IRIS: Fallen for him

CHAPTER FOUR

The clink of cutlery had faded. The breakfast table was cleared, the staff dismissed. Imani had left for school, her curls bouncing as she waved goodbye from the car window. Merlida had retreated to her room, muttering about headaches and “ungrateful bloodlines.”

Iris remained at the table, her fingers wrapped around a lukewarm cup of tea. Across from her, Grandpa Valen sat in silence, his wrinkled hands folded neatly on the tablecloth. His eyes, pale and unreadable, watched her like a man studying a painting he didn’t know how to interpret.

“You’re quiet today,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly.

“I’m always quiet,” Iris replied.

He nodded slowly. “Yes. But today, it’s different. Today, it’s heavy.”

Iris didn’t answer. She stared into her tea, wishing it could swallow her whole.

Grandpa Valen leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him. “Merlida’s tongue is sharper than her mind. Don’t let it cut you too deep.”

Iris looked up, startled. “You heard?”

“I always hear,” he said. “I just don’t always speak.”

She hesitated. “Why not?”

He sighed. “Because in this house, speaking doesn’t change much. It just shifts the blame.”

Iris swallowed hard. “She hates me.”

“She hates herself more,” he said. “But you’re easier to reach.”

The silence stretched between them, thick with truths neither of them had ever shared.

“I try,” Iris whispered. “I try to be good. To be strong. For Imani. For this family. But it’s never enough.”

Grandpa Valen looked at her for a long time. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, worn photograph. He slid it across the table.

It was a picture of a young woman—dark eyes, soft smile, curls like Imani’s.

“My wife,” he said. “She was like you. Quiet. Kind. Too good for this house.”

Iris touched the photo gently. “What happened to her?”

“She left,” he said. “Took my son with her. I stayed. I thought loyalty mattered more than love.”

He looked at her, eyes suddenly sharp. “Don’t make my mistake.”

Iris’s breath caught.

“She’s watching you,” he said softly. “Imani. She sees everything. And one day, she’ll ask why you stayed. Make sure you have an answer that doesn’t break her.”

He stood slowly, his joints groaning with age. “You’re not weak, Iris. You’re just surrounded by people who fear your strength.”

Then he walked away, leaving the photograph behind.

At Valen Enterprises headquarters

The building rises like a blade from the city’s skyline—sleek, obsidian-black, with mirrored windows that reflect the world but reveal nothing. It’s the kind of structure that makes people lower their voices when they pass by. Rumors say the foundation was laid on old money and newer sins.

Inside, the lobby is cavernous and cold. No art. No warmth. Just polished stone, chrome finishes, and a silence that feels curated. The reception desk is a minimalist slab of glass, manned by staff who speak in clipped tones and never make eye contact for too long.

Security is tight. Every movement is tracked. Every visitor is logged in. Valen doesn’t tolerate chaos—it manufactures control.

Aziel’s office sits at the top—Floor 77—a number chosen not for luck, but for dominance.

The underground car park beneath Valen Enterprises was a world of shadows and silence. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting pale reflections on the polished concrete. The air smelled faintly of oil, rubber, and cold metal.

Julian pulled the matte-black Maybach into its reserved bay—Slot V-01, marked with a silver emblem instead of a number. He parked with surgical precision, the engine purring to a stop.

He stepped out, adjusting his cuffs, then moved to the rear door.

Aziel emerged like a storm held in glass.

Tailored in charcoal-grey, his presence shifted the atmosphere. The air seemed to tighten around him. His shoes made no sound on the concrete, but his silence was louder than footsteps.

Julian handed him a tablet. “The board meeting’s been moved to eleven.

He walked toward the private elevator tucked behind a steel column, Julian trailing a step behind. The elevator recognized him instantly—no buttons, no codes. Just presence.

Aziel stepped into his office, the weight of the morning already pressing against his temples. The city buzzed below, indifferent to the storm brewing inside him. He loosened his tie, ready to dive into the day’s chaos—until he saw her.

Flora.

She sat in the leather chair across from his desk, legs crossed, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. Her hair was shorter now, her face thinner, but those eyes—those haunting, honey-brown eyes—were the same.

