Chapter 1: First Sin

IRIS

The heavy iron gates of St. Luke’s Orphanage screeched as they swung open. For twenty years, that sound meant someone else was leaving. Today, it was for me.

I clutched my small canvas bag against my chest, the fabric rough against my palms. Inside were three plain dresses, two pairs of worn shoes, and a Bible with a frayed spine. That was the sum of my life so far. Everything I knew about the world outside these stone walls came from censored reading comprehension texts and grainy, approved Christian movies. The world was a vast, terrifying canvas I had only ever viewed through a keyhole.

"Iris."

The Reverend Mother’s voice was like winter frost. I turned, lowering my gaze out of habit. She stood on the gravel path, her posture crisp and spotless. She didn’t offer a hug—we didn’t do that here—but she extended a pale, wrinkled hand holding a crisp white envelope.

"Your job acceptance letter. And the address of the estate," she said, her eyes tracking my every blink. "You are entering the lions' den, child. The outside world is a breeding ground for corruption. Remember the morals instilled in you. Do right by God."

"I will, Reverend Mother," I whispered. The lie tasted like ash, but I kept my face smooth.

"Your tithes must be sent to the parish every month without fail," she continued, her tone hardening. "And above all, guard your virtue. Do not lose your virginity to the predators of the flesh. Hold on until the church finds a suitable, godly husband for you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Reverend Mother." I nodded submissively, playing the part I had mastered for as long as I could remember.

But inside, my heart was roaring like wild flames. I looked past her shoulder at the other older orphans scrubbing the stone steps. I knew their futures. They would finish the church-sponsored college courses, graduate, and either stay as permanent church laborers or marry whatever strict, somber man the diocese chose for them. They would live and die under the thumb of the altar, never knowing what it felt like to make a choice.

I refused to be an object of their charity anymore. I had worked myself to the bone to earn my nursing diploma. My dream wasn't just a career, it was my escape plan too. I wanted to be free. I wanted to build a life on my own terms, far away from kneeling on cold stone floors and begging for forgiveness for the crime of simply existing.

A sharp honk shattered the silence. The yellow taxi had arrived at the gate.

"Go," the Reverend Mother said, crossing her arms. "And pray daily."

I didn’t look back. I stepped into the back seat of the taxi, the smell of cheap air freshener and old leather hitting my nose. As the car pulled away, the orphanage shrank in the rearview mirror.

Then, the real world hit me.

We drove through the heart of the city, and I pressed my face against the glass like a child. The towering glass skyscrapers scraped the clouds. Neon signs flashed in blinding pinks and greens. People walked briskly on the sidewalks, dressed in colors I had never been allowed to wear, laughing, shouting, living aloud. It was loud, chaotic, and beautiful. My chest ached with a sudden, overwhelming surge of adrenaline. I was finally out.

The city noises gradually faded into a heavy, suffocating silence as the taxi climbed a winding, private mountain road lined with ancient pine trees.

The car stopped. My breath caught in my throat.

Rising from the mist was a mansion that defied belief. It wasn't a house, it was a gigantic fortress of dark stone and towering glass. It looked like an empire carved out of wealth and raw power. The large scale of it made me feel like an ant.

The driver dropped my bag on the gravel ground and sped away, leaving me at the massive double oak doors. Before I could even knock, the door swung open. A stern, older butler in a flawless black suit looked down at me.

"Iris St. Luke?" he asked, his voice monotone.

"Yes, sir."

"Follow me. Do not touch anything."

I stepped into the grand foyer, and the air itself felt expensive. The floors were black marble, polished to a mirror shine. A crystal chandelier hung from a ceiling so high it made my head spin. I kept my head down, staring at my worn shoes against the luxury, my heart beating crazily in my chest.

We walked past the towering pillars of the foyer, entering a massive, sun-drenched parlor. The black marble floor continued here, reflecting the heavy silk drapes and towering glass windows that overlooked the estate grounds. At the far end of the sprawling sitting room, seated on a sleek leather armchair with a stack of legal documents resting on his lap, was a man.

"Sir, the new live-in maid has arrived," the butler announced, his voice cutting through the quiet room.

The man slowly lifted his head.

I forgot how to breathe.

I was looking at the darkest, most piercing eyes I had ever seen. He had a sharp, aristocratic jawline, dark hair neatly styled, and a presence that completely consumed the room. He didn't just look wealthy, he looked dangerous. He was a monstrously gorgeous tycoon, a man who clearly answered to no one.

When those dark eyes locked onto mine, a strange, terrifying heat flared in the pit of my stomach. My knees felt weak. I wanted to run away, yet I couldn't tear my gaze away from him. He didn't speak. He just stared at me, evaluating me like prey.

The silence pulled tight between us, charged and thick. For twenty years, I had been taught that the devil walked the earth as an ugly, deceptive spirit, but looking at him, I realized the church had lied. The devil was beautiful. He was sitting right in front of me, wrapped in a bespoke black suit, exuding an authority that made the massive parlor feel incredibly small.

Every single moral lecture from the Reverend Mother dissolved into white noise inside my brain. My skin tingled everywhere his gaze touched. It felt like a hand pressing down on my chest, pinning me to the spotless marble floor. I was acutely aware of how large and imposing he was, how easily he could crush someone like me, yet my heart thumped wildly in my chest in a way that wasn't born out of fear alone. It was raw attraction. A dangerous, intoxicating pull that made me want to step closer to the fire rather than run from it.

I tried to swallow, to find my footing, but my body refused to obey. I could only stand there, completely trapped in the orbit of his dark eyes, helpless as the heat in my stomach turned into a slow, liquid melt. He was a king in his castle, and with a single look, he had stripped away the armor of my strict upbringing, leaving me exposed.

"Eli, darling, is this the new help?"

The sharp click of high heels shattered the spell.

My cheeks burns as I avert my gaze.

For the love of God!

What has gotten into me?