Chapter 68

Iris & Arthur

Iris

My emotions are at war this morning. Every time I think about Arthur ending his contract with Selina, my heart does a little flip. But then I remember the hesitation on his face when I asked about being his public wife, and that same heart crashes back down into my stomach.

It seems I’m still not good enough to be seen with him in public. Still just the human hidden away.

I need a distraction, so I pull out my laptop and polish my presentation, which I’ll be presenting later today.

But as I work on my slideshow, I can’t help but recall Hunter’s offer from last night. I’ve been mulling it over all night, and after everything that’s happened… Maybe I shouldn’t be so unwilling to take a little help.

His number is already in my phone—I added him to my contacts as I left the party last night—so I send him a quick text.

“Hunter, this is Flora, from the event last night. How are you?”

To my surprise, he responds almost immediately: “Flora! It’s so good to hear from you. I’m doing well. I take it you considered my offer?”

My heart pounds. I bite my lip, reconsidering briefly, but then decide to just go for it. “Yes, actually. My presentation is this afternoon. Any chance you could put in a good word for me?”

“Of course. I’ll make sure they know how talented you are. And I’ll be attending your presentation.”

Relief floods through me.

Later, I decide not to leave Miles at home—especially now that we have no nanny—so I take him to my presentation with me. With my Flora disguise and him wearing a hat and some silly glasses he picked out, we’re unrecognizable.

Abbott Gallery is already bustling when we arrive. The residency is prestigious, and there are at least twenty other artists vying for just one spot. I recognize a few faces, including…

Bella.

She notices me as soon as I walk in, her gaze immediately dropping to Miles.

“Is this the daycare center now? I wasn’t aware children were welcome.”

I tighten my grip on Miles’ hand, biting back a retort. This isn’t the time or place to get into it with her.

“Actually, they’re with me.”

The voice makes both Bella and me turn. Hunter is standing by the door, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that makes his eyes stand out like blue flames. Bella’s mouth snaps shut, and I feel a rush of gratitude toward Hunter. He winks at Miles, who beams up at him.

“Hey there,” Hunter says, crouching down to the boy’s level. “I’m Hunter, your mom’s friend. What’s your name?”

Miles shyly looks up at me, but quietly says, “Miles.”

“That’s a wonderful name. Did you come today to support your mom during her presentation?” Miles nods hesitantly, and Hunter adds with a smile, “I’m sure she’s going to do ten times better now that you’re here.”

The way he speaks to Miles makes something warm unfurl in my chest. It’s how Arthur speaks to him, and it’s rare to see that kind of genuine interaction from others, especially strangers.

“The presentations will begin in five minutes,” a staff member suddenly announces. “The first artist to present will be Flora. Please approach the podium.”

Nodding, I crouch to Miles’ level and pinch his cheek. “You can’t come up with me, little wolf,” I say gently. “Remember what we talked about? If you sit nice and quiet, we can get ice cream afterwards.”

Miles nods, then glances up at Hunter. “Can I sit with you, Mr. Hunter?” Miles asks, surprising me. He’s usually so shy around new people.

“I’d be honored,” he tells Miles.

As they settle into seats at the back of the presentation room, I make my way to the front, setting up my laptop. My heart pounds in my chest at the size of the audience, but after a few deep breaths and a thumbs-up from Miles and Hunter, I feel a lot better.

When my presentation begins, I’m surprised by how steady my voice is. I talk about my background, my influences, my artistic philosophy. I explain the pieces I’ve chosen to highlight, discussing my use of color and form and the emotions I aim to evoke.

Throughout it all, I can see Miles in the back, sitting attentively beside Hunter, who occasionally leans down to whisper something to him that makes him smile. The sight gives me strength.

Bella’s turn comes after mine, and it becomes immediately apparent that she hasn’t prepared a formal presentation at all. She stands at the front of the room with a practiced smile, launching into a speech about her family’s long history of supporting the arts and how she feels it’s ‘simply time’ for her to receive recognition for her contributions.

“I believe my reputation speaks for itself,” she concludes, gesturing vaguely toward her portfolio without even opening it.

One of the committee members clears his throat. “Bella, we requested a formal presentation of your work and artistic vision. Do you have that prepared?”

Bella’s smile falters. “I wasn’t aware that was a requirement.”

“It was outlined clearly in the application materials,” another committee member says. “I’m afraid without a formal presentation, we can’t properly evaluate your candidacy.”

