Chapter 32

Iris

It seems I have no choice but to follow Arthur and his Beta out of the airport. They lead me out a side door, avoiding being recognized by anyone, where a sleek black car is waiting for us. The whole way, Miles clings to Arthur like his life depends on it.

Once we’re inside the car, I turn in my seat to face Arthur, my eyes wide.

“I’m under arrest?” I blurt out, my voice rising. “Why? I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Arthur looks at me with the utmost calm and says, “We’ll discuss this in my office.” Before I can answer, the driver pulls out of the parking lot, leaving behind the airport and everything that it symbolizes.

I grit my teeth, remaining silent. Miles continues to cling to Arthur, his small arms wrapped around Arthur’s neck like he never plans on letting go. Arthur is all smiles, rubbing slow circles on Miles’ back to soothe him.

As I quickly type out an explanation to Brian and Liam, who are texting me frantically by now, I suppress the urge to lash out at Arthur. I’ve never seen anyone be able to calm Miles so quickly during one of his tantrums—hell, I’ve never even been able to do it so efficiently myself.

Just a few minutes ago, Miles was kicking and screaming on the airport floor, moments away from being escorted out by security. And now he’s perfectly content to play with the brim of Arthur’s baseball cap.

Not only that, but for the first time in a week, he’s speaking.

“You came for me, Daddy,” he says, beaming up at Arthur. “I knew you would.”

Arthur smiles down at him, and I feel my heart shatter into a million pieces. Of course I’m the bad guy in the situation, the evil mother who tried to tear Miles away from his father. No one will remember that I only did it for Miles’ sake. And now that Arthur is arresting me for some reason, I’m even more bitter.

Once we arrive at the President’s headquarters, Arthur leads me in through a back entrance and takes me upstairs to his office. It’s just as I remember it—sleek, polished, pristine…

Cold.

“Take a seat,” Arthur says, gesturing to the chair across from his desk, the very same one I sat in a couple of times before. He sets Miles down and hands him a picture book to occupy him.

Of course, I refuse to sit. I just stand there, my arms folded, waiting for an explanation. And I try not to notice the Beta blocking the door, like I might try to make a run for it.

Arthur sighs. “Very well.” He sinks down into his chair and pulls a manila folder out of his desk, which he holds out to me. “Take a look at clause B on page seven.”

I frown, hesitating, but finally snatch the folder away and flip it open to the aforementioned page. Arthur leans back in his chair and says, “Read it out loud for me, would you?”

“I’ve already read this entire contract front to back,” I retort.

“Humor me.”

I roll my eyes, but read anyway. “‘The artist agrees not to remove from the country within one year of signing the contract regardless of end of contract any property, intellectual or otherwise, belonging to the patron, including but not limited to works of art, creative output, or any assets or interests directly or indirectly associated with the patron's investment in the artist’s career.’”

When I’m finished, I lift my brows, looking up at Arthur. “Okay,” I say slowly, plopping the folder back down on his desk. “And what does this have to do with anything?”

“You’re leaving the country,” Arthur says matter-of-factly. “With an asset.”

“What asset?” I place my hands on my hips. “I haven’t created any art under the patronage since I signed the contract. I only signed it a couple weeks ago.”

Arthur blinks at me for a moment, as if surprised that I’m not catching whatever it is that he’s implying. Then, his eyes flick to Miles, who is reading happily while swinging his legs in a chair, and my stomach drops.

“My son is not your property,” I growl.

Arthur just quirks an eyebrow. “Ezra, can you please explain this to Iris?”

Ezra nods, clearing his throat and stepping forward. “Iris, Miles is often the subject of your artwork. He is also a product of your prior relationship with Alpha Arthur. Therefore, he actually falls under the ‘interests associated with the patron’s investment in the artist’s career’.”

I just stand there for a moment, hardly daring to believe that they’re being serious. Surely this is some kind of practical joke. I almost expect Selina herself to walk in, laughing and pointing at me for falling for it.

But neither Arthur nor his Beta show a hint of amusement on their faces.

“What?” I blurt out. “First of all, he’s a human being, not an object. Second, you don’t even know if he’s your son.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I feel my ears redden. It’s a desperate and weak attempt to throw Arthur off, and we all know it.

Arthur reaches into his desk again and pulls out an envelope. With painstaking slowness, he opens the envelope and withdraws a paper, which he hands to me.

It’s a DNA test. An official paternity test confirming that Arthur is, indeed, Miles’ father.

“How…”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say that Arthur looks slightly sheepish. But only slightly, and the expression is gone just as quickly as it came. “I took a hair sample the day we went to the amusement park,” he says.

My eyes widen. “You bastard.”

Arthur glances at Miles, still absorbed in his book, then back at me. “I had no choice, Iris. I was worried you would try to do something like this. As Miles’ father, I have rights.”

“You’re not his father.”

“The paternity test states otherwise.”

I clench my jaw. “Then I’ll back out of the contract,” I say. “I had an appointment with your lawyer to handle it.”

“The clause clearly states that you cannot leave the country with any assets for one year after the signing date,” Arthur says. “Even if you back out, as stated, the clause will still be in effect.”

Without meaning to, I sink down into the chair, burying my face in my hands. I can’t believe it—Arthur seriously used a fun day at the amusement park to go behind my back and collect a DNA sample from my son, which he’s now using against me.

“So what now?” I huff, throwing my hands up into the air. “Am I going to prison now? Are you trying to take Miles away?”

“No,” Arthur replies, leaning forward. “I had to use the arrest to keep you from getting on the plane. I’m sure you understand.”

I grit my teeth. “What do you want from me, then?”

He points at Miles. “I want two days a week, minimum, with my son. I want you both to stay in Ordan. I want rights.”

I scoff. “So either I capitulate to these demands or I really do go to prison.”

Arthur just shrugs, giving me a loaded look.

I bite my lip, considering my options. Of course, winding up in prison won’t help the situation at all, and it’ll just make things worse for Miles. But agreeing to these demands also feels like giving in. And after Arthur went behind my back for that DNA test, I’m feeling just a touch too angry to roll over and take it.

For all I know, this might just be the first step in trying to take my son away from me for good.

I shake my head, rising, and glare firmly at Arthur.

“No. I want a lawyer.”