The mansion was silent, wrapped in the stillness of night.
Moonlight slipped through the curtains, painting silver across the bedroom walls. Leah slept peacefully beside him, her breathing soft, steady. One hand rested over his, fingers loosely intertwined.
Izana stirred.
The nightmare came fast.
Cold metal against his back. Leather straps cutting into his wrists. The sharp sting of needles piercing his skin again and again.
Bright light above him.
And Caesar's voice.
"You will be perfect. You will not fail me."
Young Izana thrashed against the restraints.
"I don't want this!" he screamed in the dream.
But the straps held.
The injections continued.
Pain flooded his veins — hot, violent, relentless.
"You are not a child. You are my creation."
Izana jolted awake.
His chest heaved. Sweat clung to his skin. His heart pounded so hard it hurt.
For a moment he didn't know where he was.
Then he felt it.
Leah's hand.
Still holding his.
Even in her sleep.
He looked down at her.
She hadn't woken up.
Her face was peaceful.
His breathing slowly steadied.
"You're safe," he whispered quietly, though he wasn't sure if he meant her or himself.
He brushed his thumb against her knuckles.
But the nightmare lingered.
The word creation echoed in his mind.
He swallowed hard.
"I need answers," he muttered.
Carefully, he slipped out of bed. Leah shifted slightly but didn't wake.
At the doorway, he paused and looked back at her.
"I'll be right back. I promise," he said softly.
The medical corridor was dim and unnaturally quiet.
His footsteps echoed faintly.
He turned a corner —
—and collided with someone.
Papers flew everywhere.
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" a nurse gasped, immediately crouching to gather the fallen files.
"That was my fault," Izana replied calmly, kneeling to help. "I wasn't paying attention."
They both reached for scattered folders.
His hand stopped mid-air.
Leah Grimshaw.
Her name was printed clearly across the tab.
His fingers tightened around it.
The nurse noticed instantly.
"Sir… please don't," she said quickly, reaching for it.
Izana stood slowly, still holding the file.
"What is this?" His voice was controlled. Too controlled.
"It's confidential," she replied, visibly nervous.
"It has my wife's name on it."
"You're not authorized to read that."
His crimson eyes darkened slightly.
"I don't need authorization to know what happened to my wife."
"Sir, I really think—."
He opened it.
The hallway fell silent.
His eyes scanned the page.
The date made his stomach drop.
Two years ago.
Three days before he disappeared.
His gaze moved lower.
Kidnapping.
Severe physical handling.
Extreme stress.
Miscarriage.
The word blurred.
He blinked.
Read it again.
"She…" His voice caught slightly. "She was pregnant?"
The nurse froze.
Izana slowly lifted his gaze to her.
"Answer me."
Her expression softened.
"Yes."
The air left his lungs.
"She lost our child?"
Another nod.
"Yes."
He stared at the page like it might change if he looked long enough.
"I… didn't know," he said quietly.
"You weren't told," the nurse replied carefully.
"Why the hell wasn't I told?" His voice sharpened, but it wasn't directed at her. It was disbelief.
"You disappeared shortly after," she explained. "And she didn't want you to blame yourself."
He gave a short, hollow laugh.
"Blame myself?" He looked back down at the file. "She was kidnapped. She was hurt. She lost our child. And I was still here."
He remembered that week vividly.
The panic. The anger. Not reaching her in time. The curse overtaking him.
Then leaving days later.
Never knowing.
"I should've been there," he muttered.
Before the nurse could react, he turned and drove his fist into the wall.
The crack echoed sharply through the corridor.
"Sir!" she gasped.
Pain shot through his knuckles. Skin split instantly. Blood welled along his fingers.
He stared at his hand.
Then hit the wall again.
Harder.
"Stop!" the nurse rushed forward. "You're going to break your hand!"
"I don't care," he said through clenched teeth.
Blood dripped onto the polished floor.
She grabbed gauze from her pocket.
"Please, let me treat it."
"No." His voice was firm.
"Sir, you're injured."
"She went through worse," he replied quietly.
The nurse hesitated.
"You couldn't have prevented what happened."
He looked at her sharply.
"You don't know that."
"You were trying to find her."
"And I wasn't fast enough." His jaw tightened. "Damn it… I wasn't fast enough."
He pressed his bleeding knuckles against the wall again, not striking this time — just holding the pain there.
"I was supposed to protect her," he said. "That's my job."
"You're human," the nurse said softly.
He gave a faint, bitter smile.
"I wasn't raised to be."
Silence stretched between them.
"At least let me clean it," she tried again.
He shook his head slowly.
"Not now."
He bent down, picked up the file, and stared at Leah's name one more time.
"She carried that alone," he murmured.
"She didn't want to burden you," the nurse repeated gently.
"She never should've had to protect me from this."
He handed the folder back.
"Keep it."
"Are you going to tell her you know?" the nurse asked carefully.
His expression shifted.
Pain.
Conflict.
"I don't know."
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer right away.
Then, quietly:
"No. I'm not."
And for the first time, it sounded honest.
He turned and walked away, leaving faint drops of blood behind him.
Inside his office, he shut the door and locked it.
He stared at his injured hand.
Swollen.
Split.
Trembling slightly.
He opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.
No glass.
He took a long drink.
The burn steadied him.
"She was pregnant…" he whispered.
A child.
His child.
Gone before he ever knew it existed.
He leaned back in his chair and pressed his injured hand against the edge of the desk. Pain flared sharply.
He didn't pull away.
"I should've been there," he said softly.
Upstairs, Leah still slept peacefully.
Unaware that he now knew.
Unaware that something inside him had shifted.
He took another slow drink.
And sat alone in the dark, the silence heavier than before.