IRIS: Fallen for him

CHAPTER NINE

The morning light filtered through the hospital blinds, casting pale stripes across the floor. Iris sat upright in bed, her right hand bandaged, the skin beneath still raw from the second-degree burn. The pain pulsed steadily, but she didn’t flinch. She had endured worse.

She had a daughter to return to.

“I’d like to be discharged,” she said calmly to the nurse on duty.

The woman hesitated, glancing toward the desk where two others whispered behind a screen. Iris heard them clearly.

“She must be someone important to Mr. Valen,” one said, her voice low but sharp.

“You know how rich people are,” the other replied. “Reputation matters more than truth. I bet he’s just keeping her quiet.”

Iris stood by the doorway, listening. Her lips curled into a bitter smile. So this is what they think of me.

One nurse stepped forward, concern flickering in her eyes. “Ma’am, you’re still healing. Maybe wait another day—”

But the other cut in, arms crossed. “Mr. Valen’s done enough. She should go back to whatever hole she crawled out from.”

Iris didn’t respond. She simply shook her head and walked out, her steps slow but steady.

To her surprise, Merlida and Grandpa Vincent were already in the lobby, preparing to leave. Imani stood beside the old man, still in her pajamas, clutching his hand like a lifeline.

The moment she saw Iris, Imani’s eyes lit up. She broke free and ran toward her mother, curls bouncing, voice trembling.

“Mummy! You’re injured!”

Iris knelt carefully, wincing as her bandaged hand brushed her daughter’s cheek. “It’s not too serious, baby. I’m okay.”

Imani looked up at her with wide, worried eyes. “You shouldn’t be hurt. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Iris whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Now let’s say goodbye to Grandpa and Grandma.”

Imani turned, waved sweetly to Vincent, then narrowed her eyes at Merlida.

“Bye, Grandma,” she said with a sugary tone. “I hope you learn how to be nice before I turn six.”

Merlida’s face twisted with rage. Her hand twitched, as if she wanted to strike the child, but she didn’t dare—not with Vincent watching.

The old man chuckled, then reached for Iris’s left hand, the one still uninjured. His grip was gentle, but his eyes were heavy with regret.

“I caused this,” he said quietly. “If I’d come alone, you’d be fine.”

Iris glanced at Merlida, then back at him. She understood now—there was no running from this family. But she could stand her ground.

“It’s nothing, Grandpa,” she said, offering a soft smile.

They exchanged kisses, and Vincent turned to Aziel, who had just arrived.

“Take care of them,” he said firmly. “Both of them.”

Aziel nodded, unreadable.

They got into the car, the driver pulling away from the hospital. The silence inside was thick, but it wasn’t hostile. It was peace—fragile, but real.

Back at the house, Iris stepped out first, her movements careful. She took Imani’s hand, and they walked inside together.

“Why haven’t you taken your bath?” Iris asked, raising an eyebrow.

Imani shrugged. “I didn’t see you.”

Iris shook her head, smiling. “You’ll be six soon, young lady. That’s big girl age.”

Aziel, who had followed them in, paused. His eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe. He hadn’t even remembered his daughter’s birthday. But he didn’t flinch.

Instead, he stepped forward. “I’ll bathe her. And I’ll order breakfast. I don’t know why you came home so soon—you should still be resting. But I’ll take care of everything today.”

Imani blinked, stunned. “Mummy… is Daddy alright?”

Iris looked at her daughter, then at Aziel. Her voice was soft. “I think you should ask him.”

She turned and walked toward the stairs, her right hand still useless, her body aching. But her heart—her heart was steady.

Aziel stood in the hallway, watching his daughter. Imani looked up at him, unsure.

He knelt beside her. “Let’s get you cleaned up, princess.”

Imani hesitated, then nodded slowly.

Aziel scooped Imani into his arms as they walked toward the bathroom.

“I’m still wondering why you decided to bathe me,” she said, giving him a suspicious side-eye.

“You talk too much,” Aziel replied flatly.

“No, I don’t,” she countered immediately. “Miss Adora says I’m too quiet.”

