Ch-5

•~•Aziel's POV

She looked so peaceful in her sleep.

Irene.

The bedside lamp cast a golden glow, its soft light creating gentle shadows across her sleeping form.

She didn’t look like the sweet, innocent girl I once knew. Time had reshaped her into someone new—a woman hardened by pain, by loss, by whatever she had endured over the past five years. But that fire in her striking blue eyes remained.

And even with a different face, the way her brows eased, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the quiet sighs she let out in her sleep—none of that had changed.

I reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She barely stirred, still breathing slow and steady.

A dull ache settled in my chest as I watched her.

Five years—Five years of grief, believing she was gone forever. But here she was—alive, breathing, lying under the same blanket as me.

I had missed her so much. So much that being here with her now felt unreal—like a dream I wasn’t sure I wanted to wake up from. Maybe because of the past.

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Five years ago...

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Blood covered half his face, soaking into his shirt. His arm dangled limply off the stretcher.

"Twenty-three-year-old male, suspected traumatic brain injury—BP dropping, heart rate tachycardic! Pupils unequal, GCS at 7—prep trauma bay, we need a CT scan, stat!"

One of the doctors shouted medical terms I barely understood as a team of nurses and paramedics rushed Nathaniel through the ER doors.

I ran after the stretcher, my heart pounding hard against my ribs.

“Sir, you can’t go any further!”

A nurse stepped in front of me, blocking my path. I heard her, but I wasn’t ready to listen. My breathing was ragged, my hands clenched into fists.

“That’s my brother,” I snapped. “I need to—”

“They’re taking him to the trauma bay,” she cut in. “You need to wait outside.”

I wanted to argue, to tell her I had to be there. But what could I do? I wasn’t a doctor. I couldn’t save him.

A different nurse touched my shoulder, her voice gentle. “Sir, you’re injured too. Your shoulder—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Only then did I notice—the entire right side of my shirt was soaked in blood. It seeped through the torn fabric, but I barely felt the pain. My focus stayed on the closed doors ahead.

"Your wound needs treatment. There’s a risk of infection if you—"

"I said I'm fine!" My voice came out sharper than I intended, cutting her off. She flinched but stayed calm—like she was used to people lashing out in moments like this.

I dragged a hand through my hair, my breaths unsteady. “I’m sorry. I just… I need some air.”

I turned on my heel and stormed through the hospital doors.

The cold air hit me instantly, but it did nothing to cool the heat burning under my skin. I ran a hand down my face, fingers shaking as they pressed against my jaw.

I took out my phone.

Should I call her?—My mother.

She always fretted over Nathaniel, treating him like he was made of glass—overprotective because he was born first and had health complications at birth.

If I called her now, she’d panic. Maybe I should wait, at least until the doctors confirmed he was out of danger.

I hesitated, my thumb hovering over her contact.

Then—my phone buzzed.

I frowned.

A message. No contact name.

I tapped on it.

A video.

A strange unease crawled up my spine as I pressed play.

The footage was shaky, but the two people in it were clearly visible.

My mother.

And Irene, at a cliffside—One I recognize all too well.

“Well, that’s unfortunate…” My mother’s voice, smooth and deliberate, sent a chill through me. “I came here with two options for you. And it seems you’ve chosen the second.”

The pit in my stomach deepened.

“And by the way,” she added, her voice light, almost casual. “The second option is death.”

And then—

She pushed her.

I sucked in a sharp breath, choking on nothing.

The scream—raw and desperate. The way Irene’s body tilted backward, her arms reaching, grasping for something—anything as she fell off the cliff.

And then the video cut off.

My stomach twisted, my entire body locking up. My breath came in quick, shallow gasps.

My mother… my mother pushed her.

No.

No.

I couldn't believe it. Couldn’t process what I had just seen.

This was fake. It had to be fake.

My relationship with my mother had always been strained. Unlike Nathaniel, I had seen her dark side. I knew what she was capable of—ruthless, manipulative, controlling.

But this?

My fingers clenched around the phone as I stared at the screen, desperate to find something—anything—that proved it was edited.

Irene was okay.

And my mother…

My mother didn't just—I couldn't even finish the thought.

Then my phone rang.

The same unknown number.

Hand shaking, I answered and pressed it to my ear.

A voice—distorted, mechanical—spoke.

