Chapter 9 Iris's POV

The elevator ride was quiet, but my heart wasn't. Each second ticked by like it knew what was waiting at the top.

I tugged at the neckline of my dress and smoothed a wrinkle that wasn't there. Malcolm didn't look at me. Didn't need to. His focus was ahead, on the war he was walking us into.

The elevator doors slid open like the mouth of some sleek, mechanical beast and suddenly, I wasn't just Iris Taylor anymore. I was Malcolm Slade's wife. At least... that's what they had to believe.

Malcolm stepped out first, every line of him smooth and lethal. A blade in a tailored suit. I followed half a step behind, but it wasn't submission, it was strategy.

The penthouse doors opened without a sound. Yet everything inside screamed, frozen luxury, obsidian floors, stark angles, and chandeliers that were like falling stars arrested in mid-plunge.

Every surface reflected you back in fragments, as if to remind you that in this world, even your reflection could betray you.

There were five men waiting in the room. The heirs. They didn't rise. They didn't smile. They just watched. The air was different around each of them, like they carried their own gravity.

"Evening," Malcolm said, voice sharp as the room.

The first to speak was a dark-eyed and entirely too amused man. He lounged with a glass of something amber in hand, jacket unbuttoned, collar open just enough to say danger looks good on me.

"Malcolm Slade," he drawled. "And the wife. Finally."

"Matteo," Malcolm said flatly. I didn't flinch. But I did tilt my chin slightly higher.

"Don't look so tense, malishka," Matteo said to me. "You've already stolen the room. But don't worry, if he gets boring, you know where to find me."

"I'll try not to swoon at the prospect," I replied coolly.

That earned a smirk.

"That's Yves." Malcolm said, pointing to the man standing by the bar, a tablet in hand, scrolling through something I wasn't meant to see. His eyes flicked up, and when our gazes collided, he nodded slightly. Almost polite. Almost.

"Hayden." He nodded toward the far left of the room.

There he was, standing in the far corner as if cut from shadow itself. He didn't speak.

He didn't move, just stared from his chair in the corner like he'd been carved from shadow and stone.

Younger than the others, yet there was something old about him. Like he'd seen things none of them ever would. His eyes rasped on mine, cold and calculating. He blinked once.

I forced myself not to look away. Not to react. My fingers clenched the inside of my palm, nails digging into skin.

Hayden tilted his head, just slightly. Not a greeting. A calculation.

Malcolm's hand brushed the small of my back, lightly, grounding.

"That's Ethan." he said, nodding in the direction he stood.

Leaning against the window like he'd been born there, staring at the skyline as though it whispered secrets that only he could hear.

His eyes were a colder blue than Malcolm's. Arrogant, detached, a storm held just out of reach. He looked at me, like he already knew what kind of lie I was. I lifted my chin.

"Aiden," he said at last. The name weighed differently. Older. Harder. Broad, tall and menacing in the quiet way that warned you not to test him.

The air around him felt... stripped. Like nothing unnecessary survived in his presence.

"She's shaking," he said simply.

I was. Slightly. My hands, a quiver hidden in my fingertips.

Cold," I answered, my tone even. "But I've been in colder rooms." A flicker of what seemed to be amusement danced in his eyes. "Let's hope you don't freeze."

Malcolm stepped forward. "This is Iris," he said simply. The pause that followed wasn't long, but it said everything.

"Iris, was it? Welcome to the circle. You walk like a dancer." Ethan said finally, his voice low and dry.

I met his stare. "You're right. I am."

He chuckled once. "Charming."

Aiden stood then. Slowly.

"Is she briefed?" he asked Malcolm, eyes still on me.

"She's not fragile," Malcolm said.

Aiden turned to me fully. "Then let's find out."

He moved closer. Each step, calculated. The kind of stride you use when you're waiting for someone to back away.

I didn't, but my breath did hitch, just slightly. Aiden noticed.

"Iris," he said. "Do you know what you've stepped into?"

