Chapter 222

Iris

As the night drags on, I find myself checking my watch more and more frequently. It’s well past midnight now, and the party shows no signs of winding down. The orchestra has returned from their break and is now playing something upbeat that has several couples swaying on the dance floor.

“Can we go home yet?” I whisper to Arthur, who is nursing the same glass of whiskey he’s been holding for the past hour. “Miles is probably exhausted, and I’m not feeling so great myself.”

Arthur nods, setting his glass down on a nearby table. “I think we’ve done our duty here. Plus, I want to talk more about what my father said to you.” He scans the room with narrowed eyes. “Speaking of which, have you seen him lately?”

I shake my head. “Not since our… interesting conversation.” I haven’t caught so much as a glimpse of Leonard since he and Silas had gone their separate ways after our eyes met across the ballroom. Whatever they’d been discussing, they clearly hadn’t wanted to be overheard.

“And Silas seems to have disappeared too,” Arthur murmurs.

“Good riddance,” I mutter, still stinging from his cutting remarks. “I don’t think we’re going to accomplish anything productive tonight.”

“Agreed. Let’s grab Miles and head out.”

We make our way through the crowd toward where Miles had last been seen playing with some of the other children. The party has thinned out somewhat, with many of the guests with young children having already departed, but there are still plenty of people mingling and dancing.

As we approach the area set aside for the children, I spot Caleb sitting in a chair with Miles curled up asleep on his lap.

“Out like a light,” Caleb says as we approach. “Been that way for about an hour now.”

I smile at the sight of my son, peaceful in sleep, his dark curls falling across his forehead. “Thanks for watching him, Caleb.”

“My pleasure. Although I think I might need a chiropractor after this. The kid weighs more than he looks.”

Arthur gently lifts Miles from Caleb’s lap, cradling him against his chest. Miles stirs slightly, then nestles his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck and resumes sleeping.

We say our goodbyes to Caleb and begin making our way toward the exit, pausing occasionally to thank a guest or say goodnight to an acquaintance. My parents are nowhere to be seen, probably off managing some crisis or other—there’s always something that needs their attention at these events.

Just as we’re about to reach the main entrance, Arthur suddenly stops. I follow his gaze to a man standing alone near one of the large windows that overlook the garden. He’s older, perhaps in his sixties, with gray hair and a trimmed beard. He’s watching the dancing couples with a distant expression, a glass of what looks like brandy held loosely in one hand.

It’s Alfred Creed. Silas’ father.

Or rather, the man who had raised Silas believing he was his father, only to discover the truth five years later. I can’t imagine how devastating that must have been for both of them.

Arthur’s jaw sets in that determined way I know all too well. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Arthur,” I caution, gesturing to Miles sleeping in his arms. “Maybe now isn’t the best time.”

“Just a quick conversation,” he insists. “We might not have another chance to see him again, and he might be able to tell us why Silas seems to hate me so much. I still don’t understand it—we’d never even met before tonight.”

I hesitate, then nod. “Alright, but let’s make it quick. Miles needs to get to bed, and frankly, so do I.”

Arthur adjusts Miles in his arms, then approaches Alfred with me following close behind. The older man seems lost in thought and doesn’t notice us until Arthur clears his throat softly.

“Mr. Creed?”

Alfred looks up, startled, then frowns slightly. “Alpha President? To what do I owe the pleasure?” he says, but I know that we all know why Arthur is approaching him.

“I was hoping to have a word with you, if you don’t mind,” Arthur says. “About your son.”

Alfred’s expression shutters. “Ah. You mean Silas.”

“I was wondering if you might be able to shed some light on why he seems to… dislike me so intensely. We only just met tonight, but he was quite hostile.”

Alfred glances around the room, then sighs. “This isn’t really the place for that kind of conversation.”

“I understand,” Arthur nods. “Perhaps another time, then.”

We turn to leave, but Alfred speaks up again. “Wait. Let me just…” He seems to steel himself, making a decision. “Perhaps there’s a private area where we can speak.”

Arthur and I exchange glances, but I nod and lead them down the hall, toward a small sitting room near the front of the house. I close the door behind us, and Silas stops in the center of the room, looking around briefly—as if recognizing this room from his visits many years ago—before turning to us.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” he says, his face softening as he glances at Miles. “Silas has… issues with you, Arthur, that go beyond politics. It’s personal for him.”

“But why?” Arthur asks. “We’ve never met before tonight.”

Alfred takes a deep breath, then a long swallow of his brandy. “No, you haven’t. But Silas has known about you for years. Since he was a teenager, in fact.”

“Known what about me?”

“That you’re his half-brother.”

I blink, sure I must have misheard. “His what?”

Alfred’s mouth twists into a grimace. “His half-brother. You share a father.”

The room seems to tilt slightly, and I grip the arms of my chair to steady myself. Arthur stands frozen.

“You’re saying my father had an affair with your wife?” Arthur asks.

Alfred nods grimly, and I can see no deception in his tired eyes.

I feel sick. The idea that Leonard—already a despicable person in my book—could have done something so callous doesn’t surprise me as much as it should. But the implications… Silas is Arthur’s brother. They have the same father.

That explains the resemblance that had struck me so forcefully earlier. The same jaw, the same brow, the same startlingly green eyes. How had I not seen it immediately?

“I don’t understand,” Arthur says, shaking his head. “If what you’re saying is true, why would Silas hate me for it? I had nothing to do with any of this.”

Alfred sighs, setting his empty glass on the desk behind him. “It’s not that simple. When Lucinda finally confessed to the affair, Silas was five years old. I’d raised him as my own, loved him as my own. But after a paternity test confirmed he wasn’t my biological child, I… I left. Moved to Bo’Arrocan, started a new life.”

“You abandoned him,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Alfred flinches but doesn’t deny it. “I was hurt and angry. I told myself he wasn’t really my son anyway.” He runs a hand through his gray hair. “It was the biggest mistake of my life. By the time I came to my senses and tried to reconnect, years had passed. Silas wanted nothing to do with me. Still doesn’t.”

“That still doesn’t explain his animosity toward Arthur,” I point out.

“No, it doesn’t,” Alfred agrees. “That came later. When Silas was seventeen, he tracked down Leonard, confronted him about being his biological father.”

“And?” Arthur prompts when Alfred falls silent.

“And Leonard denied him as his public heir. He kept him in the shadows, treated him like nothing.”

I can see the pain flash across Arthur’s face. I reach out to touch his arm, but I’m not sure if he even feels it.

“Silas was devastated, of course,” Alfred continues. “He’d spent years building up this idea of what his real father might be like, only to be rejected. And then, to make matters worse, he saw how Leonard doted on you, Arthur. His legitimate son. The one he acknowledged, the one he was proud of.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say my father doted on me,” Arthur mutters.

“Perhaps not in private,” Alfred concedes. “But in public you were the golden son, the heir to your family’s legacy. Leonard made sure everyone knew it.”

The pieces are starting to fit together now. Silas’ hatred, his determination to ruin Arthur’s reputation, his cryptic comment about it not being what Arthur had done, but who he was. He’s resentful of Arthur, because in his eyes, Arthur led the life that Silas never got to have.

Arthur opens his mouth to say more, but it seems Alfred is finished.

“I’ve said too much already,” he says, finishing off his brandy and setting the empty glass on the desk. “If anyone asks, you didn’t hear this from me.”

And just like that, he’s gone. Arthur and I are both too stunned to speak as he hurries out of the room, the door falling shut behind him. Our heads are both spinning as the realization sinks in.

Arthur has a half-brother.

And it seems that half-brother might have more than one motive behind wanting to beat Arthur in the election.