Chapter 0004

Ace POV:

As I entered the office in the morning, Ivan was already waiting for me, standing near my desk with his usual stiff posture.

He extended a folder toward me, the weight of it telling me it contained everything I needed to know.

Iris.

I took the folder and flipped it open, scanning through the contents with a practiced eye.

No surname. No real family ties.

Her mother, Asha Carter— deceased.

Her father, Samuel Carter— deceased.

The only living relative was a brother who had cut her off and wanted nothing to do with her.

She was practically alone in this world.

She had been scraping by with low-wage jobs, just barely keeping herself afloat.

Lived in some run-down hostel with a roommate. No assets, no support, no future.

She was nothing.

A smirk pulled at my lips as I tossed the folder onto my desk. “Looks like I saved her ass,” I muttered, exhaling slowly.

Ivan shrugged, the faintest flicker of disinterest in his expression.

He had seen cases like hers before— strays without a home, people with nowhere to go. Survivors, but barely.

“I think so, boss,” he said evenly, his voice calm as ever. “But we need to be careful. Even though she’s in a tough spot, we can’t underestimate the risks. We have to manage this situation carefully.”

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. A headache was creeping in, dull but persistent. Maybe it was the lack of sleep.

“I don’t think she even knows how to live in the outside world,” I muttered, irritation laced in my voice.

“Everything about her life has been so controlled and limited. She’s lived in this small bubble of existence, and now she’s suddenly thrust into our world. It’s like throwing a fish out of water and expecting it to swim.”

Ivan stepped closer, his brows furrowing slightly. “She’s likely not accustomed to the harsh realities we deal with. Her situation could present challenges for both her and us. It’s crucial to manage her integration carefully, especially considering the precariousness of her current situation.”

I tapped my fingers against the desk, considering his words. Challenges. Integration.

He made it sound like she was some stray dog we were trying to train. Cretin.

I nodded, acknowledging the truth in Ivan’s words. She was for now part of this world, whether she was prepared for it or not.

“Fine,” I said, letting out a sigh. My tone softened just slightly, but it was more out of exhaustion than anything else. “Make sure you keep a close watch on her.”

Ivan gave a curt nod, “Understood. I’ll ensure that everything is managed properly. We’ll monitor her situation closely and make sure that nothing goes awry.”

With that, Ivan left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I returned my focus to the paperworks on my desk.

The moment I stepped into my mansion after a long, grueling day, I knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

The place, usually pristine and austere, was now an eyesore— a chaotic explosion of flowers and overwhelming scents that suffocated the air.

My jaw clenched as I took in the vases cluttering every available surface and the smell— God, the smell.

It was a sickening blend of floral perfume and fresh food, clashing in a way that turned my stomach.

My home was no longer my home.

My fingers twitched, fists clenching at my sides.

What the actual fuck is this?

“MELINDA!!!” My roar echoed through the halls, shaking the very foundation of the house.

Seconds later, Melinda came running from the hallways, her expression a mixture of panic and fear.

The moment her wide, panicked eyes met mine, I knew she understood she had fucked up.

“What the hell is going on here?” I demanded, my voice cold and lethal.

Her head dropped instantly, shoulders curling inward like a scolded child.

“Do you think this is a goddamn park with flowers everywhere? Is this your house now? ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!” I spat out my words.

“I-I’m sorry, b-boss,” she stammered, barely able to get the words out. “But the new g-girl said you told her to clean the whole house, so I didn’t say anything.”

My fury spiked. Iris.

That little brat.

I took in a deep breath through my nose, forcing myself to keep control before I did something irreversible.

“Where is she now?” My voice was dangerously quiet.

Melinda hesitated for half a second before whispering, “I-In your room, boss.”

A slow exhale left my lips, and I turned on my heel, striding towards my bedroom with murderous intent.

My footsteps were heavy, deliberate, each one vibrating through the floor with my sheer irritation.

I reached my door and flung it open with such force that it slammed against the wall, making the girl inside jump.

She was standing by the table, her body going rigid as her eyes locked onto mine— wide, terrified, frozen.

