The weeks following their confrontation with Nathan bring a sense of uneasy peace. The art world continues to buzz with their success, and Iris finds herself at the center of a growing circle of admiration and opportunity. Yet, despite the acclaim, there's an undercurrent of doubt she can't shake. She's still grappling with the consequences of her past and the fractured family she's never fully addressed. The past has a way of lingering, and for Iris, it's beginning to feel like it's slowly pulling her back into the shadows she's fought so hard to escape.
Cassian has noticed the change in her—how her smiles are starting to feel less genuine, her silences more burdened. He tries to offer comfort, but he doesn't fully understand the depth of her pain, nor does she know how to voice it. There's always been a distance between them when it comes to her past, and it's becoming harder to bridge that gap.
One evening, as they work together in the studio on their next project—a new piece for an upcoming exhibition—Cassian gently places a hand on her shoulder, his voice soft but insistent. "Iris, what's going on? You've been quiet, even for you."
Iris tenses at the question, her eyes darting to the canvas in front of her, the swirling colors and shapes a stark contrast to the turmoil inside her. She wants to tell him, to open up and share the weight she's been carrying, but the words are elusive. How could she explain the suffocating pressure of the past that threatens to consume her?
"I'm just... tired," Iris says, her voice shaky, though she quickly tries to cover it up with a forced smile. "It's nothing."
Cassian doesn't buy it. He studies her for a long moment before leaning in closer. "Iris, you don't have to carry this alone. You've got me. Let me in."
The sincerity in his voice tugs at her, but she pulls back, instinctively retreating into her shell. She's not ready to let him in—not completely. The fear of burdening him with her pain, of pushing him away like she did everyone else, is too much.
"I... can't," she whispers, her gaze falling to her hands. "I don't know how to explain it. I've never talked about it."
Cassian doesn't push her further, but the hurt in his eyes is evident. Instead, he gently pulls her into a warm embrace, holding her tightly, as if he could absorb some of the weight she's carrying. It's a quiet comfort, but Iris can feel the depth of his care. For the first time in what feels like forever, she allows herself to lean into the embrace, her heart aching with a mixture of relief and sorrow.
Later that night, as Iris lies awake, the memories of her brother's death begin to resurface—images of the night he died, the silence that followed, and the hole it left in her heart. She's spent so long running from these memories, burying them beneath layers of art and silence, but they've never truly gone away. They're still there, waiting to be acknowledged.
Iris knows she needs to confront the past, but she's terrified of what that might mean—for her, for her relationship with Cassian, and for her future. The fear of unraveling the delicate threads of her life haunts her.
Meanwhile, Cassian, too, is struggling with his own demons. He's always prided himself on being the one to protect others, to be the strong, unshakable figure everyone relies on. But as he watches Iris pull further away, he realizes he's not sure how to be the support she needs. His own family's expectations and the pressure of his success are starting to weigh heavily on him, and he doesn't want to burden Iris with his struggles—especially not now, when she's clearly dealing with her own pain.
The tension between them begins to mount, and their once-easy conversations grow quieter, more strained. The art they've been creating feels disconnected, as if their unspoken fears are bleeding into their work.
On the night of the opening for their latest exhibition, where they'll unveil their latest piece—a mosaic of broken pieces pieced together in an intricate pattern—Cassian notices Iris's absence from the crowd. She's somewhere in the back of the gallery, standing in front of their piece, her eyes lost in the artwork, her expression distant.
Approaching her, Cassian says softly, "Iris, are you okay?"
She turns to him, the mask of composure slipping for just a moment, revealing the vulnerability she's been hiding. Her eyes glisten with unspoken pain, but she quickly averts her gaze, afraid to let him see how much she's struggling.
"I... I don't know, Cassian," she whispers. "I'm not sure who I am anymore."
Cassian's heart breaks at her words. He reaches out, taking her hand in his, and this time, he doesn't let go.
"You don't have to have all the answers," he says gently. "But you don't have to figure it out alone. Let me help you."
For a moment, Iris hesitates. The thought of letting someone fully in—of sharing all her fears, her doubts, her scars—terrifies her. But Cassian's presence feels like a lifeline, a thread she's unwilling to break. Slowly, she nods, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Okay."