The room felt heavy with power before any words were spoken. Dark oak ran along the table, polished to reflect the dim light from above. Crystal glasses sat near steady hands, each filled with whiskey no one had touched yet. A hint of cigar smoke lingered in the air.
Outside, the city moved like a distant heartbeat, lights flashing across the skyline. Inside, every action was controlled. Men filled the chairs around the table, men who owned ports, highways, and routes that governments pretended to manage. Their eyes were on me with cautious interest. I leaned back in my chair, holding a glass of whiskey loosely. The amber liquid swirled as I turned the glass once before setting it back on the table. The sound of crystal meeting wood echoed softly in the quiet room.
"Ten million," I said. Words hung in the air, cutting through tension. "For letting you expand your network through the route." A scoff broke the silence almost immediately. One of the brokers leaned forward, irritation evident on his face. "Ten million for letting us use a route?"
I studied him calmly, allowing a small smirk to appear.
"Route?" I repeated. My fingers tapped lightly on the table as I glanced at each man seated there. "It's not a route," I said quietly.
"It's Emris Devane's property." Silence followed, thicker this time. "If you want to move through it," I continued evenly, "you pay the price. And with that price comes protection."
My gaze fixed on the man who had scoffed. He looked away first. A few men shifted in their seats. One of the older brokers leaned back slowly, rubbing his jaw. "That's an abrupt demand."
"It's a fair one." Low murmurs spread around the table as they weighed the cost against the consequences of refusal. Territory meant power. The land they wanted now belonged to me.
The sudden vibration of my phone cut through the tension. The sound was quiet, but every head turned toward it. I glanced down at the screen.
Butterfly.
Ella.
My jaw tightened. She rarely called during work. If she did, something was wrong. I rose from my chair. "Excuse me." Confusion spread across the room as I stepped outside and answered the call.
"Asher, are you free later?" Her voice had a hint of panic that made my instincts sharpen.
"Yeah," I said quickly. "I am. What happened?" "Can you come to the flower shop?"
The way she said it alarmed me. Something was off. "Sure, El. I'll be there. Don't worry."
I ended the call, slipped my phone into my pocket, and walked back toward the meeting room. Inside, the men were visibly confused. Their attention shifted as I reentered. None of them understood why I had stepped out in the middle of a deal worth millions.
Before anyone could speak, the door behind me opened again without a knock. Every man straightened instantly. Chairs scraped against the floor as they stood. Heads lowered in silent acknowledgment.
I remained seated. Slow, measured footsteps crossed the marble floor. The air shifted with the arrival of someone who exuded authority without needing to announce it.
He stopped at the head of the table. Amber eyes scanned the room with quiet precision. One hand rested in a dark fracture brace, the metal edge catching the light. Even injured, the man carried himself as if nothing in the room could challenge him.
"Ace Desmond," he said firmly, extending his uninjured hand toward me.
His gaze stayed locked on mine. I stood from my chair and approached him.
Our hands clasped. His grip was strong and deliberate, testing mine matched his strength."Emris," I replied calmly. A faint shift moved through the room at the name. Some of the men exchanged glances. Ace studied my face carefully before letting go of my hand. His amber eyes stayed on me a moment longer than needed.
"I've heard of you," he said calmly. "I didn't expect you to be this young." The men around the table shifted slightly in their seats, watching us like spectators watching two predators circle the same land.
"I look young, but I am not that young," I said, shaking my head slightly as the chuckle left. No one interrupted. No one dared to change the subject.
Ace settled down, leaned forward slowly, resting his forearms on the polished oak table. The fracture brace on his hand caught the dim light, the metal glinting softly.
"Mr. Emris," he said, his voice calm but deliberate. "You are asking for ten million for your route."
"Right," I replied without hesitation. My tone remained cold and steady, as if the number meant nothing. A few brokers exchanged glances. Ten million hung in the air, like a threat disguised as a price.
Ace studied me for a moment before speaking again. "But what is our leverage in it?" He leaned a bit closer now, his amber eyes narrowing with interest.