The moment I stepped forward, she instinctively backed away, the color draining from her face.

“Do you think this is your house?” I snarled, my voice sharp as a blade. “You’re a fucking maid here! Behave like one! Just because I spoke to you softly before doesn’t mean you can act like a bitch!”

“Wha-Wha,” She stammered something incomprehensible, taking another step back— only to stumble against the table.

A hiss of pain left her lips as she almost fell, but before she could, I was there.

My hand shot out, gripping her hair, yanking her upright before she could hit the ground.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat as I forced her to look at me.

“Do. You. Understand?” I growled, each word laced with venom.

Her breath hitched, her fingers trembling as they hovered near mine, as if she wanted to pry me off but didn’t dare.

Her lips parted, a broken whisper leaving them. “B-But y-you said—”

“I fucking said clean the house, you dumb nitwit. Not decorate or reorganize.” My grip tightened slightly, and her lips trembled as she sucked in a shaky breath.

Her lower lip wobbled, her lashes fluttering as she blinked rapidly— probably fighting tears.

“Do. You. Understand?” I repeated, my voice a dangerous rasp.

Her right hand shakily rose toward mine, barely grasping at my wrist as she choked out, “...It h-hurts.”

“Do. you. Understand?” I asked, again as I loomed over her.

Suddenly her right palm hovered above my hands which was gripping her hair, and grasped it.

“...It h-hurts,” her voice cracked, as she tried hard not to cry.

My hands were etching to rip off her hands and her hair.

Her distress was palpable, and her tiny frame quivered with fear.

“Huh. It hurts?” My voice was mocking as I pinned her right hand against the table with my free one, applying just enough pressure to hear her tiny, distressed whimper.

“Then look at me,” I ordered coldly. “Tell me how much it hurts.”

She refused. Her head hung low, her soft sobs shaking her entire frame as she tried to shrink away from me.

I scoffed at her, my frustration boiling over, and slid my hand from her hair to her throat.

The moment my fingers wrapped around her neck, she gasped sharply, a strangled sound caught between fear and shock.

I tightened my grip just enough to feel her pulse hammering against my palm, her heartbeat erratic and frantic. So weak. So breakable.

Her small hands instinctively flew up, grasping my wrist, her fingers barely pressing against my skin, a pitiful attempt to stop me.

I raised her chin higher, forcing her head back, making her let out a small, distressed cry.

Her neck was so small, so delicate, that my fingers stretched nearly to her jaw.

I could feel every tremor in her body, see the way her lips parted, her chest rising and falling in erratic, shallow breaths.

Her lashes fluttered violently, her eyes squeezed shut as if that would make her disappear. Pathetic.

“Answer me and open your fucking eyes.” My voice was low, lethal, vibrating with barely restrained anger. “Just because you cry, that doesn’t mean I will pity you.”

A loud, distressed sound left her lips as I yanked her closer, the sudden movement making her whimper.

Her lips trembled, her breath shaky, warm, fanning over my lips.

And then—finally—she did as I commanded. Slowly… hesitantly, she peeked her eyes open.

Then, fully.

And for the first time—I really saw her. Her eyes were brown. But not just any brown.

The moment I locked onto them, my irritation stalled.

A deep, unfamiliar feeling settled in my chest.

Her eyes… They were nostalgic. I had seen them before.

Somewhere.

Somehow.

“Are you going to kill me?” Her voice was soft, yet it cut through the air like a blade.

She wasn’t pleading.

She wasn’t even resisting.

She was just… asking.

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, trying to shake off the unsettling weight pressing down on me.

“Want to,” I muttered, my tone clipped, sharp.

Her sniffles filled the room, a sound that had echoed here too many times.

Her body trembled, so violently fragile, every part of her betraying the sheer fear consuming her.

And yet, she still stared at me. Straight into my eyes.

I clenched my jaw, my fingers twitching, but I didn’t move. I just… stared.

Her eyes. It was…

I saw it somewhere. I knew it.

But from where?

From when?

