Thirty-One
Ara
It is true—cancer destroys families. I know it now, deep in my bones.
Everything had been fine until the day we got the news. The doctor’s words hit us like a freight train: Ma had osteosarcoma—bone cancer. By the time it was diagnosed, it was already far too advanced. Papa blamed himself—said he should’ve pressed her harder, should’ve ignored her refusals to see a doctor when she complained about the pain in her joints. I think we all blamed ourselves.
Ma, the woman who used to race through the mornings around our mansion with a smile, no longer could. She couldn’t run anymore. Not because she didn’t want to but because her body was betraying her. The pain was too much. We should’ve seen the signs. We should’ve dragged her to the doctor.
The treatments drained her. We watched as the vibrant, full-of-life woman we knew slowly become a shadow of herself. But she never gave up. No, Ma was always the strongest person I knew. She fought with every ounce of her being, wearing a smile even when the treatments ravaged her. Despite the endless rounds of chemo, she still showed up for us, for our school events, and for the meetings at her NGOs. She never let us see how much it hurt.
Papa’s guilt was unbearable. Seeing Ma so fragile, so broken, tore him apart. The love they had—so deep, so unshakeable—was like something from a fairy tale. But watching her fade, piece by piece, took everything from him. It even bled into his work, into the business he had built. That was when Vir slithered into our lives like the snake he was.
I’m convinced now he waited for Ma to weaken. He wanted her to be less of a threat to his plans. He saw her as an obstacle, and as soon as he could, he wormed his way into Papa’s business undetected. He poisoned our lives and our trust in ways we never saw coming. He was always a quiet threat, like a shadow in the corner of a room.
Then came the light. The doctors told us Ma was cancer-free. I remember the flood of hope that washed over me like a dam breaking. She was alive. She had survived. But her heart had taken the worst of the treatment. It was weakened. The chemo had poisoned her body, but they said if we kept her stress-free, she’d be okay. She was still with us.
Papa—we all held on to him, praying for him to stay strong. When the doctors told us she had beaten cancer, I remember the relief on his face, the way he clung to Iyra and me, burying his face in our shoulders, crying for the first time in years. We thought that was it—the worst was behind us.
But hope was just a fleeting illusion. It didn’t last.
It hadn’t even been a week. Not even a single week. And then, the phone call. The officers said it was an accident. That Papa had been driving under the influence. But we knew. We knew better than anyone that Papa never drank. Never. He hated the very idea of it. His friends teased him about it, but he always shrugged it off. It was a part of who he was. But they didn’t listen. The bribes, the corruption—they wouldn’t hear us. They didn’t care. I wish I had killed Vir instead of the men who followed his orders.
When we saw Papa’s body, when we found him in the morgue, it was the final blow. Ma couldn’t take it. Her heart, already so weak, couldn’t survive the shock of seeing him lifeless.
I thought I understood the love they had, but I didn’t know it was so fragile, so dependent on each other. They were always two halves of a whole. Without him—without Papa—Ma was nothing. The doctors fought to save her, but it was too late.
We only had a few seconds. Just a few precious seconds. She held me. She held me tight like she didn’t want to let go.
"Live," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Be strong. Take care of your sister. Don’t apologise. Just live."
Then she looked at Iyra, who was clinging to her, begging her not to go. I will never forget the look in Ma’s eyes as she told me how much she loved me.
And then, just like that, hope died. It died with her.
I didn’t know how to keep going without her. Without them both.
Hope hasn’t been a part of my life since then. It feels like it never really existed at all.
I think it impacted my life deeply. So much so that I’ve decided if I am ever to contribute to something, it would be to eradicate this wretched disease off the earth. Stop it from destroying more families. Taking away the joy that was stolen from ours. And finally, after working nearly a decade on it, I have found what I was looking for.
Working in cancer research isn’t easy. It often kills the zeal and hope by the time one can even find something promising. I knew it when I chose this. I knew I had to be patient for my results, and finally, my patience has been rewarded. I’ve been trying for months, discarding millions of cells after their shelf life, trying to find the place of mutations on specific genes. After months of refining my novel sequencing protocol, the results are finally here. My gamble with the unconventional approach paid off.
My heart races so fast it feels like it might burst out of my chest. I stare at the screen in front of me, my fingers trembling over the keyboard. There it is—finally, undeniably there. The data aligns perfectly, the mutations and genetic markers I’ve been chasing for months, mapped and gleaming like tiny stars in the endless expanse of sequences.
