Chapter 150

Iris

Veronica scoops Miles up into her arms, causing all of the parents and nearby onlookers to turn and gawk. My mouth falls open as I watch her hold my son.

Why did Miles go straight past me and Arthur and to her? He’s always been able to recognize Arthur, at the very least; it makes no sense.

Miles pulls off his blindfold, his little face shifting from confusion to embarrassment as he realizes his mistake. He wiggles in Veronica’s arms, and she sets him down gently. He runs back to us, and I scoop him up, holding him against my chest.

“Sorry about that,” Veronica says with a light laugh. “I think my perfume might have confused him. It’s lily and lavender—aren’t those your usual scents, Iris?”

She’s right. I bought a bottle of lily and lavender perfume about a year ago and I’m still working through it. I’m surprised Veronica noticed, though, and even more surprised that Veronica is wearing the same scent. It’s not a very common combination.

I glance at Arthur, wondering if he’s having the same thoughts. But when I look at him, his eyes are glowing subtly—just like they do when we’re being intimate together. The faintest green gleam, like lichen in the depths of a dark cave.

I blink, stunned. The glow is gone quickly, but I know it was there.

Before I can process this, Arthur laughs loudly and claps his hands. “Well, that was unexpected! I think we need to work on our son’s nose training.”

The crowd around us laughs at that. Several parents even joke that their children made similar mistakes, and the volunteer in charge quickly moves on to the next activity. I’m still a bit astonished, but I’m glad for Arthur’s quick thinking—because it was only a matter of time before people started speculating about the three of us.

“Don’t worry about it,” Arthur murmurs to me as we walk away. “Kids make mistakes.”

I look up at him. “Why did your eyes glow, then?”

Arthur stares at me. “What?”

I set Miles down, who runs off to play with his friends from the orphanage. “Your eyes,” I say, keeping my voice low. “They glowed for a moment when you looked at Veronica.”

He looks at me for a moment longer, his mouth opening and closing as if not sure how to respond, then shrugs. “Like she said, you wear that scent all of the time.” He steps closer, dipping his head to take a deep inhale of my hair. When he pulls back, his eyes are flickering with that supernatural light again. “I must be conditioned to your delicious scent. See?”

Despite myself, I can’t help but laugh and swat at his chest. “You’re impossible,” I mutter.

Arthur catches my wrist and gently presses my palm to his chest, right over his heart. “Don’t worry about flukes like that, Iris,” he says seriously. “You’re all I could ever want. Soon, you’ll know for certain.”

My eyes widen slightly as the implication sinks in. Is he saying…?

Before I can ask if there really is an engagement on the horizon, Arthur winks and pulls away, strutting across the lawn toward someone he recognizes. I watch him go, shaking my head fondly.

The rest of the afternoon continues without incident. In fact, to my absolute delight, the children’s day is a roaring success. Every activity station is packed and smiling faces are everywhere I look.

By the time the crowd begins to thin, Arthur and I head to the donation area to check the boxes. I’m not expecting to have raised an exorbitant amount for my first event, especially not for one that’s open to the public and particularly devoid of wealthy socialites, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find that three out of the four boxes have been filled with cash and coins.

Grinning, I reach for the fourth and final donation box. It’s heavier than I expected, which is a good sign. I pry open the lid, expecting to find wads of cash, a few checks, and piles of loose change like the other boxes.

Instead, it’s filled to the brim with small white paper slips.

“What the…?” I mutter, reaching in and pulling one out. As I unfold it, my heart sinks.

Printed on each slip is the same message:

“Iris Willford puts her son in Wellington Academy ($45,000/year tuition) while pretending to care about public schools. HYPOCRITE!”

And below that is a photocopied image of Miles’ school registration form, complete with Wellington’s letterhead and Miles’ full name.

“Arthur,” I whisper, showing him the slip. His face darkens as he reads it.

Suddenly, a gust of wind catches the papers in the box, sending them swirling into the air. I gasp, lunging forward to catch them, but it’s too late. Someone snatches one out of the air, reads it, then looks up at Arthur and I in shock. A few more people do the same, then begin murmuring to each other. One woman even bares her teeth, grabs her kid, and storms out of the park angrily.