A sudden, sharp breath left my lips. It was… calming.

Her eyes. It was.. calming, peaceful.

My heart kicked up a beat, a rhythm out of sync, like my heart knew something my mind refused to understand.

A wave of nostalgia slammed into me, making my brows furrow.

I should walk away.

But those damn eyes wouldn’t let me.

Again and again, I found myself drawn back in.

The outer ring was a dark, rich brown.

But the inner ring— the one closest to her pupil—held a circle of gold flecks, forming a distinct, hypnotic pattern.

A perfect circle of gold.

I was so close that I could see the way they shifted in the dim light, catching the glow like embers flickering in a dying fire.

Something inside me tightened.

Why did it feel like I had seen them a lifetime ago?

As I observed her features, each small detail seemed to magnify in significance.

Her flushed cheeks, the delicate curve of her lips, and the way her hair fell around her face—all these details made her seem even more fragile and soft.

Despite the harshness of the situation, there was something disarmingly peaceful about her eyes.

I didn’t like it.

I didn’t like any of it.

“S-Sir, it hurts. I’m sorry...I-I will not do it again,” she begged through her sobs, her voice breaking and barely audible.

Her words were so faint that if I hadn't been standing so close, I might not have heard them at all.

Her gaze finally fell. Something inside me snapped.

The strange tension—gone.

Vanished the moment she stopped looking at me.

“Get out.” My voice was cold, devoid of anything—no anger, no warmth, just emptiness.

I released her hair, she staggered back, her movements hesitant, like she was afraid to turn her back to me.

Then, after a beat, she did.

She turned and clumsily fled, her footsteps echoing through the room, growing fainter and fainter.

The soft click of the door closing behind her left me standing in an unsettling silence.

The air still carried the faint remnants of her shaky breathing, the after-echo of her quiet sobs.

But it wasn’t just her cries that lingered.

It was her eyes.

Those deep, haunting brown eyes with flecks of gold, burned into my memory like a brand.

My eyes scanned the room, noting the changes she had made.

Flowers in vases, pictures hanging on the wall— these things were supposed to be comforting.

But comfort had no place here. Not in my house. Not in my life.

A fire lit inside me, scorching away reason, leaving only rage.

Each small alteration she had made felt like an intrusion, an unwanted disturbance in the carefully controlled environment I had built for myself.

My fingers curled into fists before they moved on their own, sweeping across the wall.

Shattering. Destroying. Erasing.

Framed pictures crashed to the ground, glass exploding on impact, sharp and jagged like the edges of my thoughts.

The flowers were next. Delicate. Weak. Fleeting.

I grabbed them by their stems, snapping them apart, petals scattering at my feet like fragments of something long dead.

A groan tore from my chest as I clutched my head. The memories came like a flood.

I tried to shove them back down—where they belonged, where they had stayed for so long.

But she had ruined that. She had unearthed things that should have remained buried.

I sank onto the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, breathing hard.

Those memories had shaped me into who I was now— someone who could tear apart a room or a human without a second thought.

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond.

"Boss, you good there?" Ivan’s voice was hesitant, laced with concern.

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Seconds stretched. Then his footsteps retreated, leaving me alone in the mess I had made.

The room was in shambles—glass shards glinting like tiny daggers, petals strewn across the floor like remnants of a broken promise.

As I sat there, my eyes fell on something that made my breath catch— a single tulip, lying on the floor amid the shattered glass.

It was a tulip, the same flower my mother had loved. The sight of it hit me like a punch to the gut, bringing a wave of emotion I wasn’t prepared for.

She had adored tulips— clung to them like they were something sacred, like they could bring light to a world that had been so unbearably cruel to her. To us.

They had been her favorite. Symbols of small joys, fleeting and delicate.

I reached for the flower, my hands trembling slightly. The petals were crushed, damaged by my own hands, yet they were still beautiful in a way that made my chest tighten.

I hated that it was here, hated that it was bringing me back to a place I didn’t want to go. But I couldn’t look away.

The memories it stirred were bittersweet, a mix of pain and peace that left me feeling unmoored.

