Chapter 208

Iris

“It’s been too long,” my father whispers. “They said the surgery would only take three hours. It’s been almost four.”

“That doesn’t mean anything bad,” I reply. “Surgeries often run longer than expected.”

“Or it means there were complications.”

I shoot my brother a withering glare. “Not helping.”

My father drags a hand down his face, and I’m startled to see tears glistening in his eyes.

“I can’t lose her,” he mutters as he flops down on the hospital sofa beside me. “I don’t know what I would do without her.”

The thought of losing my mate—forever, with no possibility of getting back together, knowing that they would never walk the earth again—makes my heart break for my father. I reach out and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “She’ll pull through,” I say firmly.

He nods, but the tears spill over anyway, leaving wet tracks down his cheeks. Caleb sighs and rests his head on our dad’s shoulder, and after a minute, I do the same. The three of us sit there in silence for a long time, and it hits me; I spent all this time focusing on the little moments I missed with my mother, only to not realize what I’ve missed with my father and my brother.

I’m glad to have them back. All of them. I just hope our family doesn’t break before I’ve had a chance to really know them.

Finally, the doors to the surgical wing swing open, and a doctor in blue scrubs approaches us. We break apart, all three of us turning to face him. My heart stops in my chest.

“Francis Willford?” the doctor asks.

My father shoots to his feet. “How is she?”

The doctor’s face softens, and I feel my heart restart. If there was bad news, he wouldn’t look like that. He wouldn’t.

“Your wife is stable,” he says. “The surgery was successful. The knife missed her heart by less than an inch, but we were able to repair the damage to her lung and stop the bleeding. She’s in recovery now.”

The relief that overcomes me is so intense that my knees nearly buckle. My father makes a choked sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, while Caleb closes his eyes and whispers what sounds like a prayer of thanks.

“When can we see her?” I ask.

“She’s still unconscious, but you can sit with her now if you’d like. Just a warning—she’s hooked up to quite a few machines, and she looks worse than she is. Try not to be alarmed.”

We follow the doctor through the maze of hospital corridors to the recovery wing. My mother has a private room, and the doctor leaves us outside the door. The three of us compose ourselves before stepping inside.

The doctor wasn’t lying. The sight of my mother lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines and monitors with countless tubes connected to her frail body, almost makes me cry out. But the beeping of the heart monitor reminds me that she’s still with us.

Caleb moves to one side of the bed while I take the other. Together, we each take one of her hands. Her skin is cool to the touch, but there’s still life there—I can feel it.

“Hey, Mom,” I whisper. “We’re here. Dad’s here too. You’re going to be okay.”

Caleb doesn’t speak, just leans down and presses a gentle kiss to our mother’s forehead. My father reaches out and cups her cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone. I swear I can see her lean into his touch ever so slightly.

We sit with her in silence for a few minutes, just holding her hands and watching her breathe. Then, Caleb and I both rise to let our father have some time alone with her.

Outside in the hallway, we nearly collide with a familiar figure rushing toward us—Selina. Her appearance takes me by surprise; she’s wearing flannel pajama pants, an oversized hoodie with a spaghetti sauce stain on the front, and her hair is in a messy bun. She has the remnants of mascara clumped to her eyelashes and her eyes are wild. I’ve never seen her like this before.

“Where is she?” she demands without preamble. “Is she—”

“She’s alive,” Caleb assures her quickly. “The surgery went well. Dad’s with her now.”

The relief that comes over Selina’s face is so genuine and raw that any thought I had of turning her away vanishes instantly. Despite everything, she’s still the girl my parents raised. Despite everything, she still loves our mother.

Without a word, Selina rushes past us and disappears into the room. Caleb and I exchange glances. When I shrug, he smiles faintly and wraps his arm around my shoulders, and we begin to make our way down the hall for some much-needed coffee from the cafeteria.

We haven’t made it far before a familiar form rounds the corner up ahead and stops us both in our tracks.

Arthur.

He’s striding toward us, his jaw set hard and his eyes dark. When our gazes meet, he breaks into a jog, covering the remaining distance in seconds.

“Iris,” he breathes, coming to a stop in front of me. “I came as soon as I could. How’s your mother?”

“She’s going to be okay,” I say. “The surgery went well. She’s in recovery now.”

The relief on his face mirrors my own from earlier. “Thank the Goddess.”

Caleb pulls his shoulders back. “Alpha President,” he says formally, but there’s a warmth in his voice that I’ve never heard before—not directed at Arthur, at least. “Thank you for coming.”

Arthur nods, then glances at me again. Caleb takes the hint and excuses himself, leaving Arthur and I alone in the corridor.

For a moment, we just look at each other, drinking in the sight. It’s the first time we’ve been truly alone together since before the Solstice Ceremony, before Veronica, before all of this madness. In a strange way, it’s making my heart flutter like I’m a lovesick diner waitress all over again.

“How… How did it go with Veronica?” I finally ask, breaking the silence.

“She’s been arrested,” Arthur says grimly. “Embezzlement, fraud, attempted coercion… Likely more. We’ll have to wait and see what comes out over time.”

I nod, relieved that she’s facing justice. But then I look into his eyes, searching them, and say hesitantly, “And… you’re really free of her? Of whatever she was doing to you?”

Arthur’s hands immediately find mine. “Completely,” he assures me. “Iris, I need to explain what happened.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he insists. “You deserve to know everything.”

So I listen as Arthur explains how Veronica manipulated him, how she used a perfume specially formulated to mimic my scent—but stronger, more intense, designed to override his wolf’s natural instincts and bond with me. It was why he thought she was his mate—and why he couldn’t control himself.

“It was like being trapped in my own mind,” he says. “I could see what was happening, but I couldn’t stop it. The perfume clouded everything, made me believe things that weren’t true. But there were moments… moments of clarity when I knew something was wrong.”

“When?” I ask softly.

“In my dreams,” he admits. “I would see your face, hear your voice, hear Miles’ voice, and… It was like… coming up for air, just for a second, before being dragged back under.”

Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back.

“Your handkerchief saved me,” he continues. “That genuine piece of you, that real scent… it broke through the fog like nothing else could. It gave me the strength to fight back, to remember who I am and who I love.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “I should have tried harder to help you,” I whisper. “I should have realized something was wrong sooner.”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, Iris. If anyone should apologize, it’s me. The things I said to you, the way I treated you… Even if I wasn’t fully in control, I still—”

“It wasn’t you,” I cut him off. “I know that now. There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Still,” he insists, “you never gave up on me. Even when everyone else believed I had chosen Veronica, you kept fighting. You organized that entire charity gala just to get me away from her, to try to break her hold on me.”

I smile faintly. “You should be thanking Ezra for that, not me. He’s the one who showed up and pleaded with me to help him.”

“And you accepted,” Arthur beams. “I’m sure you didn’t want to, after all the hell I’ve put you through over the years. But you believed him, believed in me, and you put aside all your fear and hurt to try your best. And that’s what I love about you—your drive, your passion, the way you always strive to do the right thing, even when the outcome is uncertain. And that’s the exact type of person who truly deserves to run this country by my side.”

Before I can respond, Arthur drops to one knee in front of me. From his pocket, he withdraws a small citrine ring.

“Iris Willford,” he says, holding up the ring that Veronica once wore—the ring that was always meant to be mine. “My mate, my heart, my home. Will you marry me?”