IRIS: Fallen for him

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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After Imani’s graduation, Iris and her daughter didn’t return home. For security reasons—and to shield Imani from the press and unnecessary attention—they went to Samantha and Karen’s apartment, planning to stay just one night.

One night became two weeks.

It was early morning, sunlight stretching in pale gold across the floors, when Iris quietly unlocked the door to the house she had once called home. Imani clung sleepily to her shoulder, her warm breath brushing against her mother’s neck.

Iris stepped inside, her soul calmer, her mind clearer. Those two weeks away—filled with Samantha and Karen’s laughter—had been a much-needed breath of air. But she couldn’t stay away forever. No matter how unwanted she felt, this was still her home. Imani’s home.

She set her daughter gently in her cushioned seat and tiptoed to the kitchen for snacks, carrying a few storybooks under her arm. Reading had always been her quiet escape; with her photographic memory, every page became a vivid painting in her mind.

But something was off.

Two plates.

Two wine glasses.

Still damp from washing.

Her instincts prickled.

She didn’t want to believe it—but her body moved before her mind could stop it, quiet and deliberate as she made her way upstairs.

Her feet froze outside the bedroom she shared with Aziel.

“Not again,” she whispered, pressing her hand over her mouth.

The door was ajar.

And there it was.

Aziel and Flora.

Naked. Tangled. Asleep.

Clothes strewn across the floor as if shame had never existed in the room.

Iris’s heart didn’t scream—it sank.

The betrayal wasn’t a surprise.

But the image, the proof, was a wound etched in silence.

She turned away. No scream. No confrontation.

Just the soft exhale of a woman who had already expected to be disappointed.

Downstairs, she sat beside Imani, who was now awake.

“Hi, Mummy… we’re back home?”

Iris smiled softly and nodded.

“I don’t want to stay here. I love Aunty Karen’s place,” the little girl said, starting to throw a tantrum.

“Imani, stop that. You can’t stay away from home too long—your daddy will get angry.”

Imani’s face shifted instantly, her mood darkening.

Footsteps echoed. Aziel, coming down the stairs.

He froze.

There they were—his wife and daughter.

“Hey…” he said hesitantly.

Iris looked up and smiled, warm but hollow. In her eyes, he saw himself—ugly, selfish, cruel.

His gaze turned guarded. “Hey, baby… won’t you come say hello to Daddy?”

“I don’t know you,” Imani replied and ran off.

Iris’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Children,” she said softly.

Then Flora appeared.

Draped in a silk robe barely brushing her knees, she strutted in, blinking in feigned surprise.

“Well… hey, you,” she said sweetly.

Iris’s eyes met hers, unreadable. No emotion.

She stood, looking at them both with pure disgust before walking out to the poolside. The water shimmered under the morning light. She sat beside her daughter, not bothering to ask why Imani had said those words.

Aziel didn’t deserve to be called a father.

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Aziel left not long after, hastily dressed, muttering something about meetings. Iris didn’t even lift her eyes to acknowledge him.

Once the front door closed, Flora’s sweetness soured.

She lingered just outside the sliding glass door, her voice a low, poisonous hiss.

“You really think having his daughter—not even a son—will keep him with you? Let me guess… you think all that quiet, saintly act makes you strong?”

Iris turned slowly, her gaze steady. Her voice was calm, but every word was a blade.

“I respect Aziel. That’s the only reason I hold my peace. But don’t mistake my silence for weakness, Flora. I am no pushover.”

Flora’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before she rolled her eyes and strutted away.

Iris exhaled and headed upstairs.

Then—

A scream.

Not a startled cry. A real scream—sharp, terrified.

Iris flew down the stairs.

In the living room, Imani was crumpled on the floor, blood streaking from her mouth. Her small body shook with sobs.

Flora stood a few feet away, hands trembling, eyes darting with something between panic and performance.

“She was reaching—she fell,” Flora blurted too quickly, her voice pitched just a little too high.

Imani only cried harder, no words, just pain.

Iris didn’t waste breath arguing. She knelt, cupping her daughter’s face, inspecting the swollen, bleeding lip.

“Shhh… baby, it’s okay. Mama’s here,” she whispered, gathering her into her arms.

Flora stepped forward. “I can—”

“Don’t touch her.”

The words were soft. Deadly.

Keys in hand, Iris wrapped Imani in a light blanket. She reached the door, then stopped.

Turning slowly, her gaze locked on Flora like a warning carved in stone.