Aziel froze. “What are you doing here?”

She stood slowly, her voice soft. “I needed to see you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he snapped, walking past her to the window. He couldn’t look at her. Not yet. Not without remembering everything she’d shattered.

“I know,” she said. “But I remembered.”

He turned sharply. “Remembered?”

She nodded. “Five years ago, I had a car accident. I was in a coma for weeks. When I woke up, I didn’t know who I was. My brother told me I’d never dated anyone seriously. That I was free. I believed him.”

Aziel’s jaw clenched. “So you just vanished. No calls. No letters. Nothing.”

“I didn’t know I had anyone to call,” she whispered. “Until last month. I started remembering things. Pieces. You. Us. The way you used to hold my hand when you thought no one was looking.”

Aziel looked away. “You left me when I needed you most.”

“I didn’t choose to leave,” she said, stepping closer. “I lost everything. And now I’ve found it again.”

He laughed bitterly. “Found it? Flora, I buried it. I buried you. I married Iris because I had to move on.”

She flinched. “I heard. They said you married some unknown girl. That she wasn’t your type.”

Aziel’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t talk about Iris like that.”

Flora’s voice trembled. “Do you love her?”

He hesitated. Too long.

Flora stepped closer. “You don’t. Not the way you loved me.”

Aziel’s heart thudded. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I do,” she said. “Because I remember now. I remember the way you looked at me like I was your whole world. And I know you haven’t looked at anyone like that since.”

He turned to face her, eyes blazing. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. What Iris has been through. She’s not just some placeholder.”

Flora’s voice softened. “Then why do you look at me like you’re still angry? Like you still care?”

Aziel’s silence was deafening.

She reached out, her fingers brushing his sleeve. “Let me explain everything. Let me show you that I didn’t choose to forget you.”

He pulled away. “You should’ve stayed gone.”

Flora’s eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t. Not after remembering what we had.”

Aziel stared at her, torn between fury and longing.

The morning light filtered through the mansion’s tall windows, casting long shadows across the marble floors. Iris glancing through her phone checking messages from her Uncle. he had not reached out to her since she wondered if he was feeling better as Merlene won't let her speak with him since she hasn't sent her money.

Merlida entered like a storm dressed in silk, her heels clicking with purpose, her perfume trailing behind her like a warning. Interrupting Iris thought.

“You’re still here?” she said, eyeing Iris like she was a stain on the counter. “I thought you’d be out doing something useful.”

Iris didn’t respond. She’d learned that silence was safer.

Merlida opened the fridge, then slammed it shut. “No fresh berries. No almond milk. No imported butter. What exactly do you do all day, Iris?”

“Imani likes toast,” Iris said quietly.

Merlida scoffed. “Imani deserves more than toast. She deserves a mother who doesn’t dress like a widow and walk like a ghost.”

Iris’s fingers tightened around the mug.

Merlida leaned against the counter, her voice dropping. “You know, Aziel used to bring women here who could hold a conversation. Women who didn’t hide behind silence and sad eyes.”

Iris looked up, her voice barely audible. “I’m not hiding.”

“No?” Merlida smirked. “Then why does he look at you like you’re a chore? Like he’s counting the days until he’s free?”

Iris’s throat tightened. “That’s between me and Aziel.”

Merlida stepped closer. “You think you matter to him? You were a rebound. A placeholder. If Flora hadn’t disappeared, you’d still be scribbling poetry in some rented flat.”

Iris flinched. The name hit her like a slap.

Merlida saw it. She smiled.

“Oh yes. He loved her. Not you. You were convenient. Quiet. Easy to control.”

Iris turned away, her voice trembling. “I’m not easy to control.”

Merlida laughed. “Then prove it. Leave. Take your daughter and go. But you won’t, will you? Because deep down, you know you’re nothing without this house. Without him.”

Iris didn’t answer. She walked past Merlida, her steps slow but steady.

“You’re weak,” Merlida called after her. “And Imani will grow up weak too. Just like her mother.”

Iris stopped at the doorway, her back straight.

“She’ll grow up kind,” she said. “And strong. Because I teach her to survive people like you.”

Then she left the room, her tea untouched, her heart burning.