Azalea stood rooted to the spot as the man approached. His black suit was impeccable, his hair swept back. His face had matured since the last time she'd seen it, but his eyes were the same—cold, deep, impossible to read. Enzo, her late sister's husband, who had been living in Germany all this time, was standing right in front of her.
"A-Aza… lea?" Enzo's voice carried an uncertain edge, as though he didn't trust his own eyes. The name slipped from his lips slowly—a name he had once heard Jasmine, Azalea's older sister, speak with such tenderness. This woman's face bore such a striking resemblance to his late wife.
Azalea swallowed hard. Her heart pounded against her ribs. "Enzo…" His name came out barely louder than a breath.
"Daddy, you know Aunt Lea?" Elora tugged at the hem of his trouser leg, shattering the tension between them.
Azalea's gaze dropped to the little girl. Elora. A name she had heard for the first time only minutes ago, without knowing this child was her own flesh and blood.
She remembered clearly the news of her sister's death after giving birth to a baby girl. After that, all contact had been severed.
"She's… Jasmine's daughter?" Azalea's voice shook. She crouched slowly, studying the small face that was so heartbreakingly similar to her sister's. The eyes, the curve of the lips—as if a miniature Jasmine had come back to life before her.
Enzo gave a slight nod. "She's your mommy's little sister, El." His tone was flat, formal. None of the warmth Azalea had glimpsed years ago, when he and Jasmine had stood at their wedding.
"Mommy's little sister?" Elora tilted her head. "So she's Mommy's family? Like me and big brother Erza?"
Azalea stiffened. "Erza?" she whispered. Jasmine's firstborn.
She didn't know what to feel. Joy at finding the last remnants of her family still alive? Or grief over the years of silence that had separated them?
"That's right, El," Enzo told his daughter. "You can call her Auntie."
Azalea's eyes widened. She hadn't expected him to acknowledge her so readily. She had assumed he would stay distant, keep his guard up the way he always had.
"Then can Aunt Lea come to our house?" Elora gazed up, full of hope.
For a moment, Azalea met Enzo's eyes. There was a small, unspoken plea in hers.
But Enzo only said, "Some other time. It's late—time to go home. Grandma will be upset." His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument.
"Elora, let's go." He took the girl's hand.
"Okay, Daddy." Elora pouted slightly, then waved. "Aunt Lea, let's play together again soon, okay?"
"We will." Azalea smiled, fighting the tremor in her chest.
She wanted to ask so many things. About Jasmine. About how she had died. About why no one had reached out in all these years. About why they had been forgotten, and when Enzo had moved back to the country.
But Enzo was already walking away. The sleek black car pulled out and disappeared down the street.
Azalea stood alone at the edge of the parking lot, watching the taillights shrink into nothing. "I hope we meet again," she murmured.
The next morning, she woke early. Her eyes were swollen from crying, but she refused to let her resolve die. An email had come in overnight—an interview invitation. She had sent applications to several companies online just yesterday, and one had responded. A corporation called Kaiser Group.
Azalea put on a plain white blouse and a long black skirt. She ironed her headscarf carefully. She wanted to look presentable, even though she was only applying for a janitorial position. God, make this interview easy for me, she whispered before leaving.
Standing in front of the towering building, she froze. This was the same place she had met Elora and Enzo yesterday. Her pulse quickened, but she pushed the thought away. She had one focus: a job.
As she crossed the parking area, a car glided past at low speed. Azalea glanced over without thinking. Her chest locked tight.
The man behind the wheel looked exactly like her ex-husband.
Is that… Reza? She shook her head, sure she was seeing things.
But the car stopped not far from the entrance. And when Azalea walked past it, time seemed to halt.
It was Reza. In the passenger seat, a stylish woman was laughing, leaning into him. A moment later, the woman cupped Reza's face and kissed him.
Azalea stood motionless. The air left her lungs. "Reza…?" The name barely formed on her lips.
Reza's eyes bulged when he saw who was standing outside the car. "Azalea?!" he breathed.
"Who's that?" asked Nadia, the woman beside him.
"Nobody," Reza said quickly.
Four months ago, this man had divorced her, calling her barren. For four months, she had wept alone in her parents' abandoned house.
And now here he was, radiating happiness beside another woman.
"You work here?" Azalea asked, fighting to keep her voice level.
"You know Reza?" Nadia's tone turned sharp.
Reza opened his mouth, but Azalea spoke first. "He's my ex-husband."
Nadia flinched. Something shifted behind her eyes.
Reza exhaled, annoyed. "Ancient history," he said coldly. "What are you doing here?"
"I have an interview."
Nadia and Reza exchanged a glance. A thin smile crossed their faces—one Azalea could only read as mockery.
"Let's go inside," Nadia purred, hooking her arm through Reza's.
They walked ahead, leaving Azalea standing there with a storm churning inside her.
In the interview room, Azalea came face to face with Nadia again. The woman now sat behind an HR desk, her expression professional, her smile razor-thin.
After a brief round of questions, Nadia closed Azalea's application folder. "I'm sorry. Your qualifications don't meet our requirements."
Azalea's throat tightened. "But I applied for a janitorial position."
Nadia leaned back in her chair. "We still have standards."
Then, lowering her voice to something just above a whisper—quiet enough to be deniable, loud enough to cut: "A village girl with barely an education, thinking she can work at a company like this? Keep dreaming."
Azalea looked down. Her chest burned. She knew this wasn't about qualifications. It was about who she was—and who Reza had become. But she didn't fight back. She simply stood, bowed politely. "Thank you for your time."
She walked out of the room on legs that felt made of stone. Tears pressed behind her eyes, but she held them. She refused to cry in a place that didn't even want her.
As she reached for the elevator button, the doors opened. She stepped inside without thinking. A few people gave her strange looks. The elevator was spacious, quiet—and occupied by only two men.
"Enzo?" Azalea startled when she saw him standing in the corner beside a man in glasses.
"Who are you? That's extremely disrespectful," the bespectacled man—Ramon—scolded.
She hadn't realized. She had just walked into the executive elevator.
"What are you doing here?" Enzo asked flatly.
"I came for a job interview," she said quietly. "I didn't get it."
Enzo's gaze hardened. He looked her over from head to toe. The simple white headscarf. The slightly worn shoes. The application folder she gripped like a lifeline.
"Why not?"
"I didn't meet the criteria," Azalea answered with a thin, pained smile.
The elevator doors opened at the ground floor. Azalea hurried out, feeling as though she didn't belong anywhere near this place. But—
"Wait." Enzo's voice cut through, steady and commanding.
Her steps halted. She turned.
He walked toward her, leaving a bewildered Ramon behind. "You said you didn't get the job?"
"That's right."
"Then," Enzo looked at her squarely, "would you like to work for me?"
Azalea stared.
"As a nanny for my children," he continued.
Her heart seemed to stop. A nanny? For Elora… and Erza? It meant she could be close to her sister's flesh and blood.
But her pride? After being trampled by her ex-husband minutes ago, she was now being offered a position as a caretaker—in the very building where he worked?
Enzo was still watching her. "Your answer?" he asked, clipped and final.
And Azalea stood between two choices. Swallow her pride to survive. Or walk away, back into a city that had shown her no mercy.
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