Heat crawls up my neck as I realize what’s happening. Someone deliberately planted these papers to undermine my event. And it’s working.

“Ezra,” Arthur barks, whirling to face his Beta. “Check the security footage. Find out who put these here.”

Ezra nods and hurries away, already pulling out his phone to contact the security team.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to Arthur, watching as more papers scatter across the lawn. “This is exactly what you warned me about.”

Arthur’s jaw clenches. “This isn’t your fault. This is a deliberate attack, and a dangerous one at that. Publishing Miles’s full name and school… it’s a security risk, not just a personal attack.”

He’s right. We’ve been careful to keep Miles out of the public eye as much as possible, both for his privacy and his safety. Now his name and school are literally blowing in the wind for anyone to see.

Ezra returns in just a few minutes with a grim expression. “We caught it on camera. A man in a hoodie dumped the papers into the box about thirty minutes ago, then left immediately. We couldn’t see his face clearly, but he was average height, average build.”

“Generic as possible,” Arthur mutters. “Get in touch with the Humanitarian Society. I want to speak with Marjorie Falks directly. This kind of stunt is beyond unacceptable.”

“Yes, sir,” Ezra says before hurrying away.

“Maybe we should reconsider Miles’ school,” I say quietly. “If it’s causing this much of an issue—”

“Absolutely not,” Arthur interrupts firmly. “We shouldn’t have to explain or justify our choices for our son. And we certainly shouldn’t let bullies dictate those choices.”

I nod, knowing he’s right. The problem isn’t really that Miles attends Wellington—it’s that Wellington offers opportunities that public school children can only dream of. The real issue is the inequality itself.

I should view this as a sign that I need to keep working hard on my initiative. I’ll have to plan another fundraiser soon—one that’s three times as big as this one. Something that will not only prove that I’m serious, but also that will actually make a big difference for arts programs across the board.

By the time we finish cleaning up and collecting all the scattered papers, the sun is setting. Arthur is still furious. Ezra confirms that he’s set up a meeting with the Humanitarian Society for tomorrow morning.

“Don’t go too hard on them,” I warn Arthur. “If we react too negatively, it might just make us look worse.” Arthur merely growls in response.

Just as we’re about to leave, I spot a familiar figure across the way—Veronica, apparently just leaving as well. She must have stuck around for the whole event after all.

Without thinking, I jog across the grass toward her. She turns at the sound of my approach, her perfect eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Iris! What a wonderful event. The children seemed to have so much fun.”

“Thanks,” I say, but I’m not here for pleasantries. I need answers. “Veronica, did you tell anyone about Miles attending Wellington?”

Her eyes widen with what looks like genuine shock. “Of course not. Why would I do that?”

“I’m not saying you did it maliciously,” I clarify quickly. “But maybe you mentioned it to someone who then passed it on?”

Veronica shakes her head emphatically. “Absolutely not. I would never discuss a child’s private information with anyone.” She touches my arm gently. “Why? What happened? Is everything alright?”

I hesitate, then reply vaguely, “Someone found out and used it to try to discredit the fundraiser. Called me a hypocrite.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” Veronica gasps, her hand flying to her chest. “People can be so cruel. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Her concern seems genuine, which only makes me feel worse for suspecting her. Maybe I am letting my insecurities cloud my judgment again.

“No, it’s fine,” I sigh. “We’re handling it. Sorry to accuse you. I just wanted to know for certain.”

“Don’t be silly,” she says with a warm smile. “I understand your concern. But I promise, your confidence is safe with me.”

I nod, forcing a tight smile in return. “Thank you. And… Thank you for coming today.”

Veronica’s lips curve. “I am sorry about the incident with that game, by the way. I guess one of us will have to stop wearing that perfume in the future.”

I open my mouth to respond, but feel myself at a slight loss for words. Is she implying that I should be the one to stop wearing the scent I’ve had for a year because of the incident? But… No, I tell myself quickly. I’m being paranoid. Again.

Finally, I manage a smile as we part ways. I watch her go, mentally chiding myself for the way I view her.

She’s not Selina. Not anything like Selina, actually…

Right?