IRIS: Fallen for him

CHAPTER TWELVE

Iris’s mind wasn’t fully on the chopping board. Her thoughts kept circling Flora’s smug face in the living room. The knife slipped, and a sharp sting shot through her finger.

“Mummy! Be careful!” Imani gasped, her eyes wide. “Remember, you just recovered from one injury.”

Iris glanced at her daughter and chuckled softly despite the pain. “Yes, Mama,” she teased, earning a little huff from Imani.

After cooking, they set the table together. The comforting aroma of seasoned chicken and fresh vegetables filled the kitchen. As they began eating, the scent drifted into the living room.

Flora, pretending to watch TV, found herself unable to focus. The smell made her stomach growl. Without so much as knocking or asking, she swept into the dining area.

“I’ll just serve myself,” she said, reaching for the pot.

Before her fingers touched the ladle, Iris slid the lid over the small pot. “No.”

Flora’s painted smile cracked. “Don’t be petty, Iris. Aziel wouldn’t want you to—”

“You heard me,” Iris cut in, her tone cool but edged with steel.

Flora ignored her, lifting the lid again. When her hand darted toward a chicken drumstick, Iris’s reflex was instant—she tapped the back of Flora’s hand with the hot spoon.

“Ow!” Flora hissed, jerking her hand back.

But she wouldn’t quit. She reached again, her voice sharp now. “It’s just food—”

They tugged at the ladle, the tension between them flaring into a silent battle of wills. Then, in the scuffle, the pot tipped dangerously toward Imani’s side of the table.

“Imani!” Iris yanked her daughter’s chair back just in time. The entire dish tumbled onto Flora’s foot instead.

A piercing scream ripped through the air. Flora stumbled back, hopping in pain, tears springing to her eyes.

Iris didn’t flinch. She simply set her daughter’s plate back in front of her. “Eat, sweetheart.”

---

Meanwhile, Aziel returned to the hotel and discovered Flora was gone. His chest tightened. Without hesitation, he dialed her number.

When she finally answered, all he heard was her frantic voice: “Aziel! Help—” followed by a scream.

He didn’t think. He drove straight to the mansion, forgetting entirely that she had moved in without his consent.

Inside, he found Flora on the floor, clutching her foot and whimpering. Iris and Imani sat at the table, eating quietly, as though nothing had happened.

His blood boiled. Rage, hot and unthinking, surged through him. He crossed to Flora, helping her up. “Call my doctor,” he ordered his assistant, his voice cold.

Then he turned on Iris. “Upstairs. Now.”

In their bedroom, he slammed the door and backed her against the wall, his hand gripping her throat. His voice was low, dangerous.

“What I hated my mother for—what she did to you—and you had the mind to do it to Flora?”

Iris’s eyes burned, not with fear, but fury. She shoved him so hard he stumbled back a step.

“You uncultured human being,” she spat. “I never wronged you in any way, yet you treat me like I committed a crime. You bring your mistress into our home and I say nothing. Your mother humiliated me and I held no grudge. But if anyone—anyone—tries to hurt my daughter, I will not back down. Not even if it’s you, Aziel Valen. I will hunt you… even if it kills me.”

Her voice trembled with raw conviction. She didn’t wait for his reply—just turned and walked out, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

Aziel stood frozen, her words still vibrating in the air. He didn’t move until she was gone.

After the doctor examined Flora, he assured them it was nothing serious.

“She’s fine,” he said, applying burn ointment with gentle precision. “Just keep it clean and avoid any irritation. It’ll heal in no time.”

Once the doctor left, Aziel guided Flora to her room. His voice was low but heavy with frustration.

“I told you not to come here.”

Flora whipped around, glaring.

“What, Aziel? Now you want to take her side? You want to play the perfect husband and pretend like what happened between us never happened?”

Aziel’s jaw tightened. His voice snapped like a whip.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Flora? I told you not to come here, but you never listen anymore!”

The force in his tone made Flora’s anger falter. She knew this side of Aziel—controlled, intense, and dangerous when provoked. Taking a step closer, she softened her voice.

“I’m sorry, Aziel.” She reached out, pressing her body to his. “Babe, I let my anger get the best of me. I didn’t mean it.”

Aziel’s breathing slowed, though the tension in his shoulders lingered. Flora lifted her gaze to his and kissed him, slow at first, then deeper—pouring apology and desire into it. His hand found the small of her back, pulling her closer, and the kiss turned hungry.

He pulled back slightly, eyes darkened.

“Not hungry anymore?” he asked in a low, almost teasing voice.

Her lips brushed against his ear.

“No… I’m hungry for you.”

