Chapter 141

Iris

The entire restaurant seems to hold its breath as Veronica plays. Even the waitstaff have paused, trays balanced on their palms, just to listen.

It’s beautiful. Haunting and melodic, like a beautiful voice on the wind. I’ve always known Veronica’s music, have even attended some of her shows, but hearing her up close like this…

It’s unlike anything I’ve heard before.

So why is it making me uneasy?

I glance around the room, noting the rapt expressions on everyone’s faces. Not a single soul in the room is looking away from her. It’s just like the exhibition all over again.

I hate that I’m thinking it, but… this party—my party, meant to celebrate my exhibition, my residency, my accomplishments—now revolves around Veronica. Again.

A twinge of something uncomfortable stirs in my chest. It’s not quite jealousy… or at least, I don’t want to admit that it might be. It’s more complex than that. Part of me is just as starstruck as everyone else—Veronica is undeniably talented.

But another part can’t help but notice how easily she commands attention, how quickly the focus shifts to her whenever she enters a room.

Can it really be coincidental, the way she always seems to find a way to steal the spotlight? Or am I just being a paranoid, jealous wreck?

I immediately curse myself inwardly. I’m being ridiculous, and I don’t like this envious side of myself. I should be lifting other women up, celebrating them, not feeling angry. And she’s playing for me… Right?

When the final notes fade into silence, the room immediately erupts into applause. Veronica stands, taking a bow, her red dress catching the light as she moves. Her smile is radiant and genuine as she acknowledges the praise.

The band strikes up again afterward, but the spell isn’t quite broken. Conversations throughout the room now center on Veronica’s performance.

“That was incredible,” Brian says beside me, still clapping. “I knew she was a prodigy, but that…”

“Was unreal,” Liam finishes. He’s got tears in his eyes.

Tears.

“Yeah,” I admit, forcing a smile. “She’s amazing.”

I excuse myself to get a drink, needing a moment to collect my thoughts. At the bar, I order a gin and tonic, needing something strong. I’m being ridiculous. It’s not a competition. I should be happy that my guests are enjoying themselves, and that another woman is successful. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Iris.”

I turn to find Veronica beside me, her perfectly manicured hand reaching for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Up close, her beauty tonight is even more intimidating—flawless skin, impossibly long lashes, her lips painted the exact shade of red as her dress.

“That was beautiful,” I say with a small smile. “Thank you for playing tonight. Everyone loved it.”

“Thank you.” Her smile widens. “I hope you don’t mind that I commandeered the piano for a moment. I wanted to offer a tribute to your success.”

“Of course not. It was a lovely surprise.”

Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something in them that makes me uneasy—a predatory glint that contrasts with her serene smile. But I blink, and it’s gone. I must have imagined it, right? It must just be another side effect of my jealousy, and I quickly squash it, not wanting to feed into the stereotype of a woman who can’t stand another woman’s success.

Veronica clears her throat. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Tell me, what are your plans now that your residency is over?”

I take a sip of my drink before answering. “I’m focusing on the arts education initiative for now, and of course, moving back in with Arthur and Miles next week.”

“Hmm.” She twirls the stem of her champagne glass between her fingers. “That’s a good start, but you’ll need to do more. You must maintain momentum, Iris, otherwise people are going to grow bored of you.”

Her words catch me off guard. “What do you mean?”

“The public is fickle,” she explains. “Today they adore you, tomorrow they’re on to the next shiny thing. For all you know, they might find another woman to try and inject into your relationship.”

My stomach tightens. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“I’m just saying that the narrative around the Alpha President and his Luna needs to stay interesting, fresh,” she says, her red lips curving slightly. “The star-crossed lovers reunited is compelling now, but what happens when that story gets old? People will start to wonder if there might be a better match out there for him.”

Each word feels like a tiny dart in my chest, as if she’s intentionally aiming for the one thing that hurts the most.