I tore the head off the tulip, unable to bear the sight of it any longer.

The petals fell into my hand, delicate and soft, but I didn’t feel their beauty— I only felt the loss, the emptiness they left behind.

I let the petals fall to the floor, watching them scatter among the glass shards, their vibrant color now a lifeless reminder of what once was.

A graveyard of memories.

I collapsed back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of something I didn’t want to name.

As I lay there, my thoughts drifted back to Iris— her eyes, her fear, the way she had looked at me.

There was something in Iris that reminded me of that tulip, something fragile and peaceful, something that I didn’t know how to deal with.

The memory of her eyes and the crushed tulip mingled together in my mind, and slowly, sleep began to take hold.

But it was not a peaceful sleep. It was filled with dreams of the past, of things I couldn’t change, and of eyes that I couldn’t forget.

Iris POV:

I had been knocking on the door for what felt like an eternity, but not a single sound came from the other side.

The silence was unnerving.

I swallowed hard, my hands tightening into fists at my sides. After what had happened last night, I wasn't sure what to expect.

Would he be furious if I entered unannounced?

Would he lash out again?

The memory of his fingers pressing into my skin, the sharp edge of his voice slicing through me, still lingered like a shadow in my mind.

But I had a job to do, and standing outside his door like a coward wouldn’t get it done.

Just get in, clean up, and leave. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Just do it.

With a deep breath, I slowly pushed the door open, peeking inside.

What I saw made me freeze in place. The room was a disaster.

Glass shards glittered on the floor, flowers lay crushed and wilted, and the once-pristine white sheets had been yanked from the bed, half-draped over the edge, tangled and wrinkled.

My gaze traveled across the room, finally landing on him—boss, as everyone called him— sleeping in bed amidst the chaos, completely still.

For a moment, panic seized me. The mess. The silence. The fact that he wasn’t moving.

But as I took a shaky step forward, I saw the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest.

His face was turned slightly toward me, dark lashes resting against his skin, his expression devoid of the sharp cruelty I had come to associate with him.

He looked peaceful.

Cleaning this up would take some time, and I needed to do it quietly so I wouldn’t disturb him.

He always called me a kid, but here he was, throwing a tantrum like one.

I nearly scoffed but bit my tongue. No, Iris ! Bad girl.

Who was I to judge?

I had no idea what he was going through, what kind of burdens he carried on those broad shoulders.

Papa often says you can’t understand someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes, and I had no intention of making assumptions about a man I barely knew or always saw from far away for years.

As I began to clean up, something caught my eye—a bottle of sleeping pills, its contents spilled on the floor beside the bed. My heart sank.

There was something so sad about it, something that spoke of a struggle I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Taking sleeping pills like that, it was a sign of someone desperate for rest, someone who couldn’t find peace even in sleep.

If you can't even sleep peacefully then what's the point of living?

Such a poor soul. God, please forgive him and let him rest.

I inhaled deeply and got to work, moving carefully so I wouldn’t wake him.

The glass shards took the longest to clean.

Each piece was small, sharp, and treacherous, glinting in the dim morning light as I picked them up one by one, mindful of the way they pricked at my fingers, gathering them into a dustpan until the floor was clear again.

The ruined flowers made my chest ache— tulips, their stems broken, their petals bruised beyond saving.

By the time I had put everything back in order, nearly half an hour had passed. Everything except the bed.

I stood there, staring at him, my fingers twisting in my apron.

I chewed my lip, when I realized my heart was hammering.

My cheeks were burning. My ears felt hot.

I should have left. I should have turned around and walked right out of that room.

But I didn’t.

Instead, my feet carried me forward, slow, hesitant.

I approached the bed, my breath shallow, and before I could stop myself, I sat down beside him.

The mattress dipped under my weight, and for a brief, terrifying second, I thought he would wake up. But he didn’t move.

I guess you’re helping me today, god.

Now that I was this close, I could see him properly. His face was different from what I remembered.

A little more matured. Sharper. Colder.

