Chapter 134

Iris

The evening breeze drifts through the open windows of the ranch house, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. Miles is already fast asleep in bed, worn out from a day of playing with the ranch hand’s children and helping feed the baby goats. Apparently, he had a blast and got along exceptionally well with the other kids.

Now, after a talkative dinner and a bedtime involving a few tears because Miles had a minor exhaustion-induced meltdown, the house is blissfully quiet except for the occasional creak of the old wooden beams and the sound of paper rustling as Arthur reads a book on the couch across from me.

I sit cross-legged in an armchair with my sketchbook balanced on my knees. My pencil moves almost of its own accord, tracing lines that gradually form the outline of three figures on horseback.

I smile as I sketch Miles’s expression of wonder, his little hand pointing toward the ridge where the she-wolf stood watching us yesterday. Arthur’s gaze follows, and I stand beside them, the wind blowing my hair.

This will be the centerpiece of my final exhibition for the artist residency, which is coming up in just a few short weeks. I’ve been mulling over what to create for months now, but haven’t been able to settle on anything. I just knew that I wanted it to be something meaningful.

But as the months ticked on and the end of my residency crept closer, I just couldn’t seem to come up with anything. I sketched more than a few ideas, but nothing felt… right. I must have wasted at least half a sketchbook’s worth of paper in an attempt to come up with a viable idea.

And then we saw the wolf yesterday, in all her glory, and everything clicked into place.

My pencil hovers over the page as I consider how to depict her. The wolf was magnificent—wild and free and utterly beautiful, and the artist in me wants nothing more than to paint her and show her to the world. But each time I try to convince myself to draw her, I just… can’t.

It feels wrong somehow, like a disservice to her. Once again, I feel as if painting her, especially on a canvas that hundreds of eyes will see—likely even more now that people know who I am—might strip her of her freedom in some way.

And in a strange way, that moment when I locked eyes with her felt so… private. Intimate. Like a moment that was only meant for us and no one else.

Instead, I sketch in a gnarled tree branch extending from the foreground, partially obscuring the ridge where she stood. To anyone else, it will look like a simple compositional choice. But I’ll know—and Arthur will know, once he sees the finished piece—that she’s there, just out of sight, watching over us.

“What are you working on?” Arthur’s voice suddenly asks. I jump, not having realized that he got up from his seat and is now behind me, trying to peer over my shoulder.

I quickly close my sketchbook and tuck it against my chest. “You can’t see it yet.”

His eyebrows lift. “A surprise? For me?”

“Don’t get a big head. Maybe it’s for Miles.”

“Liar,” he says fondly, reaching over my shoulder for the sketchbook. “Let me see.”

“Absolutely not.” I jump up, whirl around, and hide the sketchbook behind my back. “You’ll have to wait for the exhibition like everyone else, Mr. President.”

“Is that so? Well, Mr. President has ways of making people talk,” he says, stalking around the chair and toward me.

I shriek with laughter as he lunges, trying to grab the sketchbook with one hand while tickling my ribs with the other. I twist away, but he’s faster and stronger. Within seconds, he has me pinned to the chair, both of us breathless.

“You’re terrible,” I gasp as he plants kisses along my neck. “This is extortion.”

“Consider it… gentle persuasion,” he murmurs, his hand inching toward the sketchbook again as his tongue laps at the sensitive spot just below my ear.

I swat him away, even though I want to relent under the pressure of his warm mouth grazing my skin. “If you peek, I’ll never forgive you,” I breathe.

Arthur sighs and sits up, then returns to his spot on the sofa, feigning hurt all the while. “Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll just sit here all alone, unloved and uncared for.”

I roll my eyes, but can’t help but laugh. “You poor thing. How will you ever survive?”

The rest of our vacation passes in a similar fashion—lazy mornings, outdoor adventures with Miles during the day, quiet evenings together after he goes to bed. I work on my sketch whenever I have a moment alone, refining details and making notes about colors and textures for the final piece.

This vacation is the most relaxed I’ve seen Arthur in years—since before his presidential campaign began. Away from the constant pressure of being Alpha President, he’s playful, affectionate, and fully present with Miles and me in a way he rarely has time to be back in the city.

But I have to admit, by the time we’re packing to leave, I’m eager to get home. I miss my apartment and my coffee dates with Alice, and now that I’ve finished the sketch for my painting, I’m eager to get back to my studio so I can start outlining it on the canvas.

The flight back to Ordan feels infinitely shorter than the journey out, or maybe that’s just because Miles and I both knock out the moment the plane takes off—both exhausted from our adventure.

Before I know it, we’re touching down, and Ezra meets us at the airstrip. But as we climb into the waiting car, I can’t help but notice his grim expression.

“What happened?” Arthur asks once we’re inside the secure vehicle, clearly picking up on the same thing I did.

“A lot,” Ezra admits. “Iris’s debut was even more successful than anticipated. The polls are showing an 87% approval rating for her after the confrontation with Selina.”

I blink in surprise. “Seriously?” I didn’t expect anyone to care that much about that—at least, gaining approval from the masses is certainly not the reason why I said the things I did—and I certainly wasn’t anticipating so much approval.

Ezra nods. “People love a good redemption story, and your gracious handling of the situation won over even some of Selina’s staunchest supporters. The way you referred to her as your ‘sister’ and invited her to enjoy the party made you come across like a kind and forgiving person.”

“So I’m popular now?” The concept is bizarre after the disastrous event where my dress was destroyed and the subsequent interview where I felt like a Selina clone.

“Very,” Ezra replies. “Your approval rating is actually higher than Arthur’s, which is saying something since his usually sits comfortably around 85%. It probably won’t be permanent—approval ratings tend to peak like this then dip slightly once the buzz passes—but right now, you’re looking fantastic. And everyone seems to have forgotten about your initial… faux pas. No offense.”

“None taken,” I say, shuddering slightly at the reminder.

Arthur’s eyebrows rise. “There’s something else, though, isn’t it? Good news doesn’t usually make you look like you’ve swallowed a lemon, Ezra.”

Ezra’s mouth thins. “You’re right, Alpha. There has been… another development.”

As Ezra pulls out of the airport parking lot, he explains that Selina’s approval ratings have dropped significantly since the ball. Her ratings were already lowering during her coma, thanks to rumors about the car crash and the news coming out that she’s not actually a Willford.

But after her unexpected attempt to crash my debut, her ratings dropped even further.

“Her approval rating has tanked,” Ezra explains. “Down to 12%. And that percent is mostly made up of die-hard supporters who think this is all a conspiracy to discredit her. After the way she crashed your party, people then got hold of the information regarding the car crash, and the masses are calling for justice; some are even saying that she should get life in prison for it.”

Life in prison. I have to admit, with Selina in the coma, I didn’t really consider what sort of punishment she should receive for what she did—not even just the car crash, but also calling CPS and trying to get Miles taken away while I was injured in the hospital.

I guess I thought that a fucking coma would be punishment enough. None of us thought she would ever wake up from it, honestly. And then right after she woke up, we went on vacation, and obviously my mind was preoccupied…

“So what happens now?” I ask, glancing at Arthur. His jaw is set hard, eyes dark with that look that I know all too well.

Ezra glances at us in the rearview mirror. “Your parents have called a meeting at the Willford estate, actually,” he says. “They’ve requested both of you attend so you can discuss Selina’s fate.”