I let out a sharp exhale, a laugh bubbling up that sounds more like a sob. The MYC genes—those damned, elusive oncogenes that have haunted every waking moment of my life—are no longer invincible. I’ve found them. The subtle mutations, the genetic breadcrumbs leading to their role in cancer’s chaos, laid bare before me. Each one is a tiny switch, capable of throwing the cell into unrelenting division. Each one is now a potential target.
The weight of the moment crashes over me. Months of frustration, weeks of sleepless nights, the days I spent staring at stubborn algorithms that refused to yield—it all feels so distant now. It was worth it. Every failure, every doubt—it was worth it.
My vision blurs as tears well up, and I drop my head into my hands. I’m shaking, laughing, crying all at once. This isn’t just data; it’s a lifeline. A chance to catch cancer in its earliest whispers before it can steal another love, another mother, another child.
The lights hum softly above me, their sterile glow suddenly warm, like quiet applause for what’s just happened. I think of the patients I’ve met, the ones who shared their stories in clinical trials, their voices trembling with hope. I think of Ma, whose loss I feel every day. This is for them. For her. For all the families out there like us.
I look back at the screen. The MYC genes. For years, they’ve been this fortress I couldn’t breach. But tonight, I’ve broken through. My obsession, my labour, my refusal to quit—it all led to this.
This isn’t the end—I know that. It’s just the beginning of something far bigger, something that might change lives. But right now, in this moment, I let myself breathe. I let myself smile. I let myself feel proud.
Just then, my phone pings, a message notification from Sean. He was completely understanding about us being just friends, and he’s genuinely curious about my research. He even helped me get cancer cell samples when I needed them urgently.
“Maybe I should call him. He’d appreciate this,” I mutter under my breath.
“Call who?”
A scream tumbles out of me at the sudden voice. My heart hammers in my chest as I turn to see none other than the devil himself standing in front of my lab doors. How the hell did he even get in? To enter my lab, you'd need a retina scan!
“How did you get in?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a menacing step forward, and suddenly my throat dries.
“Call who, Ara?”
Remember when I said his voice could drag out your deepest, darkest secrets? Well, it’s true.
“Sean,” I murmur reluctantly, my voice barely a whisper.
I know those eyes—darkening, shifting—he’s pissed. I see the muscle in his jaw twitch, and it tightens.
“One call to him, Ara, and I’ll make sure it’s his last.”
The way my temper flares at his ridiculous demands should be studied. Despite the anger burning inside, I meet his glare head-on.
“You wouldn’t.”
He steps right up to me, his presence swallowing me whole. Every step he takes sounds like a death sentence, and my heart beats so fast I can barely catch my breath. He leans in close, his body looming over mine, hands bracing on either side of the counter. I’m trapped.
“Try me.”
The temptation to call his bluff is intense, but I’m not willing to risk Sean’s life over this insane man.
“Keep him out of it,” I say, my voice firm.
His nostrils flare, and I can practically feel the grind of his teeth.
“Keep mentioning him, little siren. Watch what happens to him.”
I want to roll my eyes, but his closeness won’t allow me to. I’m surrounded by him—his body, his scent, his hands. I instinctively squeeze my legs together, trying to ignore the echo of what happened the last time we were this close.
“What’s wrong with sharing good news with a friend? What I did is monumental, you know?”
“I have no fucking clue what you did, but you’re a fucking genius,” he murmurs, his voice low, dangerous but also with a hint of admiration. “Anything about your success, you come to me. You tell me. If anyone dares to fuck with you? You come to me. When I said I own you, I own you in every fucking way, little siren.”
He steps closer, his body pressing against mine, his breath ghosting over my lips. “No one gets the privilege of seeing that smile unless it’s for me. Only me.” His hand slides up to my face, and he runs his thumb over the slit in my bottom lip, the one still tingling from the sting of his last kiss.
“That doctor who took you on a date? He’s already on my list. Keep pushing him to the top. I’ll enjoy making him bleed while you watch.”
“You sound ridiculous.”
“Ask me how many fucks I give about that.”
He leans in closer, close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips. My gaze drops to those lips—those damn lips. I can still feel the sting of his last kiss, the burn on my bottom lip that makes me ache to be kissed again, the wound he left that makes me want more.
Something is seriously wrong with me. Every time he’s near, my foundations crack. Everything I thought I was, every belief I had, gets shattered, and I stand there, a stranger to myself, desperate to be devoured by him. I want him to kiss me, I want him to do much more, but I won’t give in. I can’t let him think that this Neanderthal behaviour is acceptable.
Just then, the automatic door slides open, and I’m saved.
