Chapter 2
Iris
Vanessa Montgomery's room was completely different from the ostentatious luxury downstairs. It was warm and quiet.
A silver-haired elderly woman sat in a rocking chair by the window, looking at the roses in the garden.
When I saw Vanessa, my anger instantly disappeared. She looked so fragile, so in need of love. Alzheimer's had already stolen the light from her eyes, but she still maintained an elegant posture.
"Hello, Mrs. Vanessa." I said softly, slowly walking toward her. "I'm Iris, here to take care of you."
Vanessa looked up at me, her gaze confused, but when I extended my hand, she instinctively took it.
I could feel Atlas watching us from behind. When I looked back at him, his expression was complex—no longer the cold mockery from before, but something like... confusion?
"What time does she usually have dinner?" I asked him. "And her medication schedule, plus what activities she enjoys?"
Atlas seemed startled by these questions. "I... Gerald will give you the details."
'He doesn't even know his own grandmother's basic routine.' I judged silently.
"Vanessa, would you like to walk in the garden?" I suggested. "The roses outside are blooming beautifully."
"Roses..." Vanessa's eyes brightened.
When I turned to take Vanessa out, Atlas suddenly spoke.
"Don't think acting gentle will make me soft." His voice turned cold again. "This isn't a charity."
I didn't reply and left.
The next day, I organized Vanessa's medication schedule.
"Miss Caldwell, this arrangement is truly professional," Gerrard nodded. "Mrs. Montgomery's mental state has been noticeably better these past couple of days."
Vanessa sat in her favorite armchair, watching the garden. Her mental clarity today was indeed better than yesterday, eyes more alert.
'This is what professional care means,' I thought.
The front door slammed shut. Atlas's footsteps echoed through the hallway.
"What the hell is going on here?" His voice carried from the foyer, clearly displeased.
I turned to see him at the living room entrance, still in his suit, eyebrows furrowed as he surveyed the room. His gaze stopped at the relocated medicine cabinet, then shifted to my care chart.
"What have you done to my house?" Atlas approached, tone ice-cold. "The medicine cabinet's been moved, there's some nutrition chart on the dining table, and you've even changed my grandmother's schedule. Are you here to care for an elderly woman or to renovate my home?"
Gerrard started to explain, but Atlas waved him off.
I kept my composure. "These are standard care protocols, Mr. Montgomery. Adjusting medication timing improves efficacy, and dietary modifications help enhance cognitive function."
"Standard protocols?" Atlas scoffed. "I don't recall authorizing you to rearrange the rules of this household."
"Then what would you prefer I do?" I met his eyes directly. "Sit there and do nothing while watching Vanessa's condition deteriorate?"
Atlas paused, clearly not expecting such a response.
"These changes benefit her condition," I continued. "If you find them inappropriate, I can explain the medical rationale behind each adjustment."
The room fell silent.
Atlas looked at his grandmother, complex emotion flashing across his eyes before he resumed his cold demeanor. "I don't need to hear your medical explanations. Just remember—this is my house, not your laboratory."
He turned and headed upstairs, leaving Gerrard and me exchanging glances.
'How can he be like this?' Anger surged within me.
At 2 AM, sounds from Vanessa's room awakened me.
I found her sitting on the bed's edge, gripping the sheets, eyes filled with confusion and fear.
Typical nighttime agitation. I approached gently: "Vanessa, I'm Iris. You're safe, you're at home."
"No, that's not right," she shook her head, trying to stand.
I gently took her hands, guiding her back down. "It's nighttime now—you need to sleep."
"But I'm scared," her voice became childlike. "There are people waiting for me in the dark."
I sat on the bed's edge, softly stroking her hands. "No one will hurt you. I'm here with you. Let's listen to the sounds outside—hear that? Those are night birds singing, telling you everything is safe."
I began humming a lullaby softly. Gradually, Vanessa's breathing became steady, the fear in her eyes fading.
I didn't notice the figure standing outside the door.
"Iris?" Vanessa suddenly said.
"I'm here."
"Thank you," she closed her eyes. "It's been so long since someone stayed with me like this."
Only after ensuring she was completely asleep did I quietly leave.
At the doorway, I nearly collided with Atlas standing in the hallway, wearing a robe, hair disheveled.
We locked eyes, air thick with awkward silence.
"Is this situation considered normal?" he asked.
"Nighttime agitation is common in Alzheimer's patients," I whispered back. "But with proper handling, it usually doesn't last long."
He nodded, returned to his room. But I heard his sigh before he closed the door.
The next morning, I overheard Atlas telling Gerrard: "She's... adequate."
'Adequate?' I almost laughed. But I detected something else in his tone—perhaps reluctant acknowledgment?
That afternoon, while trimming roses in the garden, my phone rang.
"Iris, how's it going?" Reed's voice was urgent.
I hesitated. "Reed, I think Atlas might not be as bad as you described. He cares about his grandmother, just doesn't express it well."
"What?" Reed's voice rose. "Iris, you're not falling for his act, are you? Those types are experts at playing the victim."
"It's not an act," I glanced toward the house. "Last night when Vanessa had agitation, he was worried sick. And although he's cold verbally, he's never stopped me from doing anything beneficial for Vanessa."
Reed was silent, then said firmly: "Iris, don't be fooled by appearances."
"Reed—"
"Listen to me," he interrupted. "You need to find a way into his private spaces, find something to use against him."
I felt uneasy. "You want me to go through his personal belongings?"
"If necessary, yes. Iris, this is about our future. You don't want to be crushed by debt forever, do you?"
After hanging up, I stood conflicted.
'Reed's right—we need to escape this debt. But...' I thought of Atlas's worry last night.
At dinner, Atlas didn't appear. Gerrard said he was working in his study.
After giving Vanessa her evening medication, I passed the study and saw the light still on.
Movement from Vanessa's room made me check. She was awake again, sitting on the bed's edge.
"Vanessa? What's wrong?"
She looked at me, eyes surprisingly lucid. "Iris, come sit down. I have something to tell you."
I sat beside the bed. She took my hands, voice serious: "I know Atlas is cold to you, but please don't mind it. He's been like this since childhood, using coldness to protect himself."
"After his parents died, I was the only one who truly loved him. But I'm old now, sick. He feels like he's going to lose family again." Tears glistened in her eyes. "This boy needs someone to love him, truly love him."
The study door opened. Atlas emerged, probably having heard sounds.
He saw me by Vanessa's bed, paused, then approached.
"Grandmother, why are you awake again?" His voice was gentle.
Vanessa looked at him, then said clearly: "Atlas, this girl is a good person. You need to treat her better."
Atlas froze, his gaze shifting between Vanessa and me. I could feel complex emotions in his eyes—surprise, confusion, and something I couldn't identify.
"Grandmother, you should rest."
"Promise me," Vanessa looked at him persistently. "Treat her better."
Atlas didn't answer, but his gaze turned to me as I organized medications.
Our eyes met, and something in the air seemed to shift.
And I began to question whether Reed's words were entirely accurate.
Was this man really the cold-blooded creditor I'd imagined?
