Chapter 33

Iris

Arthur blinks at me once, twice, and then a third time just for good measure before he says, “You really want to bring lawyers into this?”

I fold my arms indignantly. “You’re the one who decided to bring arrest into it. And don’t even get me started on taking a DNA sample from my son without my knowledge.”

Arthur bristles slightly, but finally sighs and nods. “Very well. If you really want to go to the trouble of turning this into a legal battle, then it’s well within your rights. But you should know that my legal team is—”

“You’re the Alpha President of Ordan,” I cut him off, getting up from my chair. “You don’t need to boast about your legal team.”

Truthfully, though, I’m actually fucking terrified. I know fully well just how expensive and powerful Arthur’s legal team is, the sort of lawyers that I couldn’t stand a chance against with what’s left of my savings after the whole debacle.

But I won’t let him see that. I can’t show that kind of weakness right now.

“Come on, Miles,” I say gently, dropping to a crouch in front of him. “We’re going to stay at Uncle Brian’s apartment here for a while. How does that sound?”

Miles looks a little confused, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that I can’t currently afford to get our own apartment back or even pay for a hotel. I know Brian and Liam will let me use their place in the meantime, though.

Suddenly, Arthur says, “You can stay with me.”

I whip my head around to look at him, my eyes shooting daggers. Of course I don’t want to stay with him after the stunt he just pulled. In fact—

“Yay!” Miles shoots to his feet, clapping his hands together with glee. “We’re staying with Daddy! Mommy, can we please? Pleeeease?”

I hesitate for a moment, caught between a rock and a hard place yet again. Miles looks happier than he has all week, and I’m terrified of potentially seeing him go quiet again if I refuse Arthur’s offer.

But if I accept…

I glance over at Arthur, weighing my options. He’s wearing a placid smile on his face, playing the role of the innocent, doting father, but I think he knows exactly what he’s doing right now.

Bastard.

He knows I can’t say no. Not now.

Finally, with a sigh, I say, “I’m not living under the same roof as her.”

“Selina has her own house,” Arthur says. “She doesn’t visit very often.”

That’s a relief, but only a little. I nod begrudgingly. “Fine. But only for a little while.” I decide that I’ll do whatever it takes to find another living situation as soon as possible, but for now, it’s our best shot.

With that settled—for now, anyway—Arthur leads us out of the headquarters and to his car. He buckles Miles into the car seat and opens the passenger side door for me.

Just to spite him, I sit in the back seat, next to Miles.

Arthur glares at me for a moment, his jaw working, but finally slams the door shut and climbs in the driver’s seat.

As we begin the journey to Arthur’s home, I begin to picture the living quarters. I imagine a cold, sterile Alpha penthouse, with gray everything and cold tiles beneath my feet. Once, Arthur was a fan of a creaky hardwood floor and mahogany furniture, stacks of books and a crackling fire.

But he’s different now. Much different. And if his official office is anything like his new home, I imagine Miles and I will have to move around with utmost care so as not to leave fingerprints on anything.

However, when Arthur takes one familiar turn, followed by another and another, I begin to lean forward in my seat. The buildings we pass remind me of an old life, one that I left behind long ago. We make our way into the historic district, paved streets making way for cobblestones and the cold, brutalist skyscrapers turning into quaint, ornate architecture.

When he pulls up in front of a building I once knew quite well, I feel like I’ve walked into a dream.

“We’re home,” Arthur says, parking on the curb and getting out. He helps Miles out of his car seat as I climb out myself.

“This is…” I stare up at the familiar brick and marble facade, at the two stone gargoyles perched on either corner of the tall apartment complex. The cypress trees lining the front walkway and the marble steps leading up to a revolving brass door.

“I never left,” Arthur says as he helps me take our bags out of the trunk. “Surprised?”

I swallow hard, following him up the front steps. Miles skips ahead, just like I always imagined in all the dreams I once had. The doorman, an elderly gentleman wearing a navy blue suit with white gloves and a cap, bows at the waist as we enter.

