Chapter 135

Iris

We don’t even have a chance to stop at home first. After getting all the details from Ezra about the Selina situation, Arthur tells him to take us directly to my parents’ estate. Miles stays asleep throughout most of the ride, completely unaware. I envy his blissful ignorance.

The Willford estate looks just as lovely as ever as we pull up the long circular driveway. Despite having been here multiple times now, I still haven’t fully adjusted to the fact that these people are my biological parents, and this massive house—more like a small palace, really—is where I should have grown up.

The butler greets us at the door and immediately leads us to my father’s study. My mother, father, and Caleb are already waiting inside. A quick glance confirms that Selina isn’t here, which is a relief. I’m not ready to face her again just yet.

“Iris, Arthur,” my father says, standing to greet us. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I hope we didn’t put a damper on your vacation.”

“Where’s Selina?” Arthur asks, not bothering with pleasantries.

“At her apartment,” my mother replies. “With security, of course. We thought it best to discuss the situation without her present first.”

Arthur nods curtly, maintaining his composure, but I can feel the anger radiating off of him. After handing the still-sleeping Miles off to Ezra, who takes him to the room my parents have prepared, we take our seats in the plush leather chairs arranged in front of my father’s massive desk.

“So,” my father begins, folding his hands on the desk. “I assume your Beta has filled you in on the public reaction to everything?”

Arthur and I both nod.

My parents exchange a glance, and it’s my father who finally speaks. “We need to consider all sides of this situation. Yes, Selina’s actions were reprehensible. But let’s not forget that you, Arthur, put her in a coma.”

“It was an accident,” Arthur growls. “And she tried to kill my mate.”

“We know,” my mother says soothingly. “But the situation isn’t black and white. Selina is still our daughter, just as much as Iris is. We raised her for twenty-six years. We can’t simply throw her to the wolves now.”

“What exactly are you proposing?” I ask.

Caleb clears his throat. “Before we get to that, there’s something you both should know.” He hesitates, glancing at our parents, who nod for him to continue. “Selina has struggled with severe mental health issues since she was a teenager. Bipolar disorder, primarily, although there have been several other diagnoses over the years.”

This is news to me. I look at Arthur, whose expression tells me he didn’t know either.

“The family kept it quiet,” Caleb continues. “You know how it is in these circles—mental illness is seen as a weakness, something to be hidden away. But during her coma, I investigated her apartment, trying to understand what led to her actions. She’d stopped taking her medication months before the incident.”

“That doesn’t excuse what she did,” Arthur says firmly.

“No,” my father agrees. “It doesn’t. But it does give us context. Selina wasn’t entirely herself when she made those choices.”

I fidget in my seat, torn between self-righteous anger and a reluctant understanding. I know very well how mental health issues can affect someone’s behavior. Selina was always a cold person, but maybe going to the length of trying to kill someone wasn’t really her.

“What are you suggesting, then?” Arthur asks. “That we just… forgive and forget?”

“Of course not,” my father says. “There must be consequences. But we’re asking you both to consider an alternative to imprisonment.”

“Such as?” I prompt.

“House arrest,” my mother says. “With strict monitoring, of course.”

Arthur looks like he’s about to explode, so I place a hand on his arm. “Can Arthur and I have a moment to discuss this privately?”

My father nods, and we excuse ourselves to the hallway outside the study.

As soon as the door closes behind us, Arthur turns to me. “They can’t be serious. After everything she did to you, they want to let her off with a slap on the wrist?”

“I know,” I sigh. “But I can see their point, too. They raised her, Arthur. They love her.”

“She tried to kill you,” he reminds me, as if I could possibly forget. “Then, to make matters worse, she called CPS on you while you were injured. She could have cost us Miles.”

“I know that too,” I say quietly. “Better than anyone.”

“She deserves life in prison. I can’t even believe we’re even discussing alternatives.”

I hesitate, biting my lip before I say softly, “I don’t know, Arthur. Maybe my parents have a point.”

He looks like I just told him the earth is flat. “What?”

