Sunlight streamed through the velvet curtains, casting golden lines across the plush carpeted floor. The warmth gently caressed Iris Olsen's face, stirring her from a heavy, dreamless sleep.
Her eyes fluttered open.
For a moment, she stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. Then it hit her.
The last thing she remembered was hugging Alexander Quinn—no, clinging to him—and, God help her, acting cute. Her cheeks flushed as the memory trickled in like a slow-motion horror scene.
What had gotten into her?
A sharp throb pulsed behind her eyes as she sat up, groaning. Her hair was a tousled mess, and her makeup had all but vanished. Her limbs felt like jelly.
"Gosh…" she muttered, rubbing her temples. "I'm quitting drinking. I swear I'm never touching alcohol again."
She glanced around the lavish room. High ceilings. Soft white drapes. A designer armchair in the corner. No doubt, this was one of the VIP guest suites at Belone's Club.
Which meant... she was still in the lion's den.
Iris scrambled out of bed and pulled herself together, doing her best to tame her hair and look somewhat human. After straightening her coat and slipping into her heels, she tiptoed to the door and opened it cautiously.
The hallway was quiet. Deep red carpeting. Elegant sconces on the walls. Everything screamed money and power.
Now to find him.
1 second…
2 seconds…
3… 4… 5…
A few moments later…
She found him in the downstairs lounge, reclining casually on a deep navy sofa with a glass of water in hand.
Alexander Quinn.
Still annoyingly perfect.
He wore a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his expensive watch and those stupidly attractive veins.
Without even looking up, he said, "You walk like someone carrying the weight of ten regrets."
Iris groaned and flopped onto the couch opposite him. "Only ten? You're being generous."
He handed her a porcelain cup. "Hangover soup. Ginger, lemon, and something else I'm not telling you."
She eyed the steaming cup suspiciously, then took a sip. Warm. Bitter. Oddly soothing.
"You're welcome," he added dryly.
After a pause, she squinted at him. "So… what's the price for your kindness, Mr. Quinn?"
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Simple. You owe me a favor."
She narrowed her eyes. "What kind of favor?"
"A blind date," he said, as casually as if he were asking her to pass the salt.
Her lips parted in disbelief. "Seriously? Again with this?"
Alexander smirked. "You're charming when you're drunk. I'm curious if it translates when you're sober."
Iris blinked. Then—grinning—she slowly stood up. She sauntered over, mischief dancing in her eyes. Without a word, she reached for his wrist and unfastened his sleek designer watch.
Raising it to her lips, she blew him a kiss and whispered, "Thanks for the soup, darling."
And just like that, she slipped out the door, leaving Alexander blinking after her—an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
---
Outside, the sunlight hit Iris like a spotlight. She couldn't stop the grin spreading across her face. She felt like the victorious lead in her own little heist movie.
In her hand, Alexander Quinn's watch gleamed in the light. Heavy. Expensive. Practically humming with value.
She twirled it by the strap and whispered, "Perfect. That's gotta fetch at least a few thousand at the pawnshop."
Slipping it into her coat pocket, she strolled down the steps, light on her feet. "He's rich enough to buy another one anyway," she muttered with a shrug. "He wouldn't be so stingy… right?"
She hailed a cab and vanished into the city streets, already imagining how she'd spend the cash. A new coat. A week's worth of luxury food. Maybe even a quick vacation—far, far away from anything and anyone named Alexander Quinn.
But what she didn't know…
Was that Alexander sat calmly in the lounge, sipping his coffee and watching a blinking red dot glide across a map on his phone screen.
A satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"You really thought I'd let you get away twice, Miss Olsen?" he murmured.
Inside the watch, tucked beneath sleek layers of leather, a discreet tracker chip blinked to life—already transmitting her location in real time.
---
Alexander leaned back in his leather chair, swirling the last of his coffee. The red dot continued to move steadily across his screen.
His phone buzzed. Caller ID: Father.
He answered casually. "Yes, Father?"
His father's deep voice came through the line—firm, commanding, and ever the CEO.
"Alexander, when are you going to settle down? You're not getting any younger. The board is starting to whisper. Your mother's asking if we should start arranging blind dates."
Alexander exhaled slowly, amusement curling on his lips.
"No need for introductions, Father. I already have someone in mind."
A pause.
"Really?" His father sounded intrigued. "Who is she? Do I know her? What's her background?"
Alexander's gaze dropped to the empty space on his wrist.
"She's… unconventional. Bold. Infuriating, actually. And no—you don't know her."
He leaned forward, voice low and certain.
"But she's mine. She just doesn't know it yet."
His father sighed. "So it's complicated, as usual."
Alexander's smile faded slightly, replaced by a sharper edge.
"No," he said simply. "It's fate. And I don't plan on letting her run away this time."
---
Teaser for the day
A mini romance joke featuring Alexander and iris
"Plant Jealousy & Emotional Damage"
"I can't believe you got jealous of a fern," Iris said, arms crossed as she leaned against the bar.
Alexander didn't even flinch. "It wasn't just a fern. You were whispering sweet nothings to it."
"It was a joke, Alexander. It's called having a sense of humor."
"You called it 'the only living thing that truly listens to you.'" He took a slow sip of his drink. "I'm not threatened, I'm insulted."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're seriously upset over a houseplant?"
"I'm not upset," he said coolly. "I'm evaluating my competition."
Iris groaned and rubbed her temples. "You need therapy."
"I need better security. That thing had better leaves than I have abs."
"That's not even a sentence."
"Neither is your taste in plants."
There was a pause.
Then they both cracked up.
Iris leaned in, grin wide. "You know, if you're this jealous of a fern, I can't wait to see what happens when I talk to an actual man."
Alexander's expression darkened playfully. "Talk all you want. But if he tries to touch you... I'll make him wish he was a potted plant."
Iris burst out laughing. "You're insane."
"And you," he said softly, "are mine."
---