"What exactly do we gain?"
A slow smirk appeared on my lips. I reached for the whiskey glass again, lifting it casually before taking a measured sip. The burn slid down my throat, sharp and warm as I placed the glass back on the table.
"Well," I said calmly, "let's start with something simple." My gaze locked with his.
"I study patterns." The room stilled again. "Business patterns. Shipping routes. Security changes. Supply movement."
Ace's eyes did not leave mine. "Five accidents," I continued. "Over two months."
There was a faint pause."Quite a huge loss, Mr. Ace." For the first time, the men around the table shifted with visible tension. They had not expected that. Ace did not react outwardly, but something in his gaze sharpened. I leaned back slightly in my chair, completely at ease.
"Cracked containers. Delayed cargo. Trucks disappearing between checkpoints," I continued evenly. " Quite an expensive problem."
The room remained silent. "If we close this deal," I said calmly, "you gain direct shipping access through Devane territory."
I tapped my fingers lightly against the table. "With protection." "Devane members guard those routes personally." My gaze flicked briefly toward the brokers before returning to Ace.
"No hijack attempts. No missing shipments. No 'accidents.'"Ace leaned back slowly now, studying me more carefully than before. "More secure movement," I added. "Faster routes."
Now they listened in a whole new way. Ten million didn't feel like a demand anymore. It felt more like an investment. "But honestly, the real value isn't the road," I said, my voice dropping.
"It's trust." Ace narrowed his amber eyes at me. "My family spent years building goodwill," I told him. "You know that." I paused, just for a second. "You're a businessman too."
Ace smirked, "You have done your research." his deep voice filled the room. I sipped my whiskey. "Of course. I am always prepared."
Ace stood up, slow but sure. The whole room snapped to attention. Some of the brokers sat up a little straighter, others just fixed their eyes on him, waiting to see which way things would go.
"Deal's done then," Ace said. He didn't need to raise his voice. He never did. The authority was all there, quiet and steady, just like when he'd first walked in.
"I'll have the papers ready." Nobody said a word for a second. Then I heard a few men finally let out the breath they'd been holding. I pushed back my chair and stood. Ace held out his hand again, but this time, it was different. This was an agreement.
We shook. Firm grip. "It'll be a pleasure working with you, Mr. Emris," Ace said, his amber eyes locked on mine. "The pleasure's all mine," I said, steady. He smirked, just a hint of it, and then let go. The tension started to fade. The brokers leaned together, already muttering about logistics and contracts.
I straightened my cuff and stepped away from the table. "Gentlemen," I said, cool and even. "If you'll excuse me." Nobody tried to stop me. I walked out. The doors were heavy, but they opened smoothly. The hallway outside was cooler, quieter. Guards stood along the walls, spaced out, posture straight. They dipped their heads as I passed.
Respect. Or maybe fear. It was Hard to say, sometimes. My footsteps echoed on the polished floor, just me and that sound, all the way to the elevator. It opened with a soft ding and took me down to the underground garage.
Down there, the air smelled of gasoline and concrete. My car waited in the corner. I walked over, already loosening my tie. When I opened the trunk, it was like flipping a switch.
Jacket off first. Then the shirt. I grabbed a plain black T-shirt from my bag and pulled it on, letting the soft cotton settle against my skin. I took out my piercings and dropped them in a little compartment. Then I ran a hand through my hair, messing it up until it fell across my forehead. The careful look, the underworld negotiator is gone.
Shoes off next. I tossed them in the trunk and pulled on a pair of beat-up sneakers. By the time I closed the trunk, I didn't look like Emris anymore.
"Just Asher. Casual. Relaxed. Ordinary. The Devane mafia heir disappeared with the suit. Emris only existed in the underworld."
To everyone else, I was Asher.
Asher De Vane. A Business Heir. Face on magazine covers, in ads, on runways. People thought my life was all cameras and catwalks, not shipping routes and criminal deals.