That was all it took. In seconds, the air in the room grew thick with heat. His hands roamed her body as they stumbled toward the bed, shedding layers between hurried kisses. The anger between them melted into raw desire—every touch desperate, every movement claiming and defying at the same time. The room filled with nothing but their ragged breaths and the rhythm of bodies tangled together until exhaustion claimed them.

---

On the second floor, Iris sat in Imani’s room, the soft glow from the night lamp casting long shadows on the walls. Imani was asleep, her small breaths even and peaceful. Iris sat on the edge of the bed, her mind restless.

Why am I still here? Why am I pushing so hard for something so broken?

She clenched her fists. He’s made it clear I mean nothing to him… but I don’t want Imani to grow up without a father.

Unable to sit still, Iris rose and quietly made her way toward the kitchen. As she descended to the first floor, faint sounds reached her ears—muffled, intimate sounds that made her pause. Her stomach clenched.

Curiosity warred with dread as she followed the noise to a door slightly ajar. It was Flora’s room. Slowly, she pushed the door just enough to see inside.

And there he was.

Her husband.

Entangled with another woman in their home.

The world seemed to tilt. Her breath caught, and a sharp pain stabbed her chest. Hot tears blurred her vision as she stepped back, careful not to be heard. Her hands trembled as she fled upstairs, her feet almost tripping over the steps in her hurry.

Bursting into Imani’s room, Iris rushed to her daughter’s bed and gathered her into her arms, holding her as though she could shield her from the truth. The tears came harder now, silent at first, then shaking her whole body.

Imani stirred, blinking sleepily.

“Mummy… did Daddy make you cry again?”

Iris froze, forcing a shaky smile through her tears.

“No, no, baby. Did I wake you?”

But Imani sat up and hugged her tightly, sensing the truth no words could hide. Iris broke then, burying her face into her daughter’s hair, sobbing quietly.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. Mummy’s really hurting right now.”

Mother and daughter stayed like that, clinging to each other. The small warmth of Imani’s embrace was the only thing keeping Iris from falling apart completely. Eventually, the exhaustion of pain and tears pulled them both into sleep, their faces still damp, their arms still locked around each other.

---

The next morning, Iris stayed in her room. She didn’t step into the kitchen, didn’t make breakfast for either Aziel or Flora.

Aziel noticed immediately. His mood soured. He had drained himself the previous night—mentally, physically—and expected some semblance of peace this morning. Instead, silence greeted him.

He found Iris in the living room, quietly folding laundry.

Without warning, he strode over, grabbed her by the neck, and shoved her against the wall.

“I feed your entire family,” he growled, his voice low but sharp as broken glass. “And this is how you repay me?”

Iris clawed at his wrist, gasping for air. Her eyes, however, held no fear—only defiance.

“You’re unbelievable,” she rasped. “You cheat on me, humiliate me, and now you want to act righteous? You’re shameless, Aziel. Let’s end this. I’m done.”

At her words, his grip faltered for a moment. But then her next sentence cut like a blade:

“You don’t deserve to be called a father by any child. You and your w***e—your mistress—are perfect for each other.”

The insult lit a fuse. His palm cracked against her cheek. The sound echoed in the room.

Iris froze. Tears stung her eyes—not just from the pain, but from the shock. He had never struck her before.

Almost instantly, Aziel’s expression shifted. His breathing slowed, his eyes widened.

“I… Iris… I’m sorry. I don’t know what—”

A small gasp from the staircase cut his words short.

Aziel’s head snapped toward the sound and saw Imani standing there, her tiny hands gripping the railing, eyes wide with disbelief. Beside her, Flora smirked like she had been waiting for this moment.

Iris’s heart clenched.

Aziel released Iris and took a step toward the stairs. “Imani, wait—”

But the little girl turned and bolted to her room.

He followed quickly, finding her curled up on her bed, her small face wet with tears.

“You’re a bad daddy,” she sobbed before he could speak. “You’re not my daddy. You hit my mummy. You always make her cry. You’re not my daddy!”

Aziel felt the words like stones in his chest. For the first time in a long time, he felt… small. Worthless.

He left her room without another word, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. Moments later, he walked out of the house entirely.

The moment the front door clicked shut, Flora appeared at the bedroom doorway, her arms crossed and her voice dripping with malice.

“Leave him, Iris. He doesn’t love you or that bastard child of yours. She looks nothing like my Aziel.”

That was the final straw.

Iris lunged, grabbing Flora by the hair and yanking her forward. The slap that followed was sharp, deliberate.

