Iris woke to the sound of chaos. Glass clinking. Pots hitting the ground. Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the cracked kitchen window. The sink was overflowing again, dirty dishes scattered on the floor. It smelled of damp clothes and rot — the usual. But something was different today. Something was off.
She stepped out from her thin mat on the kitchen floor, rubbing her aching shoulder from sleeping against the wall all night. The moment she opened the door, she froze.
Bags. On the floor. Scattered like someone had thrown them down in a panic.
Her father — Trevor — was yelling at her stepmother at the top of his lungs.
"You stupid woman, hurry the fuck up! If those bastards show up before we leave, we're dead!"
Iris blinked, confused. Mina, her stepmother, was thundering down the stairs holding two stuffed bags, eyes wild with panic. Her stepsister, Rei, stood behind her, crying and clutching her college handbag and makeup kit like her life depended on it.
"W-Where are you all going?" Iris asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Trevor didn't answer. He turned on her instead — fast and furious.
"You fucking asshole, stay back! I'm already neck-deep in shit because of you!"
His boot collided with her chest, sending her stumbling backward. She gasped, gripping the wall, watching as he checked their bags while dialing a number on his old phone. The tension in the air was razor-sharp.
Iris ran to Mina instead, her voice trembling. "Mother—please, tell me. What's happening?"
Before Iris could understand what they meant, there was a loud screech outside. The sound of multiple cars braking, followed by heavy boots and slamming doors. Bright lights from the street sliced through the torn curtains.
Trevor's face went pale.
"Shit... they're here."
Iris got it — they were the men her father owed money to, and now that he wasn't paying them back, they were here to take it by force.
He grabbed the bags from Mina's hands, his voice shaking but sharp.
"Window. Now. Don't use the door — we'll be seen."
Rei and Mina didn't hesitate. One after the other, they tossed their bags through the broken window and clambered out like cockroaches fleeing daylight. Iris's heart raced. This couldn't be real.
She rushed toward them, toward escape. "Wait! Don't leave me here—please!"
Mina's hand pushed her back so hard she hit the floor.
"You stay here and stall them," she hissed with a sickening smile. "We fed you all these years. Now it's time you pay us back—with your life."
Rei smirked behind her, tossing a final wave as she disappeared out the window. Iris locked eyes with her father. For a second, she hoped. For a second, she believed he might change his mind.
But he didn't. He just ran.
The cab outside roared as the door slammed shut, leaving Iris alone inside the two-room apartment. Abandoned. Unwanted. Betrayed.
Then came the sound of the front door crashing open.
Iris panicked, dragging herself behind the trash pile her stepmother had collected to sell — broken fans, cardboard boxes, rusty tins. She tucked herself into the smallest space she could find, curled in a ball, shaking so violently she could barely hold in her breath.
Footsteps. Dozens of them.
"Where the fuck is that bastard Trevor?" a deep, vicious voice shouted. "Find him! Tear this place apart if you have to!"
Men stomped through the apartment, throwing things, kicking drawers. She could hear furniture being flipped over, bags slashed open, bottles breaking.
"I want his head, not excuses."
The voice struck something primal in Iris. Fear flooded her veins. Her eyes welled up with tears as she buried her face in her knees.
She heard them getting closer. Closer to the kitchen.
Then silence. Followed by a single pair of footsteps. Slower. Heavier. Measured.
Iris peeked up.
She saw his back first — tall, dressed in an all-black suit that fit him like a knife in velvet. His hair was slicked back neatly, his frame lean and powerful. He looked too clean, too handsome to belong in this hell.
Then he turned.
And she stopped breathing.
Riven Vallar.
She didn't know his name yet, but everything in her soul screamed that this man was danger. He was wrath in human skin. His eyes, sharp like steel blades, scanned the kitchen with a predator's grace.
She tried to shrink back, but something in her movement made a noise — a tin can toppled from the stack beside her.
He looked straight at her.
And walked forward.
Her heart rammed against her ribs. The trash pile around her began to shift and crash as he kicked through it, one sharp motion at a time.
Then everything fell apart. The boxes collapsed. The pile caved in.
She was exposed.
Trembling, wide-eyed, with dust clinging to her skin and dried blood on her knee, Iris stared up at him.
He didn't speak. He didn't move. He just looked down at her like she was filth stuck to his boots.
But his face...
God, he was beautiful. The kind of dangerous beautiful that didn't look real. If it weren't for the pounding terror in her chest, she might've mistaken the moment for something out of a dream. Or a nightmare.
Her lips parted, but no sound came. Only tears.
Their eyes locked — hers full of fear, his full of fury.
He's going to kill me.
That single thought rang in her mind louder than anything else.