Iris’s POV
I turned the lock on the bedroom door, more out of habit than necessity, and sat on the edge of the bed with my knees pulled up, still smiling into the dark.
It wasn’t enough.
Not nearly enough for what he’d done.
But it was a start, and it tasted better than I expected.
By the time I came downstairs the next morning, Damian was gone.
One of the staff mentioned carefully that he’d left for the hospital very early, the scratches had swelled overnight.
He came back a little while later, and I heard the front door before I saw him.
When he walked into the sitting room, his jaw was tight.
There was gauze taped along one side of his face.
I took the initiative, stepping forward with a perfectly calm face.
“How did it go at the clinic? What did the doctor say?”
Damian didn’t look at me.
He just gripped the edge of the table, his jaw clenching tightly.
“The doctor said the wounds are deep.
It’s going to take a week or two to completely heal.”
”That long?” I said, keeping my tone even, sympathetic even, though something in my chest curled up warm and pleased.
“Oh I’m so sorry to hear.”
He didn’t answer.
He just turned and went upstairs, and twenty minutes later came back down with a packed bag slung over one shoulder, already reaching for his car keys.
He had just zipped the bag shut and was about to leave when his phone suddenly rang in his hand.
I turned around and walked back toward the kitchen to give him space, but the house was too quiet.
Even from a distance, I could still hear every single word.
“Hey, babe,” Damian said, “Listen, I can’t make it this weekend. I’m actually packing my bags right now. My grandma… yeah, she suddenly fell really sick, and I have to head over to her place to take care of her for a while.”
I paused in the kitchen, a sharp, mocking realization hitting me.
“He was lying to Julian?”
My phone buzzed.
It was a message from Damian.
He’d already left, walking towards his car.
“Hey, I’ll be at a hotel for a few days. Take care of yourself.”
Reading the message made me feel lighter than I had in a while.
I’d smile at Damian.
Asked about his day.
Pretended I didn’t know about Julian.
Every fake smile had cost me something, and I’d never had a way to get it back…until now.
Those scratches on his face weren’t much.
But they were something.
I wasn’t sorry about it.
“Yea, why don’t you take a week or two and go cry about it somewhere else.” I finally felt like I could breathe again.
Marcus dropped the folder on my desk without even looking at me properly.
“Dinner tonight. Seven o’clock. The client’s name is David, from Whitfield Realty. We have to make sure he’s really happy, hmm?”
I sighed heavily, already frustrated.
Since I resumed that morning, he had barely left any breathing space for me, bringing load upon load of work for me.
Just when I thought I would head home early, he’s doing this now?
“But I still have reports due for—”
”Did I ask about your reports?” He was already walking away.
“Just be ready when I come to pick you.
We’re leaving together.
Study the client’s—” he turned back, “Oh do I have to spell it all for you!”
I clenched my jaw and said nothing.
Saying nothing has become my specialty lately.
By seven, I was sitting in a private dining room at some overpriced restaurant, watching David from Whitfield Realty look at me like I was part of the menu.
He was somewhere in his thirties, wedding ring conveniently absent, and his eyes kept dropping from my face to places they had no business going.
“So this is the girl you were telling me about,” he said to Marcus, not even bothering to lower his voice.
“You didn’t say she was this pretty.”
Marcus laughed, that oily laugh he used whenever he wanted to look good in front of someone with money.
“Iris here is very… accommodating. Aren’t you, Iris?”
I kept my smile polite and empty.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. David.”
I kept my hands in my lap and my expression pleasant, the way I’d trained myself to do for months now.
Then Marcus lifted his glass.
“Iris, why don’t you propose a toast for our guest?”
David’s eyes lit up.
“Yes, go on. Say something really sweet like you are.” He chuckled.
I picked up my glass of water instead of the wine.
“I’m sorry, I have gastritis. I really shouldn’t drink.”
The table went quiet for a second.
David’s smile faded into something colder.
“That’s disappointing,” he said, like I’d personally insulted him.
Marcus’s face turned red.
“Iris.” His voice had that warning edge to it.
“Don’t be dramatic now.
It’s just one drink.”
”I really can’t—”
”I said don’t be difficult!” He was nearly shouting now, loud enough that people at the next table glanced over.
“Do you know who you’re sitting in front of?
Apologize to Mr. David right now, or—”
”Or what?” I asked, before I could stop myself.
His eyes narrowed.
“Or you can go clean out your desk tomorrow morning.”
David watched the whole thing with an amused little smirk, like this was entertainment he hadn’t paid for.
I felt something hot rise up in my throat…something definitely close to fury.
I was so tired of being talked down to.
So I said the one thing I knew would shut this whole table up.
“If you don’t believe I have gastritis, you’re more than welcome to ask my uncle.” I kept my voice calm, almost bored.
“Ryder Lancaster.”
The room went dead silent.
David’s smirk disappeared so fast it was almost funny.
Marcus’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth, his face draining of color.
For the first time all night, nobody had anything to say to me.