The color drains from Bella’s face. “But… My family has donated to this institution for generations.”

“And we appreciate that support,” the committee head says diplomatically. “However, the residency is awarded based on artistic merit and vision, not family connections. I’m sorry, but you are disqualified.”

Bella’s eyes flash with anger, and for a moment, I’m afraid she might shift right there in the middle of the presentation room. But instead, she gathers her untouched portfolio and storms out, shooting me one last venomous glare as she passes.

The presentations continue, but I’m still processing what just happened. The snooty, self-absorbed artist has been disqualified. It’s almost too good to be true.

After everyone has presented, the committee calls us back one by one for feedback. When it’s my turn, I’m stunned by their response.

“Flora, we were very impressed with your presentation and portfolio,” the committee head tells me. “Your work shows a unique perspective and technical skill that stands out among the applicants. We’d like to invite you to the final round of testing for the residency.”

My heart skips a beat. “Thank you so much.”

“For the final round, we’d like you to prepare a body of work for an upcoming exhibition. The theme is ‘Soul Ties.’ We’ll send you the full details as soon as possible.”

As I gather my things, Hunter approaches with Miles’ hand in his. “Congratulations,” he says warmly. “I knew they’d recognize your talent.”

“Thank you for your help,” I tell him sincerely. “I appreciate it more than you know.”

Hunter smiles. “It wasn’t just me. Your work speaks for itself.” He ruffles Miles’ hair. “And this little guy was the perfect audience member. Didn’t make a sound the whole time.”

Miles beams up at him, and I feel that strange pang again. Guilt. Why do I feel guilty?

“We should get going,” I say, taking Miles’ hand. “It’s been a long day, and I promised you ice cream.”

“I’ll see you soon, Flora,” Hunter says with a nod. Something warm and tender flickers in his eyes, and my traitorous heart stops momentarily in my chest.

…

Arthur

The contract lies on the desk between us, a stack of papers that represents five years of my life. Five years of pretending, of keeping up appearances, of trying to convince the world—and myself—that I could live with Selina as my “wife”.

Across from me, Selina sits ramrod straight. Beside her, Caleb glowers at me.

“I’ll need you both to sign here,” my lawyer says, pointing to the lines at the bottom of the final page. “This officially terminates your engagement contract, effective immediately.”

I pick up the pen without hesitation, signing my name. When I look up, Selina hasn’t moved.

“I’m not signing.”

My lawyer clears his throat. “I should remind you that the contract includes a clear termination clause. In the event that either party develops romantic feelings, the contract is automatically considered null and void. Your signature is a formality.”

She ignores my lawyer and looks at me. “Arthur, please. Don’t do this.”

I lean back in my chair, exhausted. “The decision is made, Selina. I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Because of her,” she spits out. “That human.”

My wolf bristles, but I don’t respond. I just push the papers a little closer to Selina, my eyes hard.

Caleb sighs, opening his briefcase and pulling out a folder. He slides it across the desk to me. “Open it.”

I do, and inside are photographs—of Iris at various events where I was also present, Iris walking with Miles, even one of Iris entering my apartment building. There’s also a document that appears to be Miles’ birth certificate.

“What is this?” I ask, although I know exactly what it is. Blackmail.

“Insurance,” Caleb says simply. “If you go through with this termination, we’ll release these to the press. Everyone will know exactly what your human mistress and your half-breed son look like, their names, and where they live. They won’t be able to leave the house without being recognized and ridiculed.”

My blood boils. “So you’re intending to dox an innocent child.”

“We’re just trying to make you see reason,” Selina says. “Call off the termination. We can go back to the way things were.”

“The way things were?” I repeat, incredulous. “You want me to keep pretending, even now that you’ve admitted you have feelings for me? Feelings I’ll never return?”

She flinches as if I’ve slapped her. “I thought… with time…”

“No,” I say firmly. “It’s over, Selina.”

Selina stares at me for a long moment, then something shifts in her expression. “One last event,” she says suddenly. “Attend one last public event with me—the Abbott exhibition next week. It’s been scheduled for months. Everyone’s expecting us to be there. After that, I’ll sign the termination.”

“And if I refuse?”

She gestures to the folder. “Then these go to every news outlet in the city by tonight.”

I clench my jaw, weighing my options. I don’t relish the idea of one more night with Selina. But if those photos get out…

“Fine.” I stand up, buttoning my suit jacket. “But let’s be clear. This changes nothing. As soon as that event is over, this contract ends for good.”