“For once,” Iris panted, “you’re going to shut your mouth.” She shoved Flora back, the older woman stumbling against the wall, eyes wide in shock.

For the first time since arriving in this house, Iris felt a twisted sense of satisfaction.

She went straight to Imani’s room, softening her voice as she knelt beside the bed.

“Baby, I’m fine.”

But Imani shook her head. “No… I saw Daddy hitting you.”

Iris pulled her daughter into her arms. “Tomorrow is your graduation from preschool. How about we go for a spa day and get our hair done? Just you and me.”

Imani looked at her mother with teary eyes. “If you want Mummy to be strong… then you have to be strong too.”

A faint smile broke through Iris’s pain. She brushed her daughter’s tears away. “Then we’ll be strong together.”

The day of the presentation came with a bright, festive air. The preschool, Crest school preschool, was decorated in pastel balloons and tiny twinkling lights. Parents filled the seats, eager to watch their children perform.

Aziel was nowhere to be found. As usual, Iris prepared Imani for her big moment, fixing the ribbons on her sparkling princess dress. But instead of her father, Imani proudly walked hand-in-hand with her great-grandfather, Vincent Valen.

The moment they appeared, there was a soft murmur in the crowd. Vincent, the stoic patriarch of the Valen family, was rarely seen in public, yet here he was—walking in with a little girl who looked like a miniature princess. His presence commanded silent respect; people instinctively stepped aside to give them way.

The event began with a father-and-child dance. Others twirled and laughed with their dads, but Vincent—stooping slightly yet moving with surprising grace—danced with Imani like she was royalty. She giggled, holding his hands, spinning with all the joy of a Disney princess at a royal ball. He bent low to whisper, “You’re the brightest star here, little one.” Her smile stretched from ear to ear.

When it came time for the speech presentations, most children stammered adorably or forgot their lines. But then the host called, “Now, we’ll have a special reading from Imani Valen, representing crest school preschool class.”

A ripple went through the audience—Valen?

Imani stepped forward, clutching her note cards with steady hands. Her voice was clear, her pronunciation perfect, her confidence unwavering as she read a speech far beyond what anyone expected from a preschooler. She used big words—“opportunity,” “gratitude,” “aspiration”—and never faltered.

By the time she finished, there was a stunned silence… then a wave of applause. Parents stood up, clapping and cheering. Even some of the teachers’ eyes glistened with pride.

Vincent didn’t clap right away. He stood with quiet dignity, watching her bow, his chest swelling with pride before placing a hand over his heart. When he finally clapped, the sound seemed to echo louder than the rest.

But in the back rows, whispers began.

"Is that really Vincent Valen?"

"What’s his connection to the girl?"

"She called him great-grandfather? Then… who’s her father?"

No one dared ask aloud, but the question hung in the air, unanswered, as Vincent took Imani’s small hand again and led her offstage—his pride unshaken, his eyes silently daring anyone to speak against her.

Aziel sat in his office, scrolling absently through his phone during a lull in meetings, when a notification popped up from one of the city’s trending news blogs. The headline stopped him cold.

"Valen Matriarch Makes Rare Public Appearance — Seen With Unknown Little Girl at Crestwood Preschool Gala."

He clicked it open.

There, splashed across the first image, was his daughter Imani, beaming like sunlight itself, holding Vincent Valen’s hand as they walked onto the stage. She wore a sparkling dress, the kind little girls imagined when they dreamed of being princesses, and her smile radiated pure joy.

The next photo caught them mid-dance, Vincent bowing gallantly as she curtsied—looking every bit like a tiny royal. Another shot showed her at the podium, reading a speech with flawless confidence, her clear voice apparently captivating the audience. The article noted how she was the only preschooler able to read fluently, with a vocabulary “impressively advanced for her age.”

Aziel’s jaw tightened.

He swiped to the comment section—already buzzing.

> “Wait… is that THE Vincent Valen?”

“Who’s the girl? His granddaughter? Niece?”

“She looks like Aziel Valen … and the way he holds her…”

“If she’s connected to the Valens, this is going to shake things up.”

Aziel’s grip on his phone tightened until his knuckles whitened. The sight of his grandfather with his daughter—smiling, protective, proud—sent a storm ripping through his chest. He felt lost and a total stranger. That should have been him on that stage with Imani. Him reading her speech. Him dancing with her like the father she deserved.

Instead, the whole city was now talking about his grandfather and his child who’d stolen the spotlight.

Aziel’s secretary knocked lightly on the door, but he barely heard it. His eyes were still locked on the photo of Imani and Vincent, framed under bright stage lights, looking like they belonged to each other.

He set the phone down slowly, his jaw set.