“Alpha Arthur.” He straightens, and his eyes widen when he notices me. “Miss… Miss Iris. You’re back.”

I don’t answer, not because I don’t want to, but because my throat is too choked up. “Cliff,” is all I can manage, greeting the man who I used to share coffees and conversations with on a daily basis. He looks older now, and his hair is whiter than it used to be, but… it’s him.

The doorman stares at me in shock for a moment before Arthur quickly cuts in, “We trust your discretion, as always, Cliff.”

He nods, quickly stepping aside to let us into the familiar marble lobby. Miles stares up at him, and Cliff gives him a lollipop from the stash he keeps behind the security desk. Tears mist over my eyes as I watch the exchange, but I quickly blink them away.

As Arthur leads me to the old brass elevator and presses the button for the fifteenth floor, I feel as if I’ve walked into a dream that I’ve long forgotten. Even the gentle ding of each floor passing as we go up awakens something deep and tired within me, like a slumbering dragon.

Arthur is quiet, but when I look up, he’s staring at me. I quickly look away.

When the doors open into our old foyer, Miles bounces out into the space, spinning around excitedly. I hesitate at the threshold, though, my legs physically unable to carry me further. Arthur unlocks the double doors and swings them open, revealing what lies within.

It’s the same. Our old penthouse apartment—it’s exactly the way I left it.

The woven welcome mat that I purchased at a garage sale. The metal coat rack, still holding my yellow raincoat that I’ve missed these past five years. The plush living room furniture. The mahogany bar in the dining room. The tall bookshelves going all the way up to the thirteen-foot ceilings, packed so full with books that some are stacked on the hardwood floors.

I take a step in, my eyes widening as I look around. The long dining table, big enough to host parties at, the brick fireplace, the kitchen with its sleek black granite countertops and dark wood cupboards and stainless appliances.

For Goddess’ sake, the little chip in the corner of the living room doorframe is still there, from when we were moving our sofa in and it caught on the wood.

It’s like I never left.

Suddenly, the feeling of Arthur’s hand on my shoulder pulls me out of my reverie, and it’s only then that I feel dampness on my cheeks and realize a few tears slipped free. I quickly wipe them away.

“I thought you would have thrown everything away,” I mutter, glancing up at the painting over the fireplace—the portrait of Arthur in his wolf form that I painted years ago, right here in this very living room. “I thought you would have at least thrown away anything reminding you of me.”

Arthur huffs slightly, and I’m not sure if it’s a chuckle or something else. “I couldn’t,” he admits, pulling away to help Miles take off his shoes by the front door. “Your studio is still intact, by the way. You’re welcome to use it.”

The thought makes my chest constrict painfully. Countless nights spent in that studio, sunshine warming my face, the scent of linseed oil in the air…

I’m not sure if I can muster the courage to go in there tonight.

But it’s late now anyway, past Miles’ bedtime, and his eyelids are beginning to droop. We say goodnight, and I avoid looking Arthur in the eye; because now that I’m here, home again, I fear I might cave and go back on my word about our relationship.

I quickly take Miles to the spare room upstairs, which I’ll be sharing with him during our stay, since I’m not setting foot in the room I used to share with Arthur. The spare room is still the same—yellow wallpaper, floral bedsheets, a cozy duvet. I help Miles get ready for bed, then tuck him in, kissing his forehead.

“Mommy?” he asks, looking up at me. “Can we stay here? Forever?”

I feel like I’m going to be sick, and I’m not sure how to answer. I want to. Of course I want to. But Arthur is still…

“I like it here,” Miles goes on. “It smells nice. Like you. And I feel like we’re a family.”

Miles’ words make fresh tears well up, tears that aren’t as easy to wipe away as before. I don’t answer—I can’t. Rather, I crawl into bed with Miles, tugging him close against me. He’s too sleepy to notice my lack of a response and nuzzles into me, half-asleep already.

We fall asleep like that, Miles’ small body tucked up against me. And just as I drift off, I almost forget that I ever left this place at all.