IRIS: Fallen for him

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

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Kiato took one look at Iris—her clothes drenched from the rain, her hair plastered to her cheeks, and the clear IV line snaking into Imani’s tiny arm—and his stomach twisted painfully.

“You shouldn’t have gone through this alone,” he said quietly, his voice carrying both concern and a trace of restrained anger.

Iris looked up at him, her eyes hollow but her lips curving into a faint, almost detached smile.

Kiato’s jaw tightened.

“Where is he?”

Her brows knit. “Who?”

Kiato tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp. “Trying to play dumb? If everyone else is blind and can’t see it, I can, Iris.”

Her eyes shimmered, the truth pressing against her ribs. “You… you know it’s Aziel?”

He nodded without hesitation.

“She has Aziel’s face and eyes—she just took your color,” he said simply. His tone wasn’t accusing, just matter-of-fact, as if this truth had been obvious to him from the start.

Without another word, he gestured for her to follow. “Come with me.”

He led her down a quiet corridor to his office. It was a warm, well-kept space—bookshelves lined with neatly stacked medical journals and framed certificates, a faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. On the polished mahogany desk sat an orderly stack of patient files, a sleek laptop, and a small family photo in a silver frame turned slightly toward him. A brass nameplate read: Dr. Kiato Westmont.

The name tugged at something in Iris’s memory, a strange familiarity she couldn’t quite place—but before she could dwell on it, he pulled out the leather chair in front of the desk.

“Sit here. While Imani is still sleeping, I’ll check on her tests,” he said. His voice softened, but there was a firmness beneath it—he wasn’t asking.

She obeyed, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle into her bones. As soon as the door clicked behind him, the dam inside her broke.

Her hands flew to her face, and she began to cry—deep, shaking sobs she hadn’t let herself feel until now. The events of the day played over in her mind like a cruel film: Flora’s sneer, Imani’s bloodied lip, the seizure, the rain-soaked desperation, the cold absence of Aziel when she needed him most.

She almost lost her only true companion.

Her heart clenched with regret—regret for meeting Aziel, for marrying him, for every step that had led her here. She felt so small, so powerless.

The sound of the door opening didn’t register until a pair of warm arms wrapped around her. Startled, she looked up—and froze.

“Elora…?”

Elora Westmont.

She eased down beside Iris, placing a large tote bag on the desk. “Here,” she said gently, pulling out dry clothes. “Go change first before you get sick.”

The kindness only made Iris cry harder. “I’m a bad mother… I can’t even protect my own daughter…” Her voice cracked, shame burning in her chest.

Elora’s expression didn’t soften. “You’re weak, Iris. And the rich—they only bully the weak because they know you can’t fight back.”

Iris’s sobs hitched. “What do I do? If I leave now, I’ll lose everything. Aziel will fight for custody—and he has the money to win. And then my family… I’ll lose them too.”

Elora leaned back, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

“Listen to me. Only if you are strong can you fight. Even if you had the whole world cheering for you, do you think you could beat a man who’s been in business for years? A man who’s fought wolves, tigers, and lions in the corporate jungle? A man who knows every dirty trick in the book?”

The words sank like stones in Iris’s heart. She knew Elora was right—right now, she couldn’t win. Not against Aziel.

But then, what was she supposed to do?

The question hung in the air between them, heavier than the rain still falling outside.

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After Iris had changed into the dry clothes Elora had brought, the two women stepped out into the softly lit corridor. Kiato was waiting by the door, leaning casually against the frame, his face unreadable.

Without a word, he handed Iris a porcelain cup. Steam curled from the rim, carrying the faint aroma of ginger and honey. Her fingers trembled as they wrapped around it—the warmth almost stung after the hours of cold soaking her bones. Only now did she realize just how chilled she had been.

She lifted her gaze toward Elora, and a flicker of surprise crossed her face.

“You… you’re his mother?”

Both Kiato and Elora shared a faint smile, as if it were an open secret she’d finally uncovered.

“You need to rest,” Kiato said, his voice gentler now as he studied her pale cheeks and shadowed eyes. “What about your husband? Should I call him?”

A faint, humorless smile touched her lips, but it never reached her eyes. Her lashes lowered like a curtain.

“No,” she whispered. “It’s alright.”

The way she said it, the way her mouth pressed into a thin line as she stared into the depths of her tea—it was clear there was nothing alright about it.

Kiato didn’t ask again.

Moments later, the door opened quietly.

“Iris?”

