The billionaire's sweet editor
Chapter 89: Iris: Strange visitor

Chapter 89: Iris: Strange visitor

THE WEEKEND passed by like nothing whilst I was at Lucas’ place. As I predicted my grandparents didn’t really give a fuck where I’d been for an entire two days once I returned home this morning to dress up for work.

In a more shocking event, they seemed overjoyed that I was finally being a bit rebellious and disappearing from home. Grandma even went as far as stating how I should have moved out and found a new place to stay so I could have more freedom to bring boys home.

To think she’s the one who looks like she’s about to die every time I bring the topic up.

I can only imagine what would happen if they knew what I was up to with Lucas in his room all day for those forty-eight hours whilst they were happy that I was finally being a rebellious asshole.

My body is covered in hickeys from my neck to my thighs. Even my ass has them. I know I won’t be letting anyone inside the shower every time I take a bath for a couple of weeks to come. I might have to create boundaries with Mary once she pops up for a sleepover.

I can’t imagine her seeing hickeys on my ass and asking me about it for the next couple of days like it’s normal to talk about your sexual encounter with your boyfriend to a friend. That’ll be the most traumatic moment of my life and I think I’ll remember it till I die.

Shuddering at the thought, I apply the last layer of my makeup—the lip gloss. I’m down the stairs and eating cereal when a knock comes from the front door.

"I’ll get it," I call out to grandma who’s making her husband a cup of jasmine tea they got from the Adams parents—a souvenir from their trip to Japan.

Adjusting my coat, I look at the video cam my grandparents inserted whilst I was away—funny how things can change in a matter of hours—and to my surprise, there’s no one by the door.

I open it anyway and take a step outside. There by the end of the veranda is a beefy white man with jet-black long hair and an all-black old money outfit standing with his hat in hand, looking like a waiter being disciplined by his superior in front of clients for ruining their service.

He raises his head when he hears the door opening and the moment when our eyes lock, my heart thuds in my chest like a sledgehammer, halting in an instant and sending a pulsating signal all over my body that feels all too painful and familiar.

His grey eyes land on mine, piercing and rough although I can feel the warmth and kindness they exhibit, like a man in need of something. He has a grey beard, small British lips that are pink to the core, and skin that glistens even from afar. I can tell he’s rich from a glance with all the designer clothing he’s wearing, especially the Rolex watch that grabs attention better than the other jewelry pieces.

He looks harmless and yet, I can’t shake off this feeling of dread just from seeing his face. I’ve never seen it before I’m sure, but there’s this familiarity in him that I find a bit eerie. Like deja vu.

"Good morning, how can I help you?" Even my tone is off with him. My voice is shaky for some stupid reason.

When the man moves his hands to his pockets, I stand still at the door my mind running wild as if this is where I die. I’m very much ashamed when he takes out what looks like an envelope and hands it to me.

"Who is it for?" I ask trying to decide whether to go near him or not. He points at something written on the envelope before extending his hand so I can take it.

A quick harsh breeze carrying dead flowers and bits of dirt rushes past him and I can’t help but think of it as a bad omen. Like an old lady in her superstition era, I stand my ground on the door, not about to risk myself to him.

He must read the situation because the hand holding the envelope drops to his sides and he lets out what I presume is a sigh. It’s too low for me to hear, but his face says it all—he’s sad. Finally deciding to play along with my shenanigans, he places the envelope on the floor and pushes it to me.

It lands right below my feet and I pick it up. Written on it is my grandparent’s surname and a signature that can only be his. When I raise my head to face him, he’s already walking out the gate.

Maybe he’s deaf is what I think as I return inside the house.

The envelope is heavy, and from the looks of it, it contains small pieces of paper whose length and width are too similar to money.

"Grandma! Some guy came and left an envelope without saying anything." I place the package on the island, returning to my breakfast even though my eyes are still on the envelope.

I can’t excuse my mind from going wild with all this delusional imaginations. That man’s looks and dress code were something you’d expect from a mafia lord. Pair that up with his muteness and the mysterious package, it all leads to the same thing.

"What did he look like?" Grandma asks. So I tell her, not wasting my talent as I add in a bit of sauce and spice to see her reaction, but it’s bland and drowns all my excitement.

That is until she takes the envelope. One look at the package is all she needs before pausing as though she is a robot that has been turned off. Her skin turns pale and her hands start quivering a little. I immediately know I was tight on the money for not going near that man, he’s dangerous.

"Was the man you saw white by any chance, Iris?"

I nod, a little bit disappointed in myself for leaving such crucial detail in my description of him.

Grandma draws in a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling, grabbing a fistful of her hair as she strives to maintain composure. She keeps doing the weird poses for a couple more seconds where I’m left to wonder if she’s having a stroke until she finally turns to me, eyes dead serious.

"Christoph!"

The old man rushes down the stairs. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. Here," Grandma hands him the envelope. Like her, he pauses and turns pale when he sees it, but he comes back to reality a lot sooner than her.

"Iris, I’m afraid I’ll be the one driving you to work for the next couple of days," he mumbles once he collects himself.

I blink at them. "What, are you guys really with the mafia like I was thinking?"

"God no you idiot!" They both hiss at me and I laugh.

Grandpa covers the distance between us and places his hand on my shoulder. "Keep smiling like this. You deserve it after that shitty childhood you had."

I scowl. Grandpa only curses when shit is really about to go downhill.

"Don’t worry. I’ll make sure nothing ever upsets you again, okay?"

I nod at him, deciding to let go of the mafia shit in my head and get on with my day. At least I get to make Grandpa my bodyguard once again like he used to do when I was in kindergarten.

★★★★★