“Our approval ratings skyrocketed after I was gracious to her at the party,” I say. “People loved that I didn’t stoop to her level, that I extended an olive branch despite everything. Maybe we should do the same now.”

Arthur frowns. “You want to use this as a PR opportunity?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” I protest, although it’s not entirely untrue. “Look, I hate what Selina did. I’m furious and scared and I never want her anywhere near Miles again. But I also think that maybe, with the right help, she could be… I don’t know, rehabilitated? And if that happens to boost our public image as compassionate leaders, is that really so bad?”

“So you’re suggesting we agree to house arrest,” Arthur says flatly.

“With conditions,” I clarify. “Strict ones. She gets psychiatric help, does community service, and most importantly, stays the hell away from you, me, and Miles. Forever.”

Arthur is quiet for a long moment, his jaw working as he processes this. “I don’t like it,” he finally says. “I don’t trust her to abide by any restrictions.”

“Neither do I,” I admit. “But we can insist on security measures. Monitoring. Whatever it takes to ensure she doesn’t break the rules. And if—or maybe when—she does slip up, then she goes straight to prison. No more chances.”

He studies my face. “Are you sure about this? After everything she’s done?”

“No,” I confess. “I’m not sure about anything. But I do know that letting her rot in prison won’t bring any closure. And if there’s a chance that this approach might allow for healing—not just for her, but for my parents too—while also keeping us safe… maybe it’s worth considering.”

Arthur exhales slowly. “You’re too forgiving for your own good, you know that?”

“Trust me,” I say coldly, my eyes narrowing, “I’m not forgiving her.”

He looks at me for a moment, then nods. “Fine. If this is what you want, then I’ll agree to it. But she gets one chance, Iris. One.”

I nod in agreement. When we return to the study, my parents and Caleb look up expectantly.

“We’ve discussed it,” Arthur announces. “We are willing to agree to house arrest under certain non-negotiable conditions.”

My father tilts his head. “Which are?”

“First, comprehensive psychiatric treatment. Not just medication, but intensive therapy with a professional of our choosing.” He glances at me.

“Second, community service,” I say. “The orphanage where I grew up is in need of repairs and extra assistance. I want her to spend at least twenty hours a week working there, with no pay, and I want her to make a yearly donation to the Ordan National Orphanage Fund for the rest of her life.”

My parents exchange glances, but my mother nods. “That’s reasonable.”

“And third,” Arthur goes on, “absolutely no contact with me, Iris, or Miles. Not in person, not by phone, not by letter, not through intermediaries. Nothing.”

“That seems excessive,” my father argues, glancing at me. “She is still family. Once her house arrest ends, there may be family banquets and public events that you’ll both have to attend.”

“That’s the only exception,” I say before Arthur can answer. “But I expect her to be monitored closely during those events. If she pulls any stunts, I want her removed.”

My parents are silent for a long moment, and I almost wonder if they can hear my heart pounding in the quiet room. They might be my biological parents, but I still don’t know them all that well after two and a half decades of separation. Every bit of the human orphan that still exists in me is screaming at me for being so demanding toward the upper echelon of werewolf society.

“Very well,” my father finally says. “We agree to your terms. Selina will be informed tomorrow.”

Arthur nods. “Then we have a deal.”

“Thank you,” my mother says, looking relieved. “Both of you. I know this isn’t easy.”

“It’s not,” Arthur agrees curtly. “And if she breaks the rules, even once—”

“We understand,” my father interrupts. “And we’ll ensure she does too.”

As we rise to leave, there’s a knock at the door. Ezra enters, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Miles is awake and not feeling well,” he says, glancing at me and Arthur. “He’s throwing up. And seems to be running a slight fever.”

My stomach jolts, and I jump up from my seat. “We should get him home, Arthur,” I say, already moving toward the door.

“Not in that condition,” my mother protests, rising from her own chair. “Why don’t you all stay here tonight? There’s plenty of room, and it will save you traveling with a sick child.”

I glance at Arthur, who shrugs slightly, leaving the decision to me. I really want to get home to my studio so I can work on my final piece, but my mother is right. It’s better to let Miles rest.

“Alright,” I say. “We’ll stay.”