She looked up—and froze.

An elderly man stood in the doorway, coat still damp from the rain, his eyes heavy with worry and the faint sheen of unshed tears.

Her breath hitched. “Grandpa…”

The cup slipped from her grasp and clattered onto the bed. She stumbled forward, almost tripping in her haste, and collapsed into his arms.

Tears spilled down her cheeks in hot, unrestrained streams.

“I almost lost her,” she choked out, her voice breaking like glass. “Grandpa—I almost lost Imani…”

He held her tightly, one weathered hand cradling the back of her head, the other steady on her back. “Shhh… I know, I know…” he murmured, his chin resting on her hair.

Kiato and Elora exchanged a look and began to step out, but Iris reached out a trembling hand.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, her voice thick.

They both nodded respectfully and left, closing the door softly behind them.

Inside, Iris clung to the only person who had never turned away from her.

“She had a seizure,” she whispered into his chest, her breath hitching. “If I hadn’t called Kiato… if I’d been even fifteen minutes later, she wouldn’t—” Her words faltered. “Grandpa, I was blind in the rain… I couldn’t drive, I just—I…”

He smoothed her hair in slow, soothing motions. “You saved her, Iris. That’s what matters.”

“I forgot to call you,” she sobbed.

His eyes softened, but beneath them a storm brewed—a storm of understanding, and of deep, restrained disappointment.

“I know my grandson,” he began carefully.

But Iris pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, desperation sharpening her voice.

“Grandpa… I don’t want to stay anymore. I never came to him for marriage. I only came to tell him I was pregnant—you were the one who insisted I marry him. But now…” Her voice cracked. “Now I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I’m tired. I can’t keep begging for air in a house that suffocates me.”

The words came like a wound ripped open, raw and bleeding.

“I want to leave,” she said. “Before I lose everything.”

The old man’s hands cupped her face, his weathered thumbs brushing the tears from her skin. Regret weighed down his shoulders.

“I thought I was securing your future, healing old wounds. But I see now… I may have delivered you to wolves. I won’t let you face them alone, Iris. You will not walk away from this empty-handed.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, the relief in her voice tinged with exhaustion.

But before he could speak again, the door creaked open.

Both of them turned.

Aziel stood in the doorway, rain still clinging to his shoulders, his hair damp, his eyes sweeping over the scene—the IV in Imani’s tiny hand, Iris’s pale face still blotched from crying, and his grandfather’s arms around her.

For a moment, silence. Heavy. Unyielding.

Then—

“What happened?”

His voice was low, tightly controlled, but the tension beneath coiled like a serpent ready to strike.

Iris turned away, swiping at her cheeks.

The old man stepped forward, placing himself between them—not as a mediator, but as a wall.

Without warning, the rod in his hand swung. It struck Aziel across the face with a sickening thwack.

Blood welled instantly at the split skin near his brow.

“Where were you, Aziel?” the old man demanded, his voice ringing with fury. “She was here. She did everything to save that child while you—”

“I didn’t know,” Aziel cut in, his tone taut, his eyes never leaving Iris. Blood dripped down the side of his face. “You should have called me—”

“I did!” Iris’s voice cut through the air, sharp and breaking all at once. She spun around to face him, her expression raw. “I banged on Flora’s door. I heard you two.”

Color drained from his face, replaced by a slow, burning flush of shame.

His grandfather’s eyes narrowed. “Flora?” His voice was laced with disbelief. “Why is she in the picture?”

Aziel stiffened. He hadn’t realized Iris knew.

“No, Aziel? You took Flora—with her mild cold—to the hospital, yet your own daughter…” Her breath came quick and shallow, pain twisting each word. “You were so heartless, Aziel.” Her voice broke. “I’m done. Let’s get a divorce so you can be with your mistress.”

Aziel took a step toward her. Seeing Imani lying there, pale and fragile, made his chest tighten with something dangerously close to regret.

“Iris—”

The old man’s hand shot up, halting him. “Don’t. Let her speak.”

Iris lifted her head. Her eyes were rimmed red, but her gaze was steady.

“On her graduation,” she said, her voice trembling but clear, “you were supposed to be on that stage with her. Not Grandpa. She was so excited, Aziel—she wanted to tell her friends her dad was you. Aziel Valen, the business guru everyone admires. She wanted to prove she wasn’t fatherless. But you…” Her voice cracked. “You showed her that she is.”

Aziel’s jaw clenched. For the first time, his silence held not just guilt—but fear.