Faint scars marred his face, his hair was shorter now, not like before. But everything else was the same.

The same strong jawline. The same dark brows, slightly furrowed, even in sleep. The same lips, pressed into a firm, unreadable line.

I exhaled shakily and quickly stood. I shouldn’t be here.

Without another glance, I left the room as silently as I had entered, careful not to wake him.

As I made my way to the kitchen, an idea struck me. I would make him some ginger coriander coffee.

My mother always made it for Papa when he had headaches, and if boss had taken those sleeping pills, there was no doubt he would wake up with one.

I wasn’t sure if it would help. I wasn’t even sure if he would drink it.

If I couldn’t do much to help him, at least I could offer him this small comfort.

The maids had told me to be careful around him, that he didn’t like anything being done without his order.

Melinda, in particular, had been worried, telling me that he might lose his temper if I brought him coffee without asking. But I couldn’t let that stop me.

I overstepped yesterday. He had told me to clean, not decorate, but I wanted to do something kind, something that might make him feel a little better.

I didn’t want to get on his bad side again, but I also didn’t want to see him suffering.

As the coffee finished brewing, I carefully poured it into a cup, watching the liquid swirl, the steam rising in delicate tendrils.

The steam curled softly in the air, carrying the familiar, soothing scent of ginger and coriander.

It reminded me of home. Of Papa.

Would it remind him of something too?

He had been harsh, intimidating—a storm in human form. But he had also taken me in when he didn’t have to.

He had given me a place here, even if it was a cold one.

And for that, I wanted to be grateful, even if he behaved in a way that made it difficult.

I swallowed hard and carefully lifted the cup, trying to ignore the way my hands trembled.

Why was I so nervous? It was just coffee.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and stepped forward.

He was in the hall, seated on the couch, a file open in his hands.

His posture was relaxed yet firm, one elbow resting on the armrest, his fingers absently tapping against the paper.

But his expression was sharp, focused— the kind that made people think twice before interrupting him.

For a brief second, I hesitated. Maybe this was a bad idea.

My heart pounded as I approached him, trying to gather the courage to speak.

Okay, come on, Iris, you can do this.

Hip hip hurray!

I took a deep breath and stepped closer, ready to face whatever reaction he might have.

Ace POV:

The day was already off to a bad start.

My head was pounding, a relentless, skull-splitting pain that had been clawing at me since I woke up.

No matter how many times I rubbed at my temples, the ache wouldn’t ease.

It felt like my brain was at war with itself, hammering against the inside of my skull, demanding I do something about it.

The shipment logs in front of me blurred slightly as I tried to concentrate.

The numbers swam together, and my temples throbbed in protest.

The quieter setting of home was supposed to help, but even here, the pain persisted, gnawing at the edges of my control.

Then I heard it.

A soft, hesitant voice.

“Sir… coffee.”

I looked up, irritation already prickling at my nerves, ready to snap at whoever had dared to interrupt me.

And there she was. Iris.

She stood in front of me, small and quiet, holding a tray with a cup of coffee.

The dress she was wearing looked like it belonged to someone twice her size, hanging off her frame in a way that made her seem even smaller than she already was.

For a moment, I just stared at her, my mood souring further.

“Did I ask for any coffee?” I snapped. The words came out harsher than I intended, but I didn’t care.

Her fingers tightened around the tray, but she didn’t flinch.

“No, boss,” she answered quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But your head must be hurting… that’s why I made something for you to drink. It’s completely safe… no side effects.”

I narrowed my eyes, scrutinizing her. What a nuisance.

I didn’t need her pity.

I was about to tell her off when I noticed something— her eyes.

There was something about them— something that grabbed my attention and refused to let go.

They weren’t just staring at me; they were seeing me, reading into things I didn’t want exposed.

That unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

I tore my gaze away and grumbled, “Put it on the table and get lost.”

I wasn’t interested in her or her coffee. I just wanted to be left alone.

I expected her to scurry away immediately, to shrink back the way everyone else did when I was in a foul mood. But instead, she smiled.

What the fuck?

Did I say something funny?

