Chapter 148

Arthur

The stack of papers on my desk seems to grow rather than shrink no matter how many hours I spend working through them. Budget proposals, foreign policy briefings, economic reports—being Alpha President means drowning in an endless sea of bureaucracy.

I rub my eyes, fighting off the midday fatigue. Just three more reports to review before my afternoon meeting with the agricultural council, and then I can see Iris and Miles. I glance over at the picture of the three of us on my desk—taken during our recent vacation, Miles holding a baby goat while Iris and I crouch on either side of him—and smile softly. When I look at this picture, everything else in life seems easier and insignificant.

Unfortunately, a knock at my office door interrupts my thoughts. I call out, and a moment later, Ezra pokes his head in. “Sir, there’s someone here to see you. A representative from the Ordan Humanitarian Society.”

I glance at my schedule on the tablet beside me. “I don’t have any meetings with them today.”

“They’re insisting it’s urgent,” Ezra says apologetically. “Something about Iris’s fundraiser.”

Great… I should have known.

“Fine,” I sigh, straightening my tie. “Send them in.”

Ezra steps aside, and a woman in a sharply tailored pantsuit enters. She’s middle-aged, with steel-gray hair cut in a severe bob and rectangular glasses perched on her nose. I suppress a sigh at the sight of her.

Marjorie Falks. She’s been in my office before—always with some complaint or another, and never on good terms. As far as humanitarian society representatives go, she’s awfully militant and, dare I say, rude. Even in the blistering heat of the last day of summer today, she looks as cold as ever.

“Alpha President,” she says by way of greeting. She stops in front of my desk and folds her arms across her chest, not bothering to shake my hand.

“Ms. Falks,” I sigh, trying to sound polite despite my immediate frustration. “What can I do for you today?”

She doesn’t sit when I gesture to the chair across from my desk, instead remaining rigidly upright. “I’ll be brief, Mr. President. Our organization has concerns about your partner’s upcoming fundraiser.”

Your partner. As if Iris isn’t the future Luna of Ordan. But I don’t correct Marjorie, because I know it’s not going to change anything.

“Iris’s children’s day event?” I ask. “What concerns could you possibly have? It’s raising money for arts education in public schools.”

“That’s precisely the issue,” Falks says, her thin lips pinching into an even thinner line. “Miss Willford is advocating for public school funding while enrolling her own child in one of the most expensive private institutions in the country. Wellington Academy, if I’m not mistaken.”

My spine stiffens. How does she know where Miles is enrolled? We’ve been extremely careful about that information, wanting to ensure that he doesn’t get singled out at school.

“Our members find this deeply hypocritical,” she continues before I can speak. “She’s positioning herself as a champion for public education while ensuring her own child never has to experience its shortcomings. It sends a troubling message about the future Luna of Ordan.”

I take a measured breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Ms. Falks, I appreciate your organization’s dedication to humanitarian causes, but I think you’re mischaracterizing the situation.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “Miles has special educational needs that Wellington is particularly well-equipped to address. Furthermore, the school is very safe, which is very important for the child of the Alpha President. He’s a hundred times more likely to be singled out than other children.”

Marjorie’s eyes narrow as if she doesn’t believe me.

“Finally,” I continue, “Iris’s fundraiser is specifically aimed at improving arts education in public schools precisely because she recognizes the disparity between institutions like Wellington and the average public school. She’s trying to help even the playing field.”

She adjusts her glasses, clearly unconvinced. “Noble intentions aside, this is problematic. Your partner is new to public life, Mr. President, so perhaps she doesn’t understand how these things look to ordinary citizens. But someone in her position should be leading by example.”

My patience is wearing thin. “Ms. Falks, Iris is doing exactly that. She’s using her platform to advocate for children who don’t have the advantages her son does. I would think your organization would support such efforts rather than undermine them.”

“We support genuine advocacy, not performances designed to boost one’s public image,” she retorts. “And I must warn you, if Miss Willford continues down this path, she risks creating significant public backlash. Our organization has considerable influence, and many of our members are already expressing their… disappointment.”

Is that a threat? I resist the urge to have her escorted out immediately. Instead, I stand, signaling that this meeting is over.

“I appreciate your concern, Ms. Falks, but I have complete confidence in Iris and her project. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an important meeting to prepare for.”

She holds my gaze for a moment before nodding stiffly. “Very well, Mr. President. But consider yourself warned. The public can be quite unforgiving.”

Ezra, who has been standing quietly by the door, steps forward to escort her out. Once they’re gone, I sink back into my chair with a heavy sigh. How did the Humanitarian Society find out about Miles’ enrollment? We’ve taken extensive precautions to keep that information private.

When Ezra returns a few minutes later, I wave him over urgently.

“How the hell did they find out about Miles’ school?” I demand.

Ezra shakes his head. “I don’t know, sir. Only a handful of people have that information.”

“Well, someone leaked it,” I bite out. “I need you to contact Wellington immediately. Make sure they understand the severity of the situation. Miles’ identity needs to be absolutely protected. No photos, no last name on any public documents, nothing that could connect him to me or to Iris.”

“Right away,” Ezra nods, already pulling out his phone.

“And find out how this information got out,” I add. “Someone at the school, someone on our staff—whoever it was, I want to speak to them.”

“Of course, sir.”

After Ezra leaves to make the calls, I’m left alone with my thoughts. This isn’t the first time Iris has faced criticism since entering my life, but it’s the first time someone has tried to use Miles against us. The thought makes my blood boil.

For a moment, I consider calling Iris to tell her everything. But her fundraiser is today, so I know she’s very busy. I make a mental note to talk to her before the event begins so she can at least be prepared in case any of Marjorie’s minions show up to cause trouble.

With that, I turn back to my computer, planning to get through at least one more report before my next meeting, when I notice a new email in my inbox. The subject line reads: “Update on Special Commission.”

My heart skips a beat as I open it. It’s from the master jeweler I commissioned to create Iris’s engagement ring. I’ve been waiting for this update for weeks.

There’s an attachment—a photo of the ring in its nearly completed state. It still needs the stones set and the metal polished, but… it’s exactly what I envisioned. A simple platinum band with a small diamond surrounded by smaller cuts of citrine. The yellow gemstone reminds me of that sweater she’s always wearing.

I can already picture it on her finger. I can imagine the look on her face when I finally ask her to be my mate, my wife, my Luna—officially and permanently, after too many years of waiting.

A smile replaces my earlier scowl. Let Marjorie Falks and her humanitarian society think what they want. Let the tabloids speculate and the critics complain. None of it matters. Iris is going to make a wonderful Luna, no matter what anyone thinks.