Chapter 4

"All right," Azalea said quietly.

Two small words that felt impossibly heavy—yet carried a fragile thread of hope. Maybe this was her path to the children. Maybe this was God's way of reuniting her with the last pieces of her sister's blood.

Enzo glanced at her briefly. "You're coming home with me. Now."

Not an invitation. Not a request. An order.

Azalea nodded and followed him to the parking garage. A gleaming black car waited. She slid into the back seat while Enzo took the wheel himself.

The drive passed in silence. Only the engine's hum and the noise of traffic filled the space between them. Azalea stole a look at his reflection in the rearview mirror. His face was unreadable—jaw set, eyes locked on the road.

Once, whenever Jasmine talked about her husband, it was always good things. "Enzo's the quiet type, Lea. But he notices everything. He remembers the little details."

The man Azalea saw now was something else entirely. Distant, cold, and wrapped in an air that bordered on arrogance.

The car turned into an elite gated community—tall iron gates, uniformed guards, immaculate lawns stretching before grand houses that stood in silent rows. They stopped before a two-story mansion with soaring pillars and crystal chandeliers visible through the windows.

Azalea stared. She had never imagined Enzo lived like this. The house looked like a small palace.

"Out," Enzo said.

She followed him through the front door. The moment it swung open—

CRASH!

The sound of something heavy shattering against the floor made Azalea jump. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Enzo was already striding into the living room. "What now?!" His voice cracked through the house like a whip.

Azalea hurried after him. The scene in the family room made her chest ache. Shards of a large porcelain vase littered the floor. A tablet lay nearby, its screen spider-webbed with cracks. Water from a toppled flower arrangement soaked into an expensive carpet.

In the middle of the wreckage stood a boy of about five, face flushed red with rage. Minah cowered nearby, pale and silent.

"Aunt Lea!" Elora sprinted toward Azalea, her face beaming as if nothing had happened. She threw her arms around Azalea's legs.

Azalea scooped the girl up instinctively.

"Daddy, I hate Minah! Get rid of her!" the boy shouted, whipping around to glare at Enzo and Azalea.

"Daddy, I told you—no more nannies!" Erza's voice was loud. Furious.

Azalea's breath caught. She remembered him as a toddler—sweet, giggly, splashing in mud puddles in the village fields. The child standing before her now was a small bundle of rage, eyes burning with defiance.

"Why are you throwing a fit?" Enzo stood directly in front of his son.

"Minah's always bossing me around!" Erza fired back.

"What happened, Minah?" Enzo asked without inflection.

"He has tutoring today, sir," Minah answered in a near-whisper. "But he refused to go."

"I don't want to study!" Erza screamed again.

Azalea felt a strange, piercing ache in her chest. This child wasn't simply angry. He was holding something much deeper inside.

"What's going on here?" A soft but commanding voice drifted down from the staircase.

An elegant woman descended with measured steps. Her hair was swept into a neat chignon. Her dress was expensive, and the scent of fine perfume preceded her.

Is that… Enzo's mother? Azalea thought.

"Erza's having another meltdown, Mom. He won't go to tutoring," Enzo reported flatly.

"If he doesn't want to go, don't force him," Elsa said with a wave of her hand. "Pushing children isn't good for their development."

Azalea held her tongue, though her brow furrowed slightly. Now she understood. No boundaries. No firmness tempered with warmth.

"Who is she?" Elsa's gaze swept over Azalea from head to toe.

"The new nanny," Enzo answered.

Azalea set Elora down gently and bowed respectfully. "Good afternoon, ma'am. My name is Azalea."

Elsa didn't return the greeting. Her eyes appraised. "Are you sure about hiring her, Enzo?" she fired off. "What school did she go to? Does she have experience? What if she hurts the children?"

"God forgive me," Azalea murmured under her breath. The words hit like a slap.

"This is the family Jasmine always described as respectable and warm?"

"I'm confident she can handle it," Enzo said firmly, though his face remained blank.

Elsa shrugged. "Fine. I'm heading out—I have a luncheon and a friend's salon opening." She turned and left as if the chaos behind her was somebody else's problem.

The house fell quiet. Azalea moved toward Erza slowly. "Hi, Erza. Do you remember Aunt Lea?" she asked gently.

The boy glared at her. "Who are you? Don't act like you know me. I don't know you." Every word was a small blade.

"Big brother, Aunt Lea is Mommy's sister," Elora piped up innocently. "She's nice. She played with me."

Erza went still for a moment, then fixed Azalea with a suspicious look.

"Maybe you've forgotten," Azalea said softly, swallowing the tremor in her voice. "When your mommy was alive, you used to visit the village. We swam in the river. Played in the rice paddies—"

"I don't remember," Erza cut her off.

Azalea smiled thinly. "That's okay." She reached out and rested her hand on his small shoulder.

"Come on, let's play with Aunt Lea!" Elora bounced with excitement.

"No! I want to play my game!" Erza grabbed a phone from the table.

"Nooo!" Elora shrieked in frustration.

Azalea watched them both, her heart slowly crumbling. These children weren't bad. They were starved for real affection.

Enzo turned to leave without ceremony. "I'm going to the office," he said, and was gone.

Now Azalea stood alone—no instructions, no guidance. Just two small children carrying invisible wounds.

"I know a game way more fun than anything on that screen," Azalea announced suddenly.

Erza looked up. "What game?"

"Come outside."

Curiosity beat stubbornness. In the side yard, Azalea asked Minah to bring water, liquid soap, and a few thin sticks bent into small circles.

"What's that?" Erza asked, skeptical.

"A secret," Azalea answered with a grin. She dipped one of the wire loops into the soapy water and blew gently. Rainbow-tinted bubbles drifted upward, catching the afternoon light.

Elora clapped her hands. "Wow!"

Erza stared, transfixed. For the first time all day, the fury drained from his face.

"Your turn," Azalea said.

Erza hesitated—then tried. A stream of bubbles floated free. He laughed, small and surprised. That laugh made Azalea's eyes sting with tears she fought to hide.

They played for hours. Chasing bubbles. Laughing. Eating lunch together. Azalea read them a story before their afternoon nap.

When Erza and Elora fell asleep side by side, their faces looked so innocent. So fragile. Azalea sat beside the bed, watching them for a long, quiet moment.

"Minah," she whispered after they slipped out of the room.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Does this happen often? What we saw today?"

Minah nodded slowly. "Yes. Especially Erza. When he's angry, he throws things. He's even hurt himself before."

Azalea closed her eyes. The pain in her chest was almost physical.

"Do you think it's because they don't have enough love?" Minah continued softly. "Especially a mother's love?"

The words cut like a knife. Azalea held her breath. She remembered Jasmine's face—always smiling, always full of life.

She remembered the promise she had made to herself: that if she ever got the chance, she would take care of her sister's children. Now that chance had arrived. And she would not waste it. Even though her own heart was still full of wounds.

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