Turning, I smile as Cas, walks into the lab, dragging his bag. I give Yuri a thankful smile for picking him up for me and he gives me a nod. He keeps his vigil, right outside the lab after greeting his boss who nods at him.
“Hey, buddy!” I ruffle Cas’s hair and plant a kiss on his head. “How was your day?”
“Good,” Cas replies, his tone serious. “We learned about fractal geometry.”
His focus shifts, locking onto Zagan. My stomach twists at the silent exchange between them. Cas doesn’t look away, tilting his head slightly in a way that’s eerily similar to the way Zagan and Eero do.
“Cas, this is Mr Devlin,” I say, my voice light, though my nerves tingle with unease. “Mr Devlin, this is my son, Cas.”
Zagan gives a small nod, his expression unreadable, while Cas tilts his head further, scrutinising him.
“I know him,” Cas says suddenly, and my heart skips a beat. “Aunt Ivy and you talk about him all the time.”
Heat floods my face as I freeze, too mortified to look at Zagan. His gaze, however, is heavy on me, filled with questions I don’t want to answer.
Cas, oblivious to the tension, keeps staring at Zagan with a curiosity I’ve never seen before. And Zagan—he looks back at him with something new in his eyes, something unnameable but deeply unsettling. Is this some kind of stare-off?
“I’m sorry I have to work late,” I say, guilt tugging at me.
Cas turns to me, shaking his head with a small, knowing smile. “I like it here. It’s more interesting than our house.”
I can’t help but smile back as he goes to flip through my notes, his inquisitive eyes scanning my materials and monitor with the kind of focus that never ceases to amaze me. I glance at Zagan, curious to see if his attention has shifted, but it hasn’t. Unlike his usual intensity, his gaze is calm, almost thoughtful. Why a man like him—powerful, busy, and shrouded in danger—would spend time here, listening to me ramble about science most people don’t care about, remains a mystery.
“Would you like something to drink?” I ask, “I have water and grape juice.”
Cas nods slightly, distracted by my notebook filled with my research notes. I’m obsessive about keeping my lab spotless—no food or drinks allowed—but Cas is the exception. Always.
Zagan, however, shakes his head, his gaze drifting to Cas, who studies my notes with his usual seriousness. Then, he looks up, his small brow furrowed in thought.
“You’ll need to develop specific antibodies to counter the mutations next, right?” he asks, his tone matter-of-fact.
My breath catches for a moment, as it always does when his brilliance shines through. The way he concentrates, the slight crinkle between his brows—it’s impossible not to reach out and gently pinch his cheek before kissing his temple.
“Yes, my brilliant little scientist,” I reply, my voice full of pride.
He nods, satisfied, and hands me back the notebook. After a moment, he adds with a sly grin, “This is too easy. I’m sticking with physics.”
I gasp dramatically, clutching my chest like he’s mortally wounded me. “You cheeky little runt!”
Cas bursts out laughing, the sound light and unrestrained, before turning his attention to Zagan. To my surprise, he pulls a sandwich from his bag—breaking one of my most sacred lab rules—and tears it in half, offering one piece to Zagan.
Without hesitation, Zagan takes it, his movements so natural it feels as though they’ve done this a hundred times before. That’s ridiculous though. This is the first time they’ve ever met.
My gaze flicks between them, watching as Cas climbs onto the counter with ease. Sitting there, he starts explaining to Zagan why physics—specifically quantum physics—is the most fascinating thing in the universe. He pauses occasionally to throw me a compliment, acknowledging my brilliance in genetics, but insists dark matter is far more spellbinding.
It’s adorable, watching him gesticulate, his tiny hands moving with exaggerated importance. But what truly catches me off guard is Zagan’s response. He listens—intently. There’s no trace of his usual impatience or sharp edges. Thinking back, I’ve never seen him impatient. Angry, broody and downright devilish? Yes. But never impatient.
When Cas struggles to open his water bottle, Zagan unscrews it effortlessly. When the sandwich wrapper becomes a nuisance, Zagan disposes of it without a word.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think they already knew each other. I want to question more about this rapport, but watching Cas open up and converse without having to force him is a miracle in itself. I'm not about to look a gift horse in its mouth.
Their dynamic is unexpectedly seamless, and as I stand there watching, my heart twists. For all of Zagan’s power and danger, he seems... different in this moment. Almost human. Almost safe.
And yet, I can’t shake the unease curling in my chest. Zagan and my son sharing this easy camaraderie—it’s heartwarming, but it’s also terrifying.
Because if Zagan is becoming a part of my life, that means he’s becoming a part of our life. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that.