“You may have his body, Flora… but you will never have his soul. And until I choose otherwise, I am still his first woman—his wife. Legally. Emotionally. Spiritually… the real Mrs. Valen. Even if I walk away, you will never have him. Remember my words. No matter how you plot—you will never replace me.”

The words struck Flora like thunder.

Not long after, Aziel stepped into the house, expecting quiet, perhaps a cold glance from Iris. But the house was in disarray.

He looked around. “Where’s Iris? Where’s Imani?”

Flora lounged on the couch, flipping through a magazine.

“I don’t know,” she said flippantly. “She left.”

Aziel frowned. Something in his chest twisted.

Left?

Aziel stood by the living room window, brows furrowed, phone pressed to his ear. He had tried calling Iris five times. No answer.

“Flora,” he said sharply, turning toward her. “What happened before she left?”

Flora, draped in one of Iris’s silk robes, didn’t even flinch. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and put on a practiced pout.

“She just… stormed out. Imani cried a little—probably sleepy or something. Iris seemed unstable.

Aziel narrowed his eyes. “She wouldn’t leave without telling me. Imani isn't a baby ,why would she be crying”

“She didn’t even want to talk to you, remember? She barely looked at you this morning,” Flora said, walking up to him and gently touching his arm. “Look, maybe she’s just overwhelmed. You know how women get.”

Aziel stared at her for a long moment.

Then, against his better judgment—he believed her

The hospital’s automatic doors slid open, and Iris stepped in, clutching Imani close. The child’s soft blanket was already streaked with faint drops of red, her small fingers clutching her mother’s blouse. Every tiny whimper dug deeper into Iris’s chest.

A nurse took one look at them and moved quickly. “This way, ma’am—emergency intake.”

They were ushered into a small treatment room. Iris set Imani carefully on the bed, brushing her hair back so the nurse could see. The little girl’s lip was badly swollen, the split angry and raw.

The door swung open—and Iris’s breath caught.

Kiato.

Of all people.

They weren’t friends. He wasn’t her doctor. Just a man she’d crossed paths with twice before—both times when she’d needed help and had nowhere else to turn. A man who carried himself with a quiet authority that made you feel both safe and unsettled.

His eyes widened briefly in recognition, then sharpened with focus as he crossed the room.

“Passenger?” His voice was calm, but his stride was urgent. “What happened?”

Iris straightened slightly. “She… hurt her lip,” she said, keeping her tone flat, giving nothing away.

Kiato stepped to the bed, lowering himself so he was at Imani’s level. “Hey, little one. May I take a look?”

Imani’s eyes flicked to her mother. Iris gave a small nod, and the girl allowed him to gently lift her chin.

His hands were precise, movements efficient but careful. “The swelling’s bad, but the cut is clean,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “No loosened teeth, no deep tissue damage.”

He reached for gloves and a sterile pack, cleaning the wound with a practiced touch. Imani whimpered, tears gathering again, and Iris instinctively rested a hand on her daughter’s knee.

“You’re doing well,” Kiato said softly, keeping his voice even. “Just a little more.”

When he finished applying the ointment, he straightened, removing his gloves. “She’ll need an anti-inflammatory and something mild for pain,” he said, meeting Iris’s eyes for the first time since he’d walked in.

For a beat, he seemed like he might ask more—but he didn’t. His gaze lingered just long enough to make her aware that he noticed the tension in her posture, the guardedness in her tone.

Iris simply said, “Thank you.”

Kiato gave a single nod before turning back to Imani. “You’ll be just fine, princess.”

And just like the last two times their paths had crossed, his help was quiet, efficient… and left Iris wondering why fate seemed to send him at moments she least expected.

Back at the house, Flora lounged on the sofa, phone on speaker, chatting with a friend while Aziel stood a few feet away, scrolling his messages but listening.

She laughed lightly.

“No, she totally freaked out. Honestly… maybe she’ll throw herself into traffic or something dramatic.”

Aziel’s head snapped up.

“Excuse me?” His voice was cold, edged with warning.

Flora froze, eyes flicking toward him.

“That’s not what I—”

“You said Imani was crying,” he cut in. “Why?”

“She—she just fell. Babies fall.”

His tone dropped lower, harder. “And you didn’t mention that when I asked earlier.” He stepped closer. “Did you hurt her, Flora?”

Flora’s chin lifted, arms crossing defensively. “How dare you? I’ve done everything for you. She’s the one who walked out—”

“Answer. The. Question.”

Her mouth tightened. “No. I didn’t hurt her.”

But the faint crack in her voice was enough.

Doubt slid under Aziel’s skin and stayed there, sharp and lingering.