It was the perfect disguise. I slid into the smooth leather seat beneath me as I started the engine. The car slipped out of the garage and onto the city streets. Evening sunlight streaked across the windshield, A beautiful hue of pink across the sky, vibrant and pastel as I picked up speed.
----------
Ella's Pov~
Evening crept in, wrapping the flower shop in a gentle warmth that usually soothed me. Soft fluorescent lights glowed over the old wooden counter, their reflections dancing across glass vases lined up in neat, gleaming rows. Lilies, roses, orchids, daisies everywhere I turned, the air was thick with the clean scent of fresh petals and the green bite of cut stems.
Outside, the city kept on moving. Cars drifted past. People hurried along the sidewalk. Life didn't pause.
But inside, everything had slowed down as I stood behind the counter with a bundle of white lilies clutched in one hand, snipping the stems over the counter. The scissors made a steady, delicate rhythm.
snip,
snip
that echoed softly in the quiet. This was usually my favorite time. The rush of customers long gone, the hush of evening settling. Just me and the flowers, alone before closing.
Tonight, though, my mind wouldn't settle. Kang Yul kept crowding in. His face, his voice it wouldn't leave me alone. Every word he'd said replayed in my head, sharp and clear, like someone had carved them into my skull. The way he'd looked at me with that sly grin. The way his eyes light up when talking about the past, I want to bury him alive.
I gripped the scissors a little tighter. Why couldn't I shake him out of my head?
Snip-
A sharp sting ran across my fingers. The scissors slipped. For a second, I just stared at my hand, hovering above the counter. Then I looked down.
A thin red line opened across two fingers. Blood welled up, bright and crimson, then dripped
I watched, silent. The pain stayed distant, like it barely mattered compared to the strange calm spreading through me. A drop of blood landed right on the white lily I was holding.
Red on white. Another drop slid down the stem, slow as honey, soaking into the soft petals.
My breath slowed.
"Beautiful."
The word slipped my lips as I lifted the flower a little, tilting it to watch the blood trace its way along the pale petals. The red bled into the white, spreading like ink in water. It almost looked like I meant to do it.
Almost like art. I pressed my fingers against the cut, not really thinking about it. More blood welled up, dripped down the stem, and dotted the counter.
I watched, weirdly fascinated as if something about the colors, the red and white, the softness, the fragility, felt oddly peaceful.
I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the counter. The whole shop sat behind me, shelves packed with flowers, the warm yellow lights, and me standing there with blood trailing down my fingers, holding a lily like I was meant to, down to my wrist against the pale skin staining it, finally dripping on the counter.
I turned, facing the mirror fully. The girl staring back looked calm. Too calm.
"Smile, Ella." My voice sounded small in the empty shop. I tilted my head, studying my own face.
"Smile just like that." My lips pulled into a soft curve. At a glance, it almost looked real.
But the longer I held it, the more wrong it felt. The smile made it to my mouth, but not my eyes. I let it drop.
"How do you look when you're heartbroken?" The question just slipped out.
My brows drew together. My lips parted. My eyes went soft and sad, easier to fake than happiness, somehow.
I held that look, watching myself. A sad girl with a bleeding flower.
I studied the image, quiet and curious.
"Cute."
It came out like a simple fact. I pressed my fingers to the wound again. More blood crept between them, ran down the stem, then started to drip onto the floor.
I was lost. Suddenly, the bell over the shop door chimed a sharp, bright sound that cut right through the quiet. I turned on instinct, my shop-owner smile snapping into place.
"Welcome—" The word caught in my throat.
"Asher?" He stood just inside, the fading daylight behind him outlining his shape. His chest moved a little too fast, like he'd rushed to get here.
For a second, I saw his eyes soften when he looked at me, his gaze dropped on the blood trailing down my wrist. His expression changed his smile vanished.
"Ella!"
He crossed the shop in quick, long strides, barely making a sound. His eyes never left my fingers, his face tightening as he got closer.
"You're bleeding." Before I could say a word, he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and took my hand gently, but he didn't waste any time. The white cloth pressed against my skin, turning red almost instantly. He guided my fingers, so I held it just right.