He set her down and began unbuttoning her pajama shirt. “And who is Miss Adora?”

Imani’s reply came like a dart. “When you’re never involved, how would you know?”

Aziel paused, blinking at her sharp mouth. For such a small person, she had an alarming way of cutting straight through him.

“You’re in what grade now? And what’s your performance like?” he asked, more curious than he cared to admit.

She tilted her head dramatically. “I’ve been in preschool for less than three weeks. Mummy isn’t sure if they’ll let me into Grade 1 because I turn six on September 22, but Grade 1 starts on September 7. Still, I’m the most outstanding student in my class.”

Aziel carried her into the bathroom and began running the water, testing it with his hand until it was warm—not too hot, not too cold. “Really? I find it hard to believe you’re that good.”

Imani crossed her arms. “How would you know?”

He started washing her hair, but almost immediately, she wriggled under his hands.

“You’re not doing it right!” she protested. “You’re supposed to be gentle with my hair.”

“I’m washing it the way I wash mine,” Aziel said without looking up. “Don’t you see? Your hair is long.”

Imani’s voice rose in mock outrage. “This is your hair—” she tapped the top of his head “—but this is mine. You’re supposed to be gentle. And have you seen your full hair? It’s short!”

Aziel stilled for a moment, staring at her. He couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be offended. “Is this how you talk to all your elders?”

“No,” she replied sweetly. “Just you… and Grandma.”

His brows twitched. He had negotiated multimillion-dollar deals without breaking a sweat, yet here he was, getting verbally cornered by a six-year-old.

Finally, they finished the bath. He wrapped her in a towel and carried her to her room to pick out clothes.

“What about this dress?” he asked, holding up a pale yellow sundress.

“No,” Imani shook her head. “That’s for boring days. Today I want the pink one with the butterflies.”

“It’s too bright,” Aziel argued.

“It’s just right,” she shot back.

They went back and forth—yellow, pink, yellow, pink—until Imani won by pure persistence. She stood proudly as he helped her dress, then they made their way downstairs.

Once in the dining area, Aziel grabbed the menu and glanced at her. “What do you want?”

“Pancakes. And waffles. And hot chocolate,” she said without hesitation.

“That’s too much sugar,” he replied.

“That’s too much talking,” she said, mimicking his earlier tone.

Aziel exhaled through his nose, set the menu down, and ordered exactly what she wanted.

---

By the time the food arrived, Imani was practically bouncing in her chair.

The waiter set down her pancakes, waffles, and a steaming cup of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream. Aziel’s omelette and black coffee looked pale in comparison.

Imani picked up her fork, but instead of eating, she leaned her chin on her hand and stared at him.

“What?” he asked, suspicious.

“You eat like an old man,” she said matter-of-factly. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Aziel glanced at his plate. “There’s nothing wrong with an omelette.”

“There’s nothing right with it either,” she said, cutting a piece of pancake. “Want a bite?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t eat sugar in the morning.”

“Then that explains your grumpy face,” she said, sliding the fork toward him anyway.

Aziel eyed her like she was running some kind of scam, but when she wiggled the fork closer, he sighed and took a small bite. He didn’t want to admit it was actually… good.

“See? You smiled,” she said triumphantly.

“I didn’t smile,” he denied.

“You almost smiled. That’s worse,” she teased, pouring syrup over her waffle. “Mummy says food makes people happy. Maybe you should try it more often.”

Aziel leaned back, watching her chatter on about Miss Adora, her classmates, and how she could definitely win any skipping rope competition in her school.

Somewhere between her talking with her hands, licking a bit of whipped cream off her lip, and arguing that waffles were better than pancakes because they had ‘little square swimming pools for syrup,’ he realized something unsettling—

For the first time in six years, he didn’t feel like he was rushing to be somewhere else.

Imani returned from the dining table and padded into the kitchen, her small hands reaching for the largest tray she could manage. She placed each dish with precision—rosemary chicken, steamed asparagus, a small bowl of wild rice, and cucumber-infused water. She didn’t need to be told; she already knew her mother wouldn’t come downstairs.

