Chapter 144

Iris

I bolt upright, drenched in a cold sweat with a scream dying in my throat.

Veronica. A serpent’s tail. Invisible hands pulling me down into an ocean of crimson blood.

I reach for Arthur beside me, but my hand finds only rumpled sheets, still warm from his body heat but empty. Panic flares in my chest, made worse by my half-asleep and half-frantic state. Where is he? Did he—

No. It was just a dream. Arthur would never—

Before I can come to my senses, I throw off the covers and grab my robe from the hook on the bathroom door, cinching it tight around my waist as I hurry out of the bedroom. The apartment is quiet except for the faint sounds coming from the kitchen—the clatter of dishes, Miles’s high-pitched giggles, and Arthur’s low voice.

I follow the sounds, practically falling down the stairs in my haste. The scene that greets me in the kitchen instantly melts away the lingering dread from my nightmare.

Arthur is standing at the stove, flipping pancakes vaguely shaped like turtles and dinosaurs, while Miles sits at the island counter, kicking his legs. Both of them are still in their pajamas—Arthur in just lounge pants, deliciously shirtless, Miles in his dinosaur PJ set.

It’s such a simple, domestic scene, but it fills me with a warmth that chases away the last vestiges of my nightmare. This is real. This is my life now. And Veronica is hardly a part of it.

Arthur glances up and spots me hovering in the doorway. His face immediately breaks into a smile. “Morning, sleepyhead. Want some pancakes? We’ve got blueberry and chocolate chip.”

“Blueberry, please,” I say, moving into the kitchen. I drop a kiss on Miles’s head, then lean against Arthur’s side. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close for a quick kiss.

“You okay?” he asks, studying my face. “You look a little pale, my love.”

I smile and shake my head. “I’m fine. Just a bad dream.”

His brow furrows slightly, but he doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he flips another pancake onto the growing stack and hands me the plate. “Breakfast is the best cure for bad dreams. That, and coffee.” He nods toward the fresh pot on the counter.

“Mommy, I got chocolate chips in mine!” Miles announces proudly, showing me his plate where he has absolutely drenched his pancakes in maple syrup.

“I see that,” I laugh as I pour myself a mug of coffee. “That’s a whole lot of syrup, little wolf.”

Miles seems unfazed by my comment. Arthur just shrugs as if he’s tried to educate Miles on the proper amount of syrup to use already, but has given up.

We eat together at the island counter, Miles chattering nonstop about what he wants to do today, Arthur and I exchanging glances over his head. Soon, I forget my nightmare entirely.

The next week settles into a comfortable rhythm. Arthur works during the day, although he comes home for lunch when he can. Arthur and I schedule a tour at Wellington for next week.

During that time, I do my best to ignore the occasional online article or social media post about my supposed “tension” with Veronica. It’s frustrating how one captured expression—a momentary grimace I don’t even remember making—has created this whole narrative of jealousy and rivalry between us, even to the point where it affects my dreams.

After the third day of seeing my name trending alongside Veronica’s, I decide to unplug from the internet for a while. I delete the social media apps from my phone and ask Arthur not to share any news articles with me unless they’re absolutely necessary, and we both agree to keep the TV off for a while.

Instead, I focus on what matters—creating new artwork, enjoying my life with Arthur and Miles, and planning for the future. Namely, I brainstorm ideas for my next steps as a socialite, artist, and future Luna of Ordan. I want to use my platform for good, just as my mom suggested, and I spend several nights staying up late and working on ideas.

One evening, as Arthur and I are cleaning up after dinner, I finally tell him about the idea that has been formulating in my mind.

“I want to start a fundraiser,” I announce.

Arthur looks up from the sink. “For?”

“Arts education in schools,” I explain. “I could use my platform as both an artist and…” I hesitate, still not entirely comfortable with the term, “…as Luna to raise awareness and funds. I was thinking of starting with a children’s day, with proceeds going to underfunded school art programs.”

Arthur’s face breaks into a wide smile. “That’s a brilliant idea, Iris.”

“You think so?” I ask, biting my lip. “I just want to help schools as much as I can, especially now that Miles is enrolled at Wellington.”

“I know so,” he says firmly. “But I think you should pitch it to my team. They can help with logistics, publicity, all of that.”

I blink, taken aback. “Your team? As in, the presidential staff?”

“Why not? This is the perfect sort of project for the Luna-to-be. It’ll be good practice for when we get married and the PR team expects you to take on even more.”

My face instantly reddens at the mention of marriage. So does Arthur’s.

He quickly looks away, clearing his throat. “I mean…” He seems at a loss for words. “Just put together a brief presentation. Consider it practice for the future.”

I can’t help but grin like an idiot at the back of his head. Marriage. I’ll admit the thought has been working its way into my mind for a while now, but hearing Arthur mention it just makes it feel all the more real.

For the next several days, I throw myself into research and planning. I compile statistics on arts education funding, draft proposals for how the fundraiser could work, and even create mockups for promotional materials. Since it will be my first project of this caliber, I want it to be perfect.

But the more I work on it, the more I realize there are aspects of organizing a large-scale charity event that I know nothing about. How do you secure sponsors? What about tax implications for donors? How do you maximize media coverage without seeming self-promoting?

I need advice from someone who’s done this before, someone who understands both the public relations side and the practical logistics. My first thought is to ask my mother, but she and my father are out of town for the week, so I turn to Caleb. We meet at my favorite coffee shop one afternoon.

“This is a great idea, Iris,” Caleb says after I’ve outlined my plan. “Focused, meaningful, and it plays to your strengths.”

“Thanks,” I say with a small smile. “But I feel like I’m missing something. There’s so much I don’t know about organizing something like this.”

Caleb taps his fingers against his coffee mug, thinking. “Have you considered asking Veronica for advice?”

I nearly choke on my latte. “Veronica? Why would I ask her?”

He tilts his head. “You don’t know? She runs the Ordan Public School Fund. One of the biggest charity organizations in Ordan.”

“I… Didn’t know that,” I mutter, suddenly feeling like a moron. I should have known. Veronica does everything. She’s fucking perfect. Why wouldn’t she also run one of the biggest charities in the country?

Something must show on my face because Caleb sighs. “Look, I know there’s some… tension between you two—”

“There isn’t,” I interrupt quickly. “We’re fine. It’s just the media trying to create drama where there isn’t any.”

Caleb gives me a look that says he doesn’t entirely believe me, but he doesn’t press the issue. “Either way, she knows her stuff when it comes to charity work. And she’s family, technically. I think she’d be willing to help if you asked.”

The thought of going to Veronica for advice makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. I know it’s not her, though, not really. It’s the idea of admitting that I need her help, that she knows something I don’t. That I’m… lesser.

But as soon as I recognize that feeling, I’m ashamed of myself. Am I really so petty that I’d let personal discomfort get in the way of doing something good for children in need? Is my ego really that fragile?

“You’re right,” I finally admit. “She probably would have some valuable insights.”

“I can give you her address,” Caleb offers, already pulling out his phone. “She’s actually in town right now, working on her next album.”

As Caleb texts me Veronica’s address, I mentally berate myself for feeling so competitive with her. She’s just another woman making her way in the world, using her talents and platform for good. My discomfort is my own shortcoming, not hers.

After finishing my coffee and saying goodbye to Caleb, I receive a text from Arthur. “Ready for our tour of Wellington in an hour?”

I respond quickly, excited to finally tour the school. Afterwards, I’ll visit Veronica.