"Press it," he said, quick and sharp. He wrapped his hands around mine. They were steady and warm. His grip was strong, but he was careful, making sure he didn't hurt me more than I already was.
His jaw tightened as he looked at the cut. "You cut yourself," he said, and I caught the edge of annoyance in his voice, but under it, real worry. His shoulders stayed tight, the fabric of his shirt stretching as he leaned in. He didn't look away from my hand for a second.
I watched him. I couldn't help it, the deep line between his eyebrows. The way his breath came heavier than before.
A tiny shake in his fingers while he held mine. His face looked pained. Not just worried, he actually looked hurt, like he felt my pain in his own skin. I glanced from our hands to his face, slow, not wanting to break the moment.
He noticed right away. The pain hit. Sharp and real, all through my hand. I hissed before I could stop myself. My hand jerked back, and the lily slipped out of my fingers, tumbling across the counter. Its petals dragged through the streak of blood I'd left behind.
"I'm fine," I said, but it came out too soft.
Asher moved fast, not giving me a second to protest. "Ella, don't move." His voice dropped into that no-nonsense tone he saved for real crises, the one that always made me stop. He dug a pack of bandages from his jacket so quickly I barely saw it happen, then he had my wrist in his hands, gentle but insistent.
"Come here." He steered me over to the little sink behind the counter and switched on the tap. Cold water rushed over my fingers, and the blood started swirling away. The sting made me suck in a breath.
"Hold still," he muttered. With one hand, he kept mine steady under the cold rush of water, and with the other, he dabbed away the last red smears using his handkerchief. He handled everything with this weird kind of calm, moving like someone who'd done this a thousand times.
"You actually managed to cut yourself trimming flowers," he muttered, shaking his head. "I leave you alone for a while, something happens."
I didn't bother defending myself. I just watched him. The shop faded, the muffled traffic outside, even the sound of water, softened until all I could really focus on was him. His furrowed brow. The way his lips pressed into a thin, tense line. How carefully he held my hand, like it were breakable.
He shut off the water and dried my fingers, then wrapped them up with a bandage, moving more slowly as he tied it off. When he finished, he kept holding my hand. Just for a second. Making sure I was really okay, or maybe just needing a little more time before letting go. His worry hadn't faded at all.
He took me to the little corner by the window, the one with the round table and two chairs. Meant for customers, mostly, but it felt like the only place to sit. I sank into the chair. He took the one opposite, elbows on his knees, still staring at my hand.
Then something in him flipped. He stood up, moving fast.
"Ella." He crossed around the table and stood right in front of me.
"What's going on?" Now his voice held a kind of edge. Frustration, but underneath, real worry. "How are you so fucking reckless?" He dragged a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "I swear, sometimes you drive me insane."
I just blinked at him. "And even on the phone," he pressed, not letting it go. "You sounded off."
He let out a breath, shoulders sagging. Before I could say anything, he leaned down and wrapped me up in a hug. The warmth of it caught me. He held me tight, one hand cradling the back of my head, pulling me close.
"I know things get hard," he said, voice low and steady in my ear. Something about the way he said it loosened the knot in my chest.
"But I'm here. Okay? You can tell me anything." He squeezed me a little tighter. For a moment, I just let myself breathe. That familiar hold embracing me to my safe space, His familiar scent, the solid weight of him. I couldn't help it, a small, real smile crept onto my face.
I pulled back, but kept hold of his hand. "I have good news," I said, grinning now. "And bad news." Asher's face immediately went suspicious.
"What?" He narrowed his eyes, as if he could guess if he just stared hard enough.
Then he tried to look serious, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
"Wait...are you pregnant?" My eyes went wide. "What? No!" I smacked his arm. "Are you actually insane?"
He rubbed his arm, faking a wince. "Well, then what?" Leaning back, I let the smile take over. "I got into a relationship." He went still. The words just hung there. His brows knitted together.
"With who?" I looked him dead in the eye. "With Sylus."