I try to maintain a neutral expression, but inside, I’m reeling. The thought of Arthur being paired with another woman in the public eye—of having to watch from the sidelines as someone else stands by his side again—is unbearable. Not after I spent five years missing him, heartbroken and lonely.

“I think Arthur and I are doing just fine,” I manage to say, even managing a small smile. “But thanks for your concern.”

Veronica laughs lightly. “I hope that didn’t come across the wrong way. I just worry about you, cousin, and I’ve been in the spotlight long enough to know how the public works.” She touches my arm briefly. “Please, enjoy your party, Iris. You’ve earned it.”

And with that, she glides away, leaving me with the lingering scent of her expensive perfume and a knot in my stomach. I watch her move through the crowd, stopping to chat with various guests, her laughter floating above the music.

“You okay?” Arthur appears at my side so suddenly it makes me jump. “You look upset.”

I force my mouth into a smile. “I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed by everything.”

He studies me for a moment, clearly not convinced, but nods. “Let me know if you need to step outside for some air.”

“I will.”

I refuse to let Veronica’s words ruin my night. This is my celebration, and I’m determined to enjoy it. So I push her comments to the back of my mind and focus on being present, on dancing with Arthur, laughing with my friends, enjoying the exquisite food and the company of people I love.

And for the most part, it works. The rest of the evening passes in a blur. By the time the main bulk of the guests go home, leaving Arthur, myself, and our closer friends, the party even turns into a riot of laughter and drinking.

By the time we head home in the early hours of the morning, I’m exhausted but happy. Whatever weird, unsettling interaction I had with Veronica feels distant and very much unimportant.

The next morning, I wake to Miles jumping on my bed, excited about the move. “Are we going to Daddy’s house today?”

“Not today, buddy.” I wrap my arms around him and pull him close as if to cuddle, but really I’m just hungover and his bouncing is making me nauseous. “We’ve still got a lot of packing to do first.”

He pouts momentarily but quickly rebounds. “Do I have to pack my toys?”

“Not yet,” I laugh, ruffling his hair. “We’ll save those for last.”

After running out for breakfast—I need something greasy to nurse my hangover, and I want to treat Miles and Emi—we spend the morning sorting through clothes and books. It’s a good distraction, and soon, I forget about last night’s discomfort entirely.

Around lunchtime, while Miles is taking a break to watch cartoons, I open my laptop to check emails. A notification pops up from one of the major news sites, and I click on it without thinking.

My heart sinks as I read the headline: “VERONICA STEALS THE SHOW, TWICE! Pianist Outshines Luna at Her Own Exhibition, Then at Afterparty.”

Below the headline is a split image: on one side, Veronica at the piano, looking ethereal; on the other, me watching her, my expression caught in what appears to be a grimace. I don’t even remember making that face, but the camera caught me at the perfect moment to make it look like I was seething with jealousy.

The article goes on to detail Veronica’s “surprise heartfelt tribute” at my party, describing her performance as “moving” and “virtuosic.” There’s only a brief mention of my exhibition, reduced to a single sentence that just outlines the way everyone rushed to see Veronica when she entered and has nothing to do with my art.

But it’s the comments section that really twists the knife. As I scroll, I read comment after comment questioning why Arthur would choose me over someone like Veronica. “She’s gorgeous AND talented!” one reads. “What does Iris even bring to the table?”

Another: “Iris was a nobody before her family debuted her, and her art is subpar. Veronica would make a much better Luna. She’s got class, REAL talent, and beauty. Iris just looks bitter and jealous all the time.”

And finally, like a punch to the gut: “Iris is probably just jealous because she’s got a mom bod at 26 and Veronica is two years older and STILL looks better!”

My eyes flit down to my belly—the same belly that Arthur kissed all over, every stretch mark, every bit of loose skin from carrying our child.

Is it… really that noticeable?

Even though I know I shouldn’t, I scroll down further and see that my approval ratings have already taken a hit overnight, dropping several points. A poll asks readers who they think would make a better Luna for Arthur.

Veronica is winning by a landslide.