Chapter 83

Iris

I nearly choke on my coffee when the news segment begins the following morning.

“Breaking news in the Willford family scandal,” announces the reporter, standing outside what looks like an enormous mansion. “DNA test results confirm that Selina Willford, the former fiancee of Alpha President Arthur, is not biologically related to the prestigious Willford family.”

The camera cuts to Caleb Willford standing at a podium, his face grave. The headline at the bottom of the screen reads: “Willford Heiress Not Biological Daughter—Family Claims Infant Switch at Birth.”

I turn up the volume, transfixed.

“After extensive testing, we have confirmed that my sister—the woman we have raised and loved as Selina Willford—shares no biological connection to our family,” Caleb states. “We believe there was a deliberate switch at the time of birth, orchestrated by parties who perhaps wished to infiltrate and even potentially destroy our family line.”

My mind flashes back to yesterday at the hospital, to my strange connection to Caleb and his equally-strange question to Arthur: “Are you sure she’s human?”

But that’s not possible. No way in hell.

The press conference continues, with Caleb announcing a worldwide initiative. “The Willford family is launching a global DNA search to find our true blood relative who was taken from us. Anyone who submits to testing will contribute to a charitable donation to the Ordan Central Orphanage Fund, regardless of the results.”

That’s the orphanage where I grew up. My heart squeezes at the mention of it. I haven’t been back there since I left at eighteen, determined to pave my own way. But it was a good upbringing regardless of the circumstances, and the headmistress of the orphanage, Giulia, was always kind to me.

“We will make a donation for every person who comes forward to be tested,” Caleb continues. “Our missing family member deserves to know their true heritage, and we intend to find them, no matter how long it takes.”

The anchor returns, explaining that the Willford family is one of the oldest and most powerful werewolf bloodlines in Ordan. Their search has already sparked enormous interest, with testing centers being set up across the country.

“Could you be the missing Willford heir?” the anchor asks, looking directly into the camera. “Visit any participating medical center to find out. All it takes is a simple cheek swab.”

I turn off the TV, my thoughts a jumble. The Willford family is searching for their real daughter, who was allegedly switched at birth with Selina. Someone who grew up not knowing their true heritage. Someone who could be anywhere.

Someone like me, who never knew her parents.

I shake my head, dismissing the ridiculous thought. No, I couldn’t possibly be the missing Willford. What are the odds? Besides, I’m human, not a werewolf. I’ve never shown any signs of werewolf traits. The Willfords are looking for a werewolf, obviously.

Still, the news triggers memories of the orphanage.

I never knew why I was left there. The story I was told was that I was found abandoned on the orphanage steps when I was just days old. No note, no blanket, no identifying items. Nothing to give me a clue about where I came from or who my parents were.

The sound of Miles’ footsteps pulls me from my thoughts. He runs into the living room with a crayon drawing in his hand.

“Mommy, look!” he says, thrusting the paper at me. “I drawed our family!”

I take the drawing, my heart melting at the sight. Miles has drawn three stick figures—a big one with brown hair, a bigger one with black hair, and a small one between them. Me, Arthur, and Miles. We’re all holding hands, the sun shining above us.

“It’s beautiful, little wolf,” I say, giving him a kiss on the forehead.

“Is Daddy coming back?” Miles asks, his green eyes—so like Arthur’s—looking up at me hopefully.

I sigh. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Daddy’s very busy right now.”

After the hospital yesterday, Arthur promised to call, but he hasn’t. I’m not surprised, really. Selina may not be a Willford, but she’s still in a coma because of him. Of course he’s staying with her. And yet…

“Why don’t we bake some cookies?” I suggest, changing the subject. “It’s my day off, and I’m feeling much better.”

Miles brightens immediately. “Yes! Chocolate chip?”

“How about we make cookies for the children at the orphanage where I grew up?” I find myself saying. The idea forms as I speak it, surprising me. “We could visit them today.”

Miles tilts his head, curious. “You didn’t have a mommy and daddy?”

