of eyes I ever wanted on me had already looked away.
"Why do you always get the bad and sexy ones?" Quinn huffed suddenly, tossing the now-empty Cheetos bag onto the coffee table.
She crossed her arms and glared at me like I had personally offended her.
"You want good boys," she continued, exasperated, "and I want bad boys. But somehow, the universe decided to swap that shit. Fucking hell."
Quinn clicked her tongue, watching me closely.
Then, with the kind of casual recklessness only she could pull off, she leaned back and stretched.
"I also want some stress relief," she announced, like she was contemplating ordering a pizza. "Maybe I'll go to one of my ex's places."
I turned to look at her, raising a slow eyebrow.
She shrugged, utterly unbothered. "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."
Despite her shameless attitude, Quinn had been a good friend to me—a fact I couldn't deny, no matter how unconventional her behavior might be.
She had taken me in when I had nowhere else to go, offered me shelter without hesitation, and never once made me feel like a burden.
She fed me when I forgot to eat, shoved snacks into my hands when I looked too lost in my own thoughts, and pulled me back to reality with her blunt, no-nonsense words when I started spiraling too deep.
The only condition she had ever set was that I had to cook for her whenever she asked, and the food had to be delicious.
A small price to pay for the stability she offered. I had agreed without question, throwing myself into the one thing I knew I could do well.
Quinn was also the reason I had been able to customize the pendant.
She was incredibly talented when it came to jewelry-making.
But talent alone wasn't enough to sustain a life.
She struggled with the business side of things, with marketing her work and turning her passion into something profitable.
"Skills alone won't get you anywhere," she had told me once, her tone uncharacteristically serious as she polished a delicate silver ring.
"People want the story behind it. They want to feel like they're buying something special, something made just for them."
And yet, despite her struggles, she had helped me.
After I left Ace, I had gone back to Helen, hoping for... I didn't even know what.
Maybe an apology.
Maybe a chance to rebuild something. But all I got was a door slammed in my face.
She hadn't even hesitated. Just took one look at me—broken, lost, desperate—and told me to get lost.
I still remembered the way my stomach had dropped, the sting of humiliation burning through me like acid.
If it weren't for Quinn, I might have ended up on the streets, crumbling and destroyed.
I was still paying her back for the pendant, working out a payment plan in small installments.
It didn't matter how long it took— I would pay off my debt to her, no matter what.
If someone saw Quinn for the first time, they'd probably stare at her like she was odd.
She was tall, her lean frame carrying just enough muscle to give her a wiry strength.
Her boyish haircut made her stand out even more, the sharp edges of her features making it impossible to pin her down as traditionally feminine or masculine.
She wore whatever she wanted, said whatever she thought, and carried herself with the kind of confidence that made people take a second look.
Her habits are just as unusual, the kind of things that make people raise an eyebrow or two.
But despite all that—maybe because of all that—I liked her.
She's shameless, yes, but there's something refreshing about her honesty and the way she just is herself, without any pretense.
A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I thought about it.
For now, at least, I had someone in my life who accepted me as I was, quirks and all.
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