LOGINIRIS.Silence in Las Vegas is never actually silent. It’s just the city holding its breath before it takes something from you.I sat cross-legged in the center of the massive king bed, my journal propped against my thighs. The tip of my pen hovered over the paper, trembling slightly. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass of the penthouse, the Strip glowed in a hazy, muted gold, a stark contrast to the dark knot pulling tight in my stomach.Anna would have hated this room.Too sterile, I could almost hear her voice echoing in my head. You need some plants in here, Iris. Or a man with a pulse. Preferably both.A brittle, humorless smile touched my lips before vanishing. I lowered my head, pressing the pen to the paper until the ink bled.Green House Woods. First solid lead. Someone is burying their tracks.The bedroom door clicked open. No knock.I didn’t look up. I knew the heavy, measured cadence of those footsteps. Derrick.“You’re beautiful, Iris.”My pen froze mid-stroke. The complimen
AIDEN.I slid the heavy platinum watch over my wrist, the clasp snapping shut with a sharp, metallic click. The weight of it was grounding. Cold. Familiar.I stared at the man in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. He looked exactly the same—sharp black shirt, tailored slacks, eyes like dead coal—but beneath the skin, something was rotting."Poison," I muttered to the empty room.That fucking shrink was poisoning me.He was softening the edges. Making me hesitate. Making me think before I reacted. In my world, the second you stop to think, someone else pulls the trigger.I was reaching for my jacket when the heavy oak door swung open without a knock.Jasper.He took one look at me—my jaw locked tight, the lethal stillness in my posture—and let out a long, exhausted sigh."Where the hell are you going?" he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe."To clear my head," I replied, my voice a flat, dead calm. "Before this therapist you hired turns my brain to mush."Jasper crossed his arms,
IRIS.I didn't go to Derrick immediately.Halfway to the door of my suite, I stopped dead in my tracks.The wine-colored dress clung to my body like a second skin, a dark, silk confession of a night I couldn't remember. Derrick was observant to a terrifying degree. He noticed when I changed my perfume. He noticed when I trimmed my hair a fraction of an inch. There was absolutely no way he would miss this dress.And he would know it wasn't mine.He had spent a small fortune curating my wardrobe since I arrived. Exclusive pieces flown in from Paris, Milan, New York. I never asked for them. I hated them."I don't give two flying fucks about what I put on my body," I muttered to the empty room, violently kicking off the sleek black heels. "But because he likes to play dress-up with his girlfriend, I have to play the part."It was usually easier to let him have that control. Clothes were harmless. But this dress felt like a loaded gun.I stripped it off, shoving it deep into the back of th
AIDEN.The moment the heavy door clicked shut, I stayed.I leaned my back against the polished mahogany, the cool wood pressing through the fabric of my tuxedo. My fingers remained curled loosely, as if they hadn’t quite decided whether to rip the door back open or walk away for good. I drew in a slow, jagged breath and forced it out through my teeth.This is unlike you.The thought was a sharp, unwelcome needle in my brain.I wasn’t a man of restraint. I was a man of results. "Nice" was a word for people with weak spines and shallow pockets. I didn't give two flying fucks about comfort, and I I gave even less about dignity. Yet, there I had been—measured, composed, almost… gentlemanly.I closed my eyes, and Victor’s voice echoed in the hollows of my mind.“You don’t need to respond to every primal impulse, Aiden.”“Anger is a tool. Lust is a distraction. Don’t let them become your identity.”“Practice restraint in low-risk situations.”Low-risk. My jaw tightened.Iris had been uncons
IRIS.“Insomnia would have been kinder than this.”The thought dragged itself through the sludge in my skull before my eyes even opened. My head throbbed with a steady, merciless rhythm—heavy, wet pulses that felt less like a headache and more like a punishment. Each beat was intentional. Cruel.I inhaled tentatively, testing the air, testing my own limits. My tongue felt thick and coated in ash. My throat was a desert, parched and stinging.I forced my eyes open.The ceiling was wrong. It wasn't the minimalist white of my apartment. This was an ornate, high-gloss expanse trimmed with delicate gold crown molding that framed a chandelier hanging like a cluster of frozen rain. Pale, ash-colored curtains filtered the morning light, slicing the room into strips of blinding brightness and cold shadow.I didn't move. I didn't even breathe for a second.Where the fuck am I?The sheets beneath me were too smooth, silkier and cooler than my own. They carried the scent of expensive detergent, s
IRIS.For a split second, I assumed it was one of the club’s meathead bouncers. Or worse—Roger, playing the dutiful lapdog.My pulse spiked, a sharp spike of irritation slicing clean through the heavy, herbal haze of the absinthe. No one touched me without permission. I ripped my arm back and spun on my heel, a scathing reprimand already hot on my tongue.I froze.The man holding my wrist didn’t look like security. He looked like the man who owned the security.He stood just inches away, close enough that the ambient heat of his body cut through the chilled, conditioned air of the club. He was tall—imposing without the vulgarity of bulk. His presence didn't beg for attention; it swallowed it whole.The low, pulsing crimson light of Le Rouge Élixir slid across him in slow, admiring strokes. He wore a black tuxedo that looked tailored directly onto his bones. Sharp shoulders, immaculate lines, the dark jacket contouring a lean, coiled build. The satin lapels caught the strobe lights eve







