GENESIS
I stared at myself in the mirror. I didn't feel good.
My skin looked pale, and my stomach churned again. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, sighing. This was the second time I'd thrown up this morning—and I still didn't know why.
I glanced down at what had left my stomach, staring blankly for a few seconds before pressing the flush button. Watching it swirl away somehow made me feel even emptier.
After brushing my teeth, I stepped out of the bathroom. The bed was empty—Kieran was gone. Not that it was a surprise.
I pulled on one of his large shirts, the fabric soft against my skin, and made my way downstairs. I needed to find him—to tell him I wanted to go to the hospital to see Amelia and the baby. I needed to know they were okay.
But as soon as I pushed open the bedroom door, noise flooded my ears—bustling footsteps, moving voices, the sound of wheels on marble.
"What's going on?" I muttered, blinking.
I hurried down the stairs, and from halfway down, I could already see it—men and women in white uniforms, medical staff, and a few hefty men carrying equipment into the house. They moved quickly, into the door near the base of the stairs.
"What's happening?" I asked, louder this time.
A few of them turned, bowed their heads politely, and went back to work without saying a word.
I stepped aside to avoid being hit by a passing stretcher and ducked my head as I slipped through the doorway—only to spot him outside.
Kieran. Or… Knight?
I wasn't sure which one I was facing today. It was always a silent question in my mind—were they really two different people, or just two sides of the same man?
But I didn't have to wonder long.
He turned—and the moment his eyes found mine, his entire face lit up. That boyish grin broke across his face, dimples deepening, blue eyes glowing like sunlight after rain. For a heartbeat, I forgot to breathe. He looked… happy. Truly happy.
Before I could react, he strode over, scooped me up, and spun me around. I let out a startled laugh, wrapping my legs around his waist.
"Good morning, princess," he murmured, pressing his face into my neck before catching my lips in a quick kiss.
When he pulled back, he bit his bottom lip and stared at me, still smiling.
"Good morning," I said, my own smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
That confirmed it—this was Kieran, not Knight. Knight didn't smile like that. His presence was heavier, sharper. Kieran's was warm, light—like the calm before a storm.
"So…" He gestured around at the chaos of people and equipment. "You're wondering what's going on?"
"Was it that obvious?" I teased.
He chuckled and kissed my nose, then the curve of my neck. "Maybe. But I'm not hiding anything from my wife."
I tilted my head, allowing him more access to my neck as his lips traced soft kisses along my skin. I didn't even care that people were watching—or that I was barely dressed in his oversized shirt that reached only mid-thigh.
He bit down gently on my collarbone, making me yelp and laugh. "Okay, okay! Tell me—what's all this? You opening a clinic here?"
He laughed and pressed another kiss to my shoulder. "Close guess," he said, grinning. "But no. Father's finally agreed to the treatment."
The words hit like a cold wave. I froze.
I pushed against his shoulder just enough to look him in the eyes. "What? Why?"
His brows furrowed, confusion flickering behind his smile. "Does that matter? He's finally doing it, princess. He'll get the help he needs—he'll be with us longer."
"It matters, Kieran," I said softly, my voice trembling. "You remember what the doctor said. He told us the treatment might not help—and Father said he didn't want to spend what time he had hooked to machines. He wanted to spend it with us."
Kieran stepped back a little, his jaw tightening. For a second, I thought it might turn into an argument. But instead, he raked a hand through his hair and looked away, then back at me.
"He agreed to it," he said quietly. "And… what if it works?"
His words lingered in the air, heavy with fragile hope.
I wanted to believe him. I really did. But the memory of that doctor's warning echoed in my head—about the pain, the organs failing, the treatment killing faster than the cancer itself.
"Kieran…" I whispered, my throat dry. "What if it doesn't? What if it hurts him more than it helps?"
He reached out, cupping my face gently. "Then at least we'll know we tried. I can't just sit back and watch him fade away, Genesis. I can't." His voice cracked a little on that last word, and my heart ached for him. He wasn't the cold, composed man everyone saw right now, he was just a son trying to save his father.
