Pretend The Iris Doesn't Exist

I stood rooted to the spot, the air knocked from my lungs. Before I could find my voice, Nico cut through the silence.

"I know why you're here," he began, his tone infuriatingly calm. "Agree to let Chloe be my public mistress, and I'll call off the alliance."

His words were casual, as if he were granting me a favor instead of tearing my world apart.

"Don't worry—it's just for show. If she's my public mistress, the family can’t disrespect her. Once she’s established, I’ll give her a generous payout and send her on her way. She can leave with her head held high."

His gaze was soft, almost tender, as if we were discussing the weather and not my obliterated future.

My voice trembled. "If that's all it was, why not just tell me? Why force me with a family order?"

"And you think your father would have agreed?" His smile vanished, his eyes turning sharp and accusatory.

"How could Chloe survive in this family as a nobody? Bianca, I know you. Go smooth things over with your father… and sign half of your trust fund over to Chloe. Then I'll withdraw the order."

I stared at him, reeling. How could he even say those words?

In that moment, every vow, every shared memory, shattered like glass.

This was the man who had sworn, "You are the only one." A bitter laugh clawed at my throat, but tears blurred my vision. How could a heart turn so fast?

The pain receded, leaving an empty numbness. I stared at him, my chest strangely calm.

Whatever I had felt for him was dead.

"Then get rid of it," I whispered, my voice raw. My trembling finger traced the outline of the iris tattooed over his heart—our symbol. The ink felt cold beneath my touch, a final, chilling confirmation. We were over.

Nico hesitated. For a split second, a flicker of hope ignited in my chest. Maybe he’ll choose me. Maybe he regrets this.

He reached for me, his fingers brushing my wrist.

Then, just as quickly, he recoiled.

He snatched his hand back as if he’d been burned, a mocking curl twisting his lips.

I stared at his empty hand, stunned.

Nico's expression turned to ice, his voice devoid of all warmth.

"Stop playing the victim. If you don't want to see it, then pretend it doesn't exist."

That iris. He had endured hours of agony for it, a secret he unveiled on my birthday, his skin still raw. He had pulled me into his arms, whispering against my hair.

"You deserve the best, Bianca. I'd endure anything for you."

I remembered the ache in my own heart seeing it, how I’d guarded our secret, terrified anyone else would discover it.

And now, he had tainted it himself.

Perhaps he expected me to break. But I didn't. A strange calm settled over me. I even managed a faint smile as I stepped back, my voice distant.

"Alright. My mistake. I was being stubborn."

I turned to leave.

For a moment, I thought he might stop me. But Chloe clutched his arm.

"Nico, Bianca's angry… it's my fault, isn't it?" she asked, her eyes welling with tears, her voice a fragile plea.

"Please, blame me. If it weren't for me, she wouldn't be hurting like this."

Nico stiffened, a flash of impatience on his face.

"What's the big deal? She's just throwing a tantrum. Give her a few days. She'll come crawling back."

Then, with chilling certainty, he added:

"If she doesn't, then in seven days… she marries the cripple."