“Aziel Grant… A pleasure speaking with you.”

“Who… who the hell are you?” My voice was hoarse, barely steady.

Silence.

Then, a few seconds later, the voice returned.

“You know who I am.”

My grip on the phone tightened. “What do you mean I know who you are?… Do you think this is some kind of joke? Is this funny to you?...”

My voice wavered but I continued, “...My brother is in the emergency room, and you’re wasting my time with a fake video? My mother—she’s a lot of things, but she’s not a killer—” 

A low chuckle crackled through the line.

“Oh, the video is very real, Aziel. And your mother? She’s definitely a killer. This isn’t her first time taking a life… I just thought you should know that.”

Then—

The line went dead.

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Present…

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I inhaled sharply as the ringing phone on my bedside table yanked me back from the memory.

The past was gone. But what it left behind wasn’t.

Not wanting to wake Irene, I quickly reached for the phone. The moment my eyes landed on the screen, my breath caught.

That same number—again.

Slowly, I sat up.

Then, I stood.

The cold floor met my bare feet as I moved past my wheelchair in the corner. Without a sound, I slid open the balcony glass door and stepped outside, shutting it behind me.

I answered.

“What do you want?” My voice was low, steady.

The same distorted voice from five years ago answered. “Is that how you talk to a friend?”

“Friend?… Is that what we are?” I asked.

“What else do you call someone who shares the same enemy as you?”

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t interested in the mind games the caller was trying to bait me into.

I exhaled slowly, forcing down the irritation rising in my chest. “How did you know Solane Blackwood is actually Irene Lancaster?”

The voice hummed. “Why? Are you doubting me?”

“I don’t need to doubt you,” I said. “I already confirmed it myself. I just want to know how you knew. And why you told me.”

A brief silence followed, stretching just long enough to make my skin prickle. Then the caller spoke again.

"How I know… well, I can't reveal that. But why I told you—that, I can." A pause, deliberate and heavy. "Because I want you to help me destroy her. Your mother.”

The words sent a chill through me, but I refused to react. Instead, I turned my gaze to the city lights beyond the balcony, exhaling slowly.

“Five years ago, I sent you that video, expecting you to do the right thing—report it or at least hand it over to the girl’s parents so they could bring your mother to justice. But you didn’t.”

The voice was calm, almost mocking.

“Instead, you let your mother-son loyalty outweigh the love you claimed to have for Irene Lancaster. And worse? You let Melissa manipulate you into taking your brother’s place—living as Nathaniel Grant like a fool on a leash.”

The voice scoffed.

“If that wasn’t pathetic, I don’t know what is. No—actually, I do. It was pure cowardice.”

I clenched my jaw. “Are you actually going to explain why you called? Or better yet, who the hell you are? Or do you just plan on insulting me all night?”

The voice remained unfazed. “First, like I said before, I’m someone you know. Figuring out who… well, that’s up to you.”

“...Second, I called to give you a second chance—to make up for the last five years. I told you Solane Blackwood’s true identity so you can protect her this time. And in exchange, you’ll help me destroy your mother.”

I let out a low humorless laugh. “And what makes you think I’d help you do that?”

“Well, that’s the thing, Aziel. I don’t expect you to.” The voice was calm. Amused, even. “She’s still your mother, after all. Even if you hate her.”

A heavy silence settled between us, stretching just long enough to feel intentional before the caller spoke again.

“...And it’s alright if you won’t help me…I still have Irene Lancaster as an option.”

Something cold slithered through me, wrapping tight around my chest at those words.

Was this bastard trying to bait me with Irene?

“She understands loss,” the voice continued mockingly. “She knows what it’s like to have something precious forcefully taken away. And unlike you, she’s not afraid…”

“...Not a coward who hesitates, trapped by guilt, too weak to do what it takes to make your mother pay for her sins. After all, that’s why she married you, isn’t it? To take her revenge…She and I would make a great team to achieve our goals.”

The line went dead after that.

I exhaled shakily, gripping the balcony railing, my mind racing to process everything.

Then—

The glass door slid open.

I turned, lowering my phone, and my breath stilled.

Irene.

She stood there in her silk nightgown, her hair messy from sleep. But her expression wasn’t groggy—she was fully awake. And her eyes—wide, frozen—were staring at one thing.

My legs.

Her lips parted. “You can—”