“No, I didn’t,” I say softly, ruffling his black hair. “I grew up in a place with lots of other children who didn’t have parents.”

His little face scrunches in thought. “Oh. That’s sad.”

“It was, sometimes, but not always. But I’m thinking we could bring them some cookies and maybe some toys. Would you like to help me do that?”

He nods eagerly. “Will we see your old room?”

The question catches me off guard. I hadn’t thought about actually going inside, just dropping off the donations and chatting with Giulia—Goddess, I hope she’s still there and hasn’t retired or passed away. She was always older.

But Miles’ innocent curiosity makes me reconsider. Maybe it would be good for him to see where I came from.

“Yes,” I decide. “We can see my old room, if they’ll let us.”

We spend the morning baking—chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter cookies, and oatmeal raisin. Miles is a good helper, measuring ingredients carefully and only sneaking a little bit of chocolate chips when he thinks I’m not looking.

As the cookies cool, we go through Miles’ toys, selecting the ones he’s outgrown or doesn’t play with anymore. He’s unexpectedly generous, adding some of his favorite coloring books and crayons to the pile after I explain that some of the children might not have many toys of their own.

“Can I bring my shark for them to see?” he asks, holding up his beloved stuffed shark. “Not to give away, just to show.”

“Of course,” I tell him, touched.

By early afternoon, we’re packed and ready to go. The cookies are carefully arranged in containers, the toys are packed in an extra cardboard box I had laying around, and Miles is dressed in his shark t-shirt to match his stuffed companion. I call a cab, and we wait outside the building, Miles chattering excitedly about meeting the children.

As we’re waiting, the sky above us darkens, threatening rain. I check my phone for the cab’s arrival time and see that it’s delayed due to an accident on the main road. Great.

Just as I’m considering whether to wait or go back inside, a familiar black car pulls up in front of us. My heart does a little flip as the window rolls down, revealing Arthur’s face.

“Iris?” he says, looking surprised to see us standing there with packages. “Miles? What are you doing out here?”

“Daddy!” Miles exclaims, bouncing on his toes.

I hesitate, reluctant to explain our plans to Arthur. But Miles has no such reservations.

“We’re going to Mommy’s orphan-age,” he says proudly, adorably mispronouncing the word. “With cookies and toys!”

Arthur’s eyebrows rise. He looks at me questioningly.

“We’re visiting the Ordan Central Orphanage,” I explain. He knows I grew up there. He knows everything about me, even when I sometimes wish he didn’t. “With all this news about the Willford family donation drive, I thought it would be a good time to give back in our own way.”

“I see,” Arthur says slowly. “That’s… that’s really kind of you, Iris.”

An awkward silence falls between us, interrupted only by the first few drops of rain beginning to splatter on the sidewalk.

“Our cab is running late,” I say, just as Miles squeals and tries to use his stuffed shark as an umbrella.

“I can drive you,” Arthur offers immediately. His eyes flick over me, and I can tell from the brief look of surprise in his eyes that he’s just now noticing how quickly I’ve recovered since the last time he saw me. But he doesn’t mention it.

He goes on, “I was just heading back to the hospital, but that can wait. I’ve never visited the orphanage myself, honestly.” That last part surprises me; one would think that the Alpha President would add orphanages to his rounds in press tours.

I open my mouth to decline, but Miles cuts in. “Yes! Please, Mommy?”

The rain is coming down harder now, fat drops soaking into my hair and Miles’ shirt. The cookies will be ruined if we stand out here much longer.

With a sigh, I look at Arthur—really look at him—for the first time since he pulled up. He looks exhausted, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. But there’s something else there too, a warmth and sincerity that reminds me of the Arthur I fell in love with all those years ago.

I shouldn’t. Not really. Not with the whole custody thing still going on.

But the rain comes down harder, and Miles presses against my leg, his stuffed shark held protectively against his chest. I make my decision.

“Alright,” I say, nodding and opening the door. “We’ll go together.”