“Where are you taking that?” Aziel asked from the doorway, his voice carrying more curiosity than authority.

Imani glanced at him over her shoulder, shaking her head with mock disappointment.

“Aziel Valen, you are so clueless.”

His brows rose at the way she used his full name, but before he could answer, she balanced the tray with practiced ease and started toward the left staircase—the one that curved like a whispered secret toward the private wing.

The morning light caught the glass railing, scattering soft reflections over her pale linen dress. She climbed steadily, her little frame steady despite the weight of the tray. She didn’t look back, didn’t call for help—this was something she wanted to do herself.

Aziel stood at the foot of the stairs, half-shadowed by the archway, watching her go. He had seen Imani stubborn, outspoken, and sharp-tongued. But this quiet, deliberate care felt… different. Like she belonged here in a way he hadn’t noticed before.

He followed, but slowly, giving her a moment to arrive first.

When he stepped into the bedroom, the sight stopped him cold.

Iris was lying on the bed, her face pale, her lips dry, a sheen of sweat glistening on her brow. Her breathing was shallow, and her eyes barely flickered open.

“Mummy!” Imani cried, nearly dropping the tray as she rushed to the bedside. Her voice cracked, panic spilling out in every word. “Daddy, come see! Mummy’s sick!”

Aziel moved fast, his arm automatically reaching for Iris, but when he tried to help her sit up, her body resisted—stiff, trembling.

Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone and called his private physician. His voice was clipped but urgent. “Now. My house. Bring everything.”

Imani set the tray down on the side table and climbed onto the bed, curling up beside her mother’s unresponsive form. Her small hands kept touching Iris’s arm, her hair, anything to feel she was still there.

“Mummy is never sick,” she said through soft, hiccuping sobs. “She’s always strong.”

“Really?” Aziel asked gently, his tone softer than she’d ever heard from him.

She nodded quickly. “Always.”

“It’s okay,” he assured her, brushing her hair back. “The doctor’s coming.”

---

Thirty minutes later

The doctor arrived with a black medical case, followed by an assistant carrying equipment. They worked quickly—checking her vitals, inspecting her bandaged right arm, taking her temperature.

Finally, the doctor straightened and glanced at Aziel.

“She’s running a high-grade fever—102.4°F. Considering she just left the hospital after treatment for a second-degree burn, I’d say her immune system is stressed. It’s likely she’s developed an infection at the burn site, which is common if the skin’s healing process is disrupted. The fever is her body’s way of fighting it.”

“Infection?” Aziel’s tone sharpened.

“Yes. The dressing will need to be changed under sterile conditions. I’ll start her on antibiotics immediately, and she’ll need complete rest for the next few days. No stress, no heavy movement. If she’s up and about too soon, the infection can worsen.”

Aziel gave a tight nod, his jaw set. “Do whatever it takes.”

The doctor cleaned and re-dressed the burn, then left instructions before departing.

---

The rest of the day

Aziel stayed close, working from the lounge chair near the bed. Every so often, he glanced at Imani, who sat cross-legged on the carpet with The Railway Children open in her lap.

She read aloud softly, stumbling on long words but correcting herself without help. He couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his mouth. For a child her age, her vocabulary and pronunciation were impressive.

Just as the afternoon sun began to slant through the windows, his phone rang. The name on the screen made his brows knit—Flora.

He answered, and her panicked voice came through immediately. “Aziel, I’m in trouble. Please… I need your help.”

There was fear in her tone—real fear, not the kind used to manipulate.

Without hesitation, he stood. “Stay where you are. I’m coming.”

He turned to Imani, kneeling in front of her so they were eye level. “Call me the moment your mum wakes up. Don’t leave her side.”

The little girl’s eyes narrowed slightly. “This is an emergency, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

She studied his face, reading more in his expression than he realized, then gave a firm nod. “Go. I’ll take care of her until you get back.”

Aziel hesitated a beat longer, glancing at Iris before finally striding out.