IRIS: Fallen for him

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The next day, mother and daughter went out together to get groceries for the house. The open-air market was bustling, filled with the scent of fresh fruits and the warm chatter of vendors. Imani’s eyes lit up when she spotted a stand with colorful handmade bracelets. Iris bought her a bright yellow one, and in return, Imani picked out a ripe mango for her mother. They sampled roasted corn from a smiling elderly woman, and Imani insisted on helping to carry a small basket of vegetables—though she kept sneaking glances at the stall selling sweet puff-puff. Eventually, Iris gave in and bought them a small bag, which they shared while strolling between the stalls.

On the way home, the car was filled with their laughter as they talked about the funniest vendors they’d met. Suddenly, the car shuddered and rolled to a stop.

“Mum, why did the car stop?” Imani asked, peering out the window.

“I don’t know, baby… and see—the clouds are forming.”

“It’s going to rain,” Imani said, finishing her mother’s thought.

They sat there for what felt like hours, the sky growing darker, the road quiet. Just when Iris was starting to worry, a sleek black car slowed to a stop beside them. The driver stepped out and walked over, his voice warm but curious.

“Hi, passenger,” he greeted.

Iris looked up—and recognition flashed. It was the man she had once shared a ride with. “Oh… hi,” she said softly.

He bent slightly to greet Imani. “Hello, dear. What’s your name?”

Imani reached out her small hand without hesitation. “Hi, I’m Imani. And you?”

Something about her directness seemed to surprise him. “I’m Kiato,” he replied, then turned to Iris. “What happened here?”

She explained the situation, and he nodded. “I don’t know much about cars, but trust me, I can give you a lift. Then my mechanic can come check this one.”

It was hard to refuse, so Iris gathered their things into his car. As they drove, Kiato stole occasional glances at Imani—her gray eyes and dark waves of hair, a striking mirror of Aziel. But he kept his thoughts to himself.

When they reached Valen Mason, he didn’t ask questions. Iris thanked him and took his number, promising to invite him for lunch sometime. He smiled and agreed.

When Iris and Imani got home, they were startled to find Flora waiting for them.

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Meanwhile, Flora had been pestering Aziel for days, complaining about how she was tired of living in a hotel.

That morning, while he adjusted his tie and prepared for work, she leaned against the doorway of his dressing room. “Aziel, I can’t keep staying at that place. Just let me move somewhere more comfortable.”

Without looking up, he replied, “I’ll arrange a place for you.”

Her lips curved into a sly smile. “Why arrange a place when your mansion is so large? It can take as many as you want.”

Aziel paused, finally meeting her eyes. “Iris and Imani stay there, and Grandpa visits anytime. I don’t need his wrath.” He moved closer, holding her lightly and brushing a brief kiss across her cheek.

“Aziel,” she called softly, pushing him back a step. “What are we?”

His mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Flora… not now.”

Without another word, he grabbed his suitcase and left. His assistant was already waiting outside, reading out his packed schedule for the day. Sliding into the plush leather seat of his Rolls-Royce, Aziel stared out the window, his mind replaying Flora’s question. What are we? She was his ex—this so-called relationship wasn’t even definable. And yet, she lingered in his thoughts.

He pulled out his phone and called Theo. “Come over when you can,” he said.

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That morning at the office, Aziel’s schedule was relentless.

Three consecutive board meetings blurred into one another, each stacked with charts, revenue forecasts, and strategic proposals. He discussed a potential partnership with a logistics firm in Shanghai, reviewed the final designs for a product launch campaign, and signed off on department payrolls—all while a steady stream of calls and emails demanded his attention.

The office itself was a testament to his taste—floor-to-ceiling windows letting in pale sunlight, casting sharp shadows over sleek black floors and a glass desk scattered with neatly stacked documents. The hum of the air conditioner was constant, almost meditative, but his mind wasn’t on the numbers.

His thoughts kept drifting—to Iris’s quiet strength, to Flora’s manipulative charm, to the unspoken tension brewing between them all.

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Later in the afternoon, when Theo was finally free, he walked into Aziel’s office without knocking.

Julian, Aziel’s assistant, raised a brow. “Sir, Mr. Theo is here.”

“Send him in,” Aziel replied.

Theo sauntered in, his trademark smirk in place. “You look like hell.”

Aziel let out a low chuckle. “I feel worse.”

“What’s going on?” Theo asked, settling into the chair opposite him.

For a moment, Aziel was silent. Then he leaned back, exhaling heavily. “I’m losing it, Theo. Flora’s back, and I can’t get her out of my head.”

Theo’s expression hardened. “And Iris?”

“She’s there. Always quiet. Always accommodating. And I keep thinking… maybe she’s not the problem. Maybe I should let her go. She deserves better than this circus.”

“Don’t even start with that,” Theo cut in, his tone sharp. “Flora is toxic. She knows exactly which buttons to push. She’s playing you. If you leave Iris, Flora will chew you up and spit you out. That woman thrives on chaos.”

Aziel rubbed his temples. “Then why do I still want her?”

“Because you’re human. And you’re not thinking straight. But don’t throw away something real just because temptation knocks.”

Aziel didn’t answer, jaw tightening. The words stung because they rang true.

“What should I do? I’m confused, man.”

Theo leaned forward. “Bro… Imani needs you. Remember when we were kids and Uncle Nikil was always there for you? Why don’t you start there?”

Aziel sighed deeply, his gaze drifting to the city skyline beyond the glass. “Maybe you’re right.”

But he quickly changed the subject—some things, even now, he wasn’t ready to admit.

When Iris and Imani stepped into the mansion, grocery bags in hand, the last thing they expected was to see Flora standing in the middle of the living room like the queen of the place. Her designer luggage sat neatly by the staircase, and she was swirling a glass of wine with the ease of someone already settled in.

Imani froze. The child’s sharp memory immediately pulled her back to that night she’d overheard a strange voice answering her father’s phone. Now, here it was—in person.

The five-year-old’s brows knitted together. “What do you want here?” she demanded, her tone sharper than her small frame suggested.

“Hey, little one, don’t be rude now,” Flora replied, her fake sweetness so thin it nearly cracked. She turned her full attention to Iris, deliberately dismissing the child. “Aziel told me to move here. So, as his girlfriend, you should treat me well.”

Iris’s grip on the grocery bag tightened, the plastic handles digging into her palms. Her pulse roared in her ears, and it took every shred of restraint not to march across the room and yank that smug smile off Flora’s face. Instead, she set the bag down slowly, took Imani’s hand, and guided her toward the kitchen without a word.

Flora’s smirk widened as she watched them leave. “Soon,” she murmured to herself, “all this will be mine.”

But in the kitchen, Iris leaned on the counter, her hands trembling. Imani looked up at her with wide eyes.

“Mummy… why is that woman here? She’s lying, right?”

Iris swallowed hard, brushing a hand over her daughter’s hair. “Don’t worry about her, baby. Just remember… not everyone who smiles at you is your friend.”

Outside, Flora sipped her wine, confident she had taken the first step in her plan to push Iris out for good.

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