Chapter 209

Iris

“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

Arthur’s face breaks into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, full of relief and joy and love. He slides the ring onto my finger—a perfect fit, just as I knew it would be—and rises to his feet in one fluid motion.

And then his arms are around me, lifting me clear off the ground as his lips find mine.

The kiss is deep and urgent, as if he’s been waiting an eternity for this moment. I cling to him, my arms wrapped around his neck, my feet dangling above the hospital floor. He dips me backward, supporting my weight effortlessly, and I can’t help but laugh against his mouth.

This certainly isn’t the romantic proposal I might have dreamed of as a little girl—no sunset beach or candlelit dinner, just a hospital corridor and the distant sounds of medical equipment. But I couldn’t possibly care less. Arthur is here, he’s mine, and we’re going to be married. Nothing else matters.

When we finally break apart, both breathless and grinning like fools, Arthur gently sets me back on my feet. His hands come up to cup my face, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones to wipe away tears of joy that I didn’t even realize I’d been shedding.

“I should have a new ring made for you,” he says, glancing down at the citrine gleaming on my finger. “This one… she wore it. She tainted it.”

I shake my head immediately. “No. Nothing Veronica did can taint what we have. Not this ring, not our love, not anything.” I hold my hand up to admire the stone. “If anything, this ring means even more now. It found its way back to me, just like you did.”

Arthur’s eyes shimmer as he presses his forehead to mine. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Good thing I’m not asking what you deserve,” I retort with a small smile. “I’m telling you what you’re getting. Which is me. Forever.”

He laughs, and I join him. I don’t think I’ve laughed in weeks, and it feels so damn good, like a weight being lifted from my chest.

Someone clears their throat nearby, and we turn to find Ezra standing a few feet away, looking apologetic and a little sheepish for interrupting.

“I hate to break this up,” he says, “but we have a situation back at the gala.”

“The gala,” I repeat, having almost forgotten about it in the chaos of the night. “Is it still going on?”

Ezra nods. “Most people stayed, even after… everything. They’re confused, asking questions. Someone needs to address them. I think that should be you two.”

Arthur straightens and looks at me. “If you want to stay here with your mother—”

“No,” I say firmly. “Ezra is right. Our reputations have suffered enough as of late. The least we can do is tell our stories.”

…

Just as Ezra said, the gala is surprisingly still in full swing when we arrive, despite the earlier events and the late hour—past midnight. As soon as we enter, a hush falls over the room. All eyes turn to us.

For a moment, I’m frozen, remembering all the times I’ve been the center of unwanted attention in this city. The blood diamonds. The slap. The Jewel Killer. Each scandal has chipped away at my reputation, reducing me to one of the most hated people in Ordan, or so it feels.

And that’s precisely why I brace myself for more scorn. Now I’ll likely be known as the vindictive woman who broke up true mates, stole Veronica’s ring… Another jewel to add to my repertoire.

But surprisingly, the crowd remains silent, and not everyone seems to be looking at me with disgust. If anything, some people are looking at Arthur and I with expressions of hope. Alice, standing at the forefront, gives me an encouraging nod as if to confirm my suspicions. Maybe not everyone hates me.

Just… mostly everyone.

Arthur and I make our way through the silent crowd, which parts in front of us. We then step up onto the small stage together and turn to face the audience. The spotlight blinds me momentarily.

Arthur speaks first. “Good evening, everyone. I want to thank you all for your patience tonight. There were certainly some… unexpected developments.”

The crowd murmurs in response, but no one interrupts.

“First,” Arthur continues, “I want to address the accusations against Iris Willford and my Beta, Ezra. They are completely false. They did not attempt to poison Veronica Willford. In fact, it was Nora, a longtime family friend of the Willfords, who was responsible for the poisoning and who later attacked Maeve Willford, Iris’s mother.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd, and I steel myself for more disbelief and accusations. I’m surprised when neither of those things come.

Arthur glances at me. “Second, I must confess that I have not been… myself lately. Veronica Willford has been manipulating me, drugging me with a substance that clouded my judgment and made me susceptible to her influence. Tonight, thanks to Iris, I broke free of that control.”

More murmurs, louder this time. I can see the doubt on some faces, the confusion on others. They don’t believe him. Why would they? It sounds absurd, even to me.

But then Arthur lifts our joined hands, the citrine ring glinting on my finger in the gallery lighting. “And finally, I am pleased to announce that Iris has agreed to marry me. She is, and always has been, my one true mate.”

There’s a smattering of hesitant applause, but most people just look at each other and whisper. I can tell that many people are judging me, that they believe I am the one who’s manipulating Arthur and not Veronica. My old fears begin to creep back in. They’ll never accept me. They’ll never believe us. I’ll always be the outsider, the imposter, the scandal waiting to happen.

But then Alice steps forward and says, “Well, I, for one, couldn’t be happier for you both. And I’m proud to stand by Iris, my dearest friend in the world.”

Hunter joins her before I can say anything. “As am I. Iris is an extraordinary artist and an even better person. Ordan is lucky to have her as its Luna.”

One by one, others begin to join in—artists I’ve worked with, donors I’ve met, even some of the school principals and orphanage directors who had come for the initial meeting. Even Dr. Elliott publicly endorses me.

Before I know it, more voices of support are rising up. I can hardly believe it; and I must look like a fool, standing there frozen, my mouth hanging agape.

I never expected this kind of support. But something about it warms my chest, and that warmth stays throughout the remainder of the night.

By the time we finally make it home to the apartment, it’s well past one in the morning. Cliff is out cold on the sofa; Miles has likely been in bed for hours now.

Indeed, when I poke my head into Miles’ bedroom, he’s fast asleep with Scout curled up at his feet, both of them oblivious to the night’s events.

Arthur steps up behind me, his arms slipping around my waist. “I’ve missed him so much,” he whispers. “Even when I couldn’t remember why.”

I glance at him over my shoulder. “He’s missed you too. He never stopped believing you would come back to us.” I swallow hard, recalling the moment when Miles had firmly insisted that he’d dreamt of Arthur returning. He was right. About all of it. I hope my mother wakes up soon so I can ask her about what she meant when she said we’re “Dreamers”.

Quietly, Arthur moves past me into the room and sits on the edge of Miles’ bed. He reaches out, gently brushing a stray curl from our son’s forehead. That very same strand is now curling across Arthur’s forehead, no longer tamed by gel and hairspray. The sight is more of a relief than I ever expected.

Miles stirs at the touch, and his eyes slowly flutter open. For a moment, he stares at Arthur, confused and still half-asleep. Then, he bolts up and gasps.

“Daddy!” he cries, launching himself into Arthur’s arms. “You’re home!”

Arthur catches him, holding him close, burying his face in Miles’s hair. “I am, little wolf. I’m home. I’m sorry I left.”

“I knew you would come back,” Miles says into Arthur’s chest. “I knew it!”