I stiffened, my irritation flaring again, but before I could snap at her, she spoke.

“Yes, boss,” she said, her voice a little stronger now. “It may taste a little sour, but it will cure your headache instantly, and it’s really healthy too.”

She was rambling, the words tumbling out in a rush before she turned and practically ran out of the room.

I glared after her, watching her retreating figure until she was out of sight.

That scowl I’d been wearing deepened as I looked down at the coffee she had left behind.

What if she put poison in it?

A bitter laugh almost escaped me. As if she had the guts.

Still, I hesitated.

With a resigned sigh, I picked up the cup and took a sip. The taste hit me immediately, sour and not at all pleasant, but I forced it down. It was disgusting.

Placing the cup in the table, I cursed her.

But strangely after some movements, I felt the tightness in my forehead begin to ease, just a little.

I wasn’t about to admit that her concoction was helping, but it was hard to deny the slight relief it brought.

The pounding dulled, the sharp edges of the pain blurring into something more manageable.

It wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t as unbearable anymore.

I wasn’t about to admit that her witch’s brew had actually helped.

“Ivan,” I called out, my voice calm but firm. I didn’t need to raise it—Ivan had sharp ears.

A moment later, Ivan’s voice came through behind me. “Yes, boss?”

“Send Melinda to my room,” I ordered, finishing off the last of the coffee with a slight grimace.

I slammed the cup down a little too forcefully on the table and walked away, my mind already returning to the mountain of work that lay ahead.

Two minutes later, a soft knock echoed through the door.

“Boss,” Melinda’s voice was faint, timid, like the rustling of leaves on a windless day.

“Come in,” I responded without looking up.

The door creaked open, and there she was—eyes cast down, posture stiff with that constant fear she seemed to carry around like a cloak.

“So, it looks like you’re making your own rules now, Melinda,” I said, my voice cutting through the stillness of the room.

“Why the hell is a little girl giving me coffee in my own house without my order? Aren’t you the chef? Isn’t this your responsibility?”

Her eyes widened, and she bit her lower lip, already stammering. “I—I’m sorry, b-boss,” she stuttered, her words coming out in a rushed, anxious spill.

“But the new girl—she wanted to apologize, so that’s why she did it. I told her you wouldn’t like it, but she really wanted to. Next time, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“Who cleaned my room?” I asked, the words coming out with a chill that even Melinda couldn’t ignore.

She shifted uncomfortably, her shoulders hunching as she whispered, barely loud enough for me to catch, “The new girl.”

My frown deepened, my thoughts swirling.

I had woken up that morning with the unsettling feeling that someone had been watching me.

At first, I thought I was just imagining it— hallucinating from the remnants of a restless sleep.

But hearing it from Melinda confirmed it. It wasn’t my imagination.

“Okay,” I said slowly, making sure each word was measured, controlled. “Next time, I don’t want this kind of behavior in my house. If you’re going to change something, inform me or Ivan first. Understand?”

She nodded quickly, her relief almost palpable as she scrambled to collect her thoughts. “Y-yes, boss. I won’t let it happen again.”

“Go,” I ordered simply.

Without another word, Melinda hurried out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

The door clicked shut behind her, and I leaned back in my chair, rubbing the bridge of my nose.

I didn’t need to punish that brat. She had just cleaned my room, which, in the grand scheme of things, wasn’t the most unforgivable offense.

But I had no tolerance for unasked-for gestures, especially when they came from someone I barely trusted.

If she had overstepped, it would have been dealt with differently. It would have been swift.

I knew that. But something in me hesitated. Maybe it was the damn coffee.

Otherwise I would have slit her small throat.

My thoughts drifted, and I couldn’t help but recall the way Iris had looked at me earlier— the way her eyes had caught mine, almost demanding my attention.

I shook my head, pushing those thoughts away. I had more important things to focus on— like the shipment, the tender files, and all the other chaos that seemed to demand my attention every hour of the day.

But deep down, I knew I wasn’t going to shake off that feeling.

There was something in those eyes. Something unsettling.