I sighed softly, my fingers curling around his wrist. "Okay," I said finally, my voice small. "Okay, let's go see him."
His smile returned, faint but real, and he took my hand, leading me through the busy hallway. Medical staff moved around like a small army, hooking up cables, adjusting stands with clear bags of liquid, arranging strange-looking devices with blinking lights and quiet hums. The once warm mansion suddenly felt more like a private hospital.
We entered the large guest room, now transformed into a treatment room. The curtains were drawn back, letting in soft morning light, and in the middle of the room, on the big bed that used to belong to Kieran's mother, lay Donald.
My breath caught.
He looked… smaller somehow. His skin was pale and thin, veins standing out sharply against it. The man who once filled every space with authority and laughter now seemed swallowed by the pillows. Yet his eyes, those sharp gray eyes still held that same spark, dim but alive.
A nurse was adjusting the IV line that ran into his arm. Another stood near a monitor, typing something in. Beside the bed, the doctor from before looked up as we entered.
"Ah, Mr. Blackwood. Mrs. Blackwood," he greeted with a nod. "We're almost ready to begin the first phase of the treatment."
Kieran squeezed my hand and went to stand near his father's bedside, while I lingered a step behind, watching as the doctor prepared two clear bags. One was filled with a pale blue fluid, almost glowing under the light. The other was deep red, thicker, heavier-looking.
I shivered. The Angel and the Devil.
Donald noticed me and smiled weakly. "You look worried, sweetheart," he said, his voice hoarse but still carrying that gentle humor.
I stepped closer, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "I am worried. I just…" My voice broke. "Dad, is this really what you want?"
He studied me for a moment, his gaze soft. "No one ever really wants something like this, Genesis. But if it gives me one more chance to sit in that garden, one more chance to see my son stop pretending he's made of steel… then yes. I'll take it."
My chest tightened as tears pricked my eyes. I reached out and took his frail hand in mine, it felt cold, almost weightless.
The doctor spoke quietly to a nurse, who began connecting the red bag to one line and the blue one to another. The tubes ran into a joint valve leading to the IV.
"The blue sequence goes first," the doctor explained softly, as if speaking to us could make the moment less heavy. "It's the immune stimulant—what we call the Angel. After that, we introduce the Devil—the aggressive chemotherapy. They're opposites, meant to balance each other. We'll be monitoring closely."
Donald chuckled weakly. "An angel and a devil working together… never thought I'd live to see that."
Kieran managed a small smile, but his eyes never left his father's face.
The doctor nodded to the nurse, and the first drip began to flow. The blue fluid slid down the tube and into Donald's veins. I could see his eyelids flutter slightly, his breathing deepen.
"Temperature's stable," one nurse murmured.
But then came the red bag. The Devil. As it started to flow, Donald's hand tightened painfully around mine. His back arched slightly, a low groan escaping him.
"Dad….!" I gasped.
The doctor was calm but firm. "It's normal at the start. The compound burns as it enters the bloodstream. We're controlling the dosage."
Kieran moved closer, his hand gripping the bed rail so tightly his knuckles turned white. "He's in pain…."
"Please," the doctor said gently, "if we stop now, the balance breaks. We have to let the sequence finish."
Donald was shaking now, sweat forming on his forehead. I reached out and brushed his hair back, whispering, "You're okay. You're okay, Dad."
He forced a breathless laugh. "Don't… don't let your husband fire my doctor," he muttered, voice trembling.
That made Kieran's throat tighten, and for a moment, even he looked close to breaking.
The minutes dragged on like hours. Slowly, Donald's trembling eased. His breathing steadied, though his face was still ashen.
"It's done," the doctor finally said, lowering the IV rate. "The first sequence is complete. We'll keep him under observation for the next few hours."
I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until I felt it leave me.
Kieran exhaled shakily, his hand finding my shoulder. "He made it through the first part," he whispered.
I nodded, my eyes still on Donald, who had drifted into uneasy sleep.
But inside, something cold settled in my chest. Be
cause even as relief washed over me, I couldn't shake the thought—
If this was just the beginning… what would the rest of it do to him?