Chapter 6 – The Aftermath

Iris’ POV

Iris woke up with a headache. But not the normal kind. This one came with regret, embarrassment, and the ghost of Dante’s hands on her thighs from last night.

She slapped her palm over her face and groaned into the pillow.

“Dear God, please delete last night from his memory.”

She knew that prayer wasn’t going to work. God had better things to do than fix her self-control issues.

She swung her legs off the bed and nearly tripped on the stupid marble floor. She hated this penthouse. Too big. Too cold. Too full of that man’s presence.

She brushed her teeth with enough aggression to break the toothbrush, got dressed for work, and tiptoed out like a burglar. The last thing she wanted was to see Dante at 8 a.m., smirking like the devil he was.

She made it all the way to the kitchen and almost smiled in victory… until she heard his voice.

“Morning, Ey-ris.”

Fuck.

He was sitting at the kitchen island, sleeves rolled up, tie loose, that stupid sexy jaw on full display. And he was eating pancakes like a normal human being instead of the mafia tyrant he was.

He lifted his eyes slowly, a smirk already growing. “Sneaking out?”

“I live here,” she said flatly.

He hummed like he didn’t believe me. “You avoided me all night.”

“I was asleep. People do that, you know.”

“Right,” he drawled. “You ran to bed like the house was on fire.”

“I was tired.”

“You were shaking.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

His smirk widened. “Your legs. Shaking. Hard to miss.”

Heat hit her face so fast that she almost passed out. “You know what? I’m not doing this with you.”

She grabbed the nearest mug and poured herself coffee. Her hand trembled a little, because her body was a traitor, but she pretended it was the mug’s fault.

Dante leaned an elbow on the counter, watching her like she was doing magic tricks. “You look cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“Right. You’re furious at me.” He paused. “And at yourself.”

“You’re talking too much.”

He chuckled under his breath, low and warm, and she could swear she hated how it slid all the way down her spine. “Relax, Ey-ris. What happened last night is normal.”

“Normal? We don’t even have such a relationship and you had your hand between my legs in your kitchen…”

“And you loved it,” he said mildly.

She nearly threw her coffee at him.

Instead she glared, sipped, burned her tongue, and glared harder.

Dante reached for the last pancake but she snatched it first.

He raised a brow. “Really?”

“Yes.” She took a huge bite out of spite.

“You’re a little menace.”

“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “I work hard.”

He laughed… an actual laugh… before the doorbell cut through the moment.

They both looked toward the foyer.

She frowned. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No.”

“Stay here,” he said and stood.

“I’m not staying anywhere. This is my house.”

He shot her a look over his shoulder. “You signed a contract, Iris. This is my house.”

“Whatever. I’m coming.”

He didn’t argue, probably because he knew she would follow anyway.

Iris trailed him to the door, coffee in hand, ready to slam it in someone’s face if needed. Dante opened it, and instead of a person, an envelope dropped to the floor.

Plain white with no return address.

Dante didn’t touch it. “Don’t.”

“Relax,” Iris said, already picking it up.

He hissed. “I said don’t.”

“Oh please. What’s the worst that…”

She opened it mid-sentence.

A stack of glossy photos fell out into her hand. And her heart froze.

They were pictures of her and Mark at the gala. Not the dance floor incident… Thank goodness. But pictures of her talking to him. Standing too close. His hand reaching toward her arm. Her turning away.

The photos looked… intimate. Suspicious. Like they were having a secret conversation. And it made her wonder what narrative the photographer was trying to push.

Dante snatched them from Iris’ hand before she could blink.

His jaw locked so tight a muscle ticked.

“Who took these?” he asked, voice low and controlled. Too controlled.

“I… I don’t know.” I hated how small my voice sounded.

Dante flipped through them slowly, eyes darkening with every image. “Someone’s trying to push a narrative. A narrative that our marriage is a sham.”

“Well, they’re not wrong,” I snapped, snapping out of the shock. He looked at her, some type of emotion she couldn’t quite grasp, flashing through his eyes.

“But Mark and I barely spoke.” She added almost immediately.

“You look cozy enough.”

Iris stared at him, offended. “Are you serious right now?”

He lifted a brow. “I’m being realistic.”

“No,” she shot back. “You’re being jealous.”

His eyes snapped to hers.

She hadn’t planned to say it. It just came out. But the minute it did, the hallway felt like it shrank.

Jealousy flickered in his eyes, daring and unmasked for half a second before he forced it away.

“I don’t get jealous,” he said simply.

“Of course not,” she said with a sarcastic smile. “That’s why you carried me out of a club like I was a drunk toddler.”

His jaw twitched. “That man had his hands on you.”

“I was sitting, Dante. On a lap. Not a crime.”

“You were straddling him.”

“And you were acting like a caveman.”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until I felt his chest brushing mine. “If you want me jealous, Ey-ris, just say so.”

“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Shut up.”

He almost smiled. But then his eyes returned to the photos and the playfulness disappeared.

“This wasn’t taken by paparazzi,” he said. “The angles… the timing… someone was tailing you. Probably one of my rivals.”

“Definitely it is.”

He shot her a look instantly.

Iris shrugged. “Anyway, I feel so safe now.”

“Iris.”

She folded her arms. “What?”

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

“Oh, because you do? You walk around threatening people like it’s cardio.”

He ignored that. “Someone’s targeting you. To get to me.”

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. And that was because he was right.

His fingers tightened on the photos. “We’re going to find out who did this.”

“We?” She said, she wanted to be sure she heard right

“Yes, we.” He stepped closer again. “You are my wife, Iris.”

“Contract wife.”

“Still my wife.”

“No, Dante. No. That contract doesn’t give you the right to go full mafia on my problems.”

He leaned in, voice low and hot. “I don’t need a contract to protect what is mine.”

My heart skipped… or tripped, she wasn’t sure.

She pushed him lightly. “Don’t start with that.”

“Start with what?”

“That possessive, overprotective, alpha-male bullshit.”

He smiled like she had complimented him. “It works for me.”

“Not for me.”

“Liar.”

She glared. He smirked. Great.

Then he held the photos out. “Pack your things. You’re not going to work today.”

She blinked. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“You.”

“I’m going to work.”

“No, you’re not.” His voice was firm. “Not until I figure out who’s trying to use you.”

She poked his chest. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I just did.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You married me.”

“Against my will!”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Still counts.”

“No it doesn’t!”

Before they could yell more, his phone buzzed. He stepped away to answer, listening silently for a few seconds.

When he hung up, he looked at her with a face that made her stomach drop.

“What now?” Iris asked.

He handed her the phone. A new text had arrived from an unknown number.

WE KNOW ABOUT YOUR FAKE MARRIAGE

Iris’ skin went cold. Simply because this might mean that if it doesn’t get resolved, her father would get exposed, she would be in danger and so does her dream of making a partner with her firm go down the drain.

Iris clenched her jaw. “I’m calling security.”

“No,” he croaked.

“Dante.”

Then another text came in.

BE PREPARED FOR US, DANTE