"I know enough," I replied, my voice level even as my fingers curled against my side.

He studied me like I was something under glass. Then: "You're wearing armor."

My heart thudded.

"Good," he added. "You'll need it."

Hayden leaned forward then, elbows on his knees. "Tell me, Mrs. Slade," he murmured, his voice so soft I had to strain to hear it. "What do you fear most? Right now. In this room."

I met his gaze. "Not knowing what the real monster is," I answered.

There was a second pause. This time Ethan laughed. One quick, sharp sound that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Well," he said, "she's not boring."

Malcolm stepped in then, voice smooth. "Are we done testing her?"

"For now," Aiden said, still watching me. "But make no mistake, this room doesn't forget."

Neither did I, especially not how every gaze in the room felt like a loaded weapon. But I was still standing and maybe, just maybe that was enough.

I didn't take a seat until Malcolm did first. He took his place at the long glass table, and I slid into the chair beside him like it had always been mine. Straight back, steady hands, impassive face.

The other heirs took their seats too at the glass table. Inside, my nerves were coiled tight. Across from me, Yves was already leaning forward, his smile a little too wide.

"So, Iris," he began, swirling his drink lazily. "What do you do? Before you became a wife overnight."

My lips twitched. "I survived."

Matteo raised his brows, clearly amused. "Vague. Mysterious. Hot."

Yves cut in, his voice smoother. Cooler. "Survived what, exactly?"

I looked at him, then around the room. Five sets of eyes, each measuring something different. Some searching for cracks.

"I used to dance," I said, offering just a fraction of the truth. "Ballet. Professional for a while."

"That's not survival," Ethan muttered from his spot by the window.

"It is," I said to him, my voice even. "If you've had to break your own body for perfection while smiling through the pain."

That got his attention. Barely. But enough. Aiden leaned back, tapping a single finger against the table. The sound was quiet but deliberate. Like a countdown.

"And then you gave it all up for marriage?" he asked, gaze razor-sharp. "Interesting choice."

"It wasn't a choice," I said. "It was an opportunity. I can't dance again due to an injury. So I wait tables for a living to survive."

He studied me. "Or it could be a lie."

I met his stare head-on. "I'd say it's a strategic alliance."

That made Matteo chuckle. "She talks like one of us already."

"But she's not," Hayden said quietly, finally speaking again. "Not yet."

His words dropped like a stone in water. No threat in the tone. Just fact.

"Then maybe that's why I'm here," I replied. "To prove I belong."

"Prove to whom?" Yves asked. "Us? Or him?" He tilted his head toward Malcolm.

My eyes flicked to Malcolm for a second. He'd not said a word since the conversation started. Just watched. Maybe waiting to see if I'd break. I wouldn't.

"To myself," I answered.

Yves nodded slowly. Like he hadn't expected that answer but respected it anyway.

Aiden stood again. Always moving when the tension needed a pulse. "What happens after this deal is done, Iris? What's left once the contract is completed?"

"I do what the contract asks me to do. I disappear from your lives." I said. Gentle, but straightforward.

A beat of silence. Then Ethan pushed off the glass wall, finally stepping into the circle. His stare was colder than the rest. Less curious.

"And what if we don't trust you?"

I didn't blink. "Then I guess we'll all have to live with that."

The silence stretched again. Like they were recalibrating, and then Malcolm moved.

He stood, one hand flat on the table.

"That's enough."

His voice wasn't loud but it was final.

Aiden didn't flinch. "You brought her into the circle, Slade. You knew what this would be."

"I did," Malcolm said. "And she passed."

"Careful there, Slade. You're beginning to sound as if you care for her." Yves said, with a smirk on his face.

Malcolm didn't say anything, just rolled his eyes and took his seat back. The tension didn't leave the room. Not fully. But something shifted. A thread of acknowledgment, grudging but real.

I let out a slow breath as Malcolm's hand found the small of my back again. Not for comfort. Just grounding.

The test wasn't over. Not even close. I was still holding my own and for tonight, that was enough.