Donald's eyes went wide when he noticed Genesis standing in the doorway, her gaze flickering from the bloodied napkin in his hand to the pallor of his face. Before he could say a word, his son rushed into the kitchen.
At first, Kieran's eyes found Genesis. Then he followed her stare, and his breath caught when he saw the napkin clutched in his father's hand. The words on his lips died, his throat tightening.
"Dad… what's…" His voice faltered as Donald quickly turned toward the sink, hiding his face.
Kieran stepped forward, brow furrowing deeper with every step. "What's going on? Why is there blood?" His voice was sharp, demanding, but underneath it lay something else—fear.
Genesis lingered at the door, her chest tight, her mind caught on the image of red blooming across white. Something was wrong. Deeply, terribly wrong.
Donald's back was rigid. His grip on the sink was so fierce his knuckles blanched. Then, slowly, he turned.
A practiced smile tugged at his weathered face. "It's nothing. I'm fine. Must just be stress."
But Kieran wasn't listening. Not really. For the first time in years, he truly looked at his father—not as Donald Blackwood, the untouchable titan of wealth and power, but as a man. A mortal man of flesh and bone. His father.
And he saw it. The hollowness in Donald's cheeks. The dark shadows etched under his eyes. The way his skin sagged, not just with age, but with something far heavier. Something eating away at him.
The words clawed at Kieran's throat, sharp and jagged, but he forced them out anyway.
"What's the diagnosis?"
Donald let out a laugh, too light, too rehearsed. "Diagnosis? You've been watching too many medical dramas, Kieran. I told you, it's stress. Your old man's fine."
But his eyes flickered. Just for a heartbeat. Enough.
"Don't lie to me." Kieran's voice cut through the room, steady but strained. He stepped closer, gaze hard and unyielding. "What did the doctor say?"
Genesis's fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt, her throat closing. She had never heard Knight's voice like this—bare, stripped of command, trembling with a demand born of desperation.
Donald's jaw clenched. His grip trembled against the sink. "Kieran…"
"Tell me." His son's voice was steel. "Now."
The silence stretched, thick, suffocating. Only Donald's shallow breaths filled it. Then, with a sigh that seemed to drain his entire body, he set the bloodied napkin down on the counter. When he lifted his gaze, the mask was gone.
"Stage four." His voice was quiet, ragged. "Lymphoma."
The world tilted.
Genesis's lips parted, but no sound came. Her heart pounded violently, her vision swimming as the words echoed mercilessly in her head. Stage four. Stage four. Stage four.
Kieran didn't move. Couldn't. For the first time in years—maybe in his entire life—his body refused him. His father's words were knives, slicing deep and twisting.
"You…" His voice cracked, strangled. "You knew. All this time. And you didn't tell me?"
Donald's smile was soft, weary, heartbreakingly human. "Because it's not your burden to carry, son. Not yours. Not hers." His eyes drifted briefly to Genesis, warm with a tenderness that only made her tears burn hotter.
Kieran's fists clenched at his sides. Every muscle screamed to rage, to demand, to fight. But this—this he couldn't control. He couldn't buy it. He couldn't kill it.
Genesis stepped forward, her voice trembling. "You're dying…"
Donald's gaze softened on her, though his smile never reached his pale face. "Not today, sweetheart. Not tonight. We still have time."
But Genesis couldn't breathe past the lump in her throat. Stage four. No cure. The words wouldn't stop circling.
And beside her, Knight stood frozen, chest rising too fast, his eyes locked on his father like he was already watching him slip away.
For the first time in his life, Kieran Blackwood looked terrified.
****
The next day.
The hospital.
The room was too white. Too cold. Genesis hated the smell already, the sharp, sterile bite that clung to her lungs. Donald sat slouched in the corner, pale but trying to look calm. Genesis was beside him, tears still drying on her cheeks, her small hands gripping his like an anchor.
Kieran paced like a caged animal, dark suit and darker eyes making the sterile walls seem smaller. His jaw ticked, teeth grinding, and when the doctor entered, he nearly lunged.
"Well?" Kieran's voice was razor sharp. "You've run your tests. Tell me what the fuck is happening to my father."
The doctor adjusted his glasses, his voice steady in the face of the storm. "Mr. Blackwood… the cancer is aggressive. Stage four lymphoma. At this point, it's critical. Without intervention, we are looking at months. Perhaps less."
Genesis's breath hitched, fresh tears burning her eyes. Donald's hand tightened around hers. He didn't flinch. He didn't react at all.
Kieran, however, stepped forward, towering, his glare like a blade. "Months? That's your answer? Months?" His voice rose, booming through the room. "You're telling me the best medicine in the country has nothing? No fucking cure?"
"Kieran…" Donald rasped, but his son didn't even glance at him.
The doctor cleared his throat, nerves flickering in his eyes before he continued carefully. "There is… something."
Genesis's head snapped up. Donald's jaw tightened.
The doctor's tone dropped, almost hesitant. "An experimental protocol. We call it The Angel and The Devil. It combines two opposing treatments, one extremely aggressive chemotherapy sequence, and a targeted immunotherapy not yet widely approved. The results… can be remarkable. In some patients, it has driven the cancer into remission."
Genesis's tears stilled, her heart leaping, only to plummet again when she caught the way the doctor's voice dipped.
"And the cost?" Donald asked quietly.
The doctor hesitated. Then: "The side effects are brutal. We are talking about organ damage, nerve deterioration, and in many cases, permanent loss of mobility. Pain. Constant pain. In some cases…" He exhaled. "The treatment kills faster than the disease itself."
Genesis's hand flew to her mouth, horrified.
Donald let out a low, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "So you're telling me I get to pick whether the cancer kills me, or your miracle cure does it first."
But Kieran's eyes sharpened, a dangerous glint igniting. "It could work." His voice was cold, determined, as though he'd already decided. "You said remission. That means life. That means more time."
Donald finally looked at his son, voice sharp. "At what cost? You want me alive but broken, screaming in agony for you to feel like you won against this thing?"
Kieran's jaw tightened, fists clenching. "I don't care how much it costs. You're not dying. Not like this."
Genesis shook her head, her voice breaking. "But if it hurts him…. "
"Not now, Genesis." The words were out before Kieran could stop himself, his voice cutting like a whip. Genesis flinched, and his eyes flickered to her, guilt flashing but gone just as quick. He turned back to the doctor.
"Sign him up. Whatever it takes. Start it today. I'm not… I'm not burying you, not now."
Donald's weary laugh broke through the silence. "Christ, boy… you'd burn the world just to keep me in it."
Kieran's gaze locked on him, burning, unrelenting. "Yes," he said simply.
And Genesis saw it then, the crack in his armor. This wasn't her steady, unshakable Kieran. This was a man cornered, terrified, and that terrified her more than anything.