Chapter 4 Shadows and Fake Rings

A dark, satisfied look filled his eyes. He reached down, grabbed my hand, and slowly slid a cold ring onto my finger. He didn't let go of my hand right away, his fingers wrapping firmly around mine as he pulled my knuckles to his lips, kissing the skin right above the sparkling stone.

"Welcome to my world, Iris," he whispered against my skin.

I looked down at my hand feeling the weight of the ring.

"Now that we've settled that," Demetrius said, sliding his hands into his pants pockets, "you're moving into my house."

I snapped my head up to look at him, pulling my hand away from his reach. "Excuse me?"

"That's the deal, Iris," he said smoothly, his eyes tracking my movement. "If people are going to believe this, you can't be living in a small apartment."

"I can't just disappear," I said, my voice rising. "I have an uncle. He lost my father four months ago. I need time."

Demetrius stared at me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching my face. I stood my ground, refusing to look down first. 

"Two days," he finally said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You get two days to explain things to your uncle and pack your bags."

"Fine," I bit out. "Two days."

I grabbed my coat, shoved the ring deep into my pocket so nobody would see it, and left the club through the back exit. My heart didn't stop racing until I was in a cab heading back home.

Balancing my life over the next forty-eight hours felt like walking on a thin wire. During the day, I went back to my boring office job, sitting at my computer while my boss yelled about missing file folders.

On the first night, as I sat at the small desk in my room, Uncle Hector knocked softly on the door. He carried a small metal tool bag from his shop below.

"You've been quiet all evening, Iris," he said softly, setting the bag on the corner of the desk. "Are you taking care of yourself?"

"I'm fine, Uncle," I lied, keeping my eyes fixed on my closed laptop. 

He walked over and placed a warm hand on my shoulder. "I hate seeing you locked up in this room. If you ever need anything, I'm right downstairs."

"Thanks, Uncle Hector," I said softly.

"Take my small spanner from that bag on the desk," he added, pointing to the l case. "The lock on your father's old storage trunk downstairs is sticking. You might need to pry it open tomorrow."

"I will."

Later that night, around midnight, I walked down the dark alleyway leading to the back entrance of the apartment building after taking out the trash. The night air was cool and quiet, but as I stepped into the hallway near the stairwell, a sudden cold chill ran down my spine.

The smell of cigarette smoke hit my nose.

I stopped walking. My uncle didn't smoke. Nobody else lived on this floor.

Before I could turn around, a dark shadow moved fast from behind the stairs. An arm reached out, grabbing me around the neck and pulling me hard against a solid chest. A cold blade pressed right under my chin.

"Don't make a sound," a rough voice whispered in my ear.

Panic flooded my veins, making my blood rush in my ears. The attacker tried to drag me toward the back exit door, his grip tightening around my throat until I couldn't breathe. My heart was beating fast from fear, but survival took over.

I slammed the heel of my shoe straight down onto his foot with all the weight I had.

The man grunted in pain, his grip loosening for just half a second. That was all I needed. I reached into my coat pocket, wrapped my fingers around my uncle's spanner, and swung it backward with everything I had.

The tool hit his knee with a loud crack.

The man yelled out, dropping the knife as he stumbled back against the wall. I spun around, raising it to swing again, but the back door of the building was suddenly kicked open with a loud bang.

Three men in dark suits burst into the hallway, guns raised.

"Get on the ground!" one of them shouted.

The attacker, holding his broken knee, tried to scramble toward the window, but the guards moved fast. They tackled him to the floor, disarming him and pinning his arms behind his back in seconds.

I backed up against the wall, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. My hands were shaking so hard the spanner slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the floor.

Footsteps hurried down the hall. Demetrius walked through the open back door, his coat open, his face darker than I had ever seen it. He looked completely unsettled, his dark eyes scanning the hallway until they landed on me.

He stepped right over the man on the floor and grabbed my shoulders, pulling me away from the wall. His large hands held me firmly, his fingers digging into my arms as his gaze swept over my face and neck, checking for marks. The heat from his hands seeped into my skin, sending a strange, breathless feeling through me despite the danger.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice low, rough, and tight. "Did he cut you?"

"I'm... I'm fine," I stammered, my voice trembling as my eyes locked onto his. "I hit his leg with the spanner."

Demetrius looked down at the tool on the floor, then back up at my face. Something dark and unreadable passed through his eyes before he turned to his security chief, Marco.

"Who sent him?" Demetrius barked.

"He doesn't have ID on him, boss," Marco replied, dragging the attacker to his feet. "Looks like a local hitman. We'll take him to the warehouse and make him talk."

"Get him out of here," Demetrius ordered coldly.

He turned back to me, his dark gaze pinning me to the spot. He stepped closer, his hand coming up to gently cup the side of my neck, his thumb tracing my jawline with a fierce, protective pressure that made my pulse jump.

"My men are posted outside this building twenty-four hours a day now," he said, his voice dropping low. "You have one day left here, Iris. Don't wander out alone again."

Before I could say another word, Demetrius turned on his heel and left with his men, leaving me standing in the hallway with my heart beating wildly.

I barely slept that night. The terror of the attack kept me awake until the sun began to peek through the window blinds.

On the morning of the second day, my final day at my uncle's house—I walked out to the front doorstep to check the morning mail.

Sitting right on the top step was a small, unsealed cardboard box.

My stomach dropped into a tight knot. I picked it up and opened the lid. Inside, resting on plain white paper, was a single, fresh white rose.

Tucked right under the stem was a small handwritten note:

It matches your ring well.