Chapter 158

Iris

The flash of cameras is as blinding as ever as Arthur and I step onto the red carpet leading into the Marsiel Gallery. Arthur keeps close to me, as always, gently guiding me up the path.

“Iris! Over here!”

“Miss Willford, this way please!”

“Arthur, Iris, look this way!”

The shouts of the photographers and the flashing cameras used to make me freeze like a deer in headlights—and they still do, sort of. It still makes my heart pound and my palms sweat. But tonight I find myself smiling just a little more naturally, striding up the red carpet with elegant poise.

I think, after all my training and practice, I have begun to improve at this. And if Arthur’s supportive squeeze against my lower back and his subtle wink when I glance up at him is any indication, I think he agrees.

After wading through a sea of fans and reporters, Emi and Ezra clearing the path ahead, we make our way into the gallery, which has been transformed for the event.

I can’t help but gasp softly as we step inside and I finally get to see all of the past weeks’ hard work in action. The usually stark white walls are now draped with rich red fabric at the far end of the gallery, creating a backdrop for the artwork that will be auctioned off tonight. The space is lit mostly by candles and soft ambient lighting rather than bright gallery lighting, and waiters circulate with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

The artwork that will be auctioned off later is hanging on the walls so guests can look up close before bidding begins—all except for the starting piece, which is veiled under a white sheet on the stage. It’s my piece.

“Breathe,” Arthur reminds me quietly. “It’s going to be a success.”

I inhale deeply, just as he instructed. “I just hope we meet the donation goal. It’s really high.”

“We will,” he assures me, although something in his eyes looks troubled. He’s been acting strangely these past couple of days—a little distant, as if something is on his mind. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much of a chance with everything going on to find out what’s troubling him.

Par for the course, we’re immediately approached by a man and a woman that I instantly recognize—Mr. and Mrs. Othon, a power couple in Ordan, known for their generous contributions to various charities. The woman is tall and slender with elegant silver hair, and the man is short and round with a very kind face.

“Iris, darling, you look stunning!” Mrs. Othon exclaims, air-kissing both of my cheeks. I only met her briefly at my debut, but I smile and return the gesture as if we’re old friends. “This event is simply marvelous. The gallery was the perfect choice.”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling. “We’re so grateful you could make it.”

Mr. Othon shakes Arthur’s hand firmly. “Excellent turnout, Alpha Arthur. I assume you’ve strong-armed most of the Ordan politicians into attending?”

Arthur laughs and looks at me, wrapping his arm around my waist to tug me close. Even through the heavy velvet bodice of the gown my mother gave me, his touch is warm and comforting. “I didn’t have to. The cause speaks for itself.”

“And speaking of the cause,” I add meaningfully, “we’re hoping for significant donations tonight. The public school arts programs desperately need funding.”

“Say no more,” the man says, already pulling out his checkbook. “Put us down for fifty thousand.”

My eyes widen. “That’s incredibly generous. Thank you.”

As they move away to mingle with other guests, I turn to Arthur, unable to suppress a grin. “Fifty thousand right off the bat! That’s a great start.”

“I told you it would be a success,” he says with a tight smile. Once again, I don’t get a chance to ask if he’s alright before we’re dragged into another conversation.

The next hour passes in a blur of handshakes, small talk, and donation commitments. Everyone seems impressed by the event, and several people comment on how surprised they are to see Veronica and me working together.

“I must say, I was expecting fireworks tonight, not cooperation,” chuckles a banking magnate whose name I admittedly can’t remember. “The papers made it sound like you two were ready to claw each other’s eyes out.”

I force a laugh. “The tabloids love drama, don’t they? But Veronica and I are family. We’re focused on what’s important—helping Ordan’s children. Hopefully, after tonight, they’ll begin to realize that.”

“Well, it’s wonderful to see,” his wife adds. “And what a worthy cause. Put us down for thirty thousand.”

After they move on, Arthur hands me a glass of champagne. “You’re handling this beautifully, my love.”

I take a small sip, pacing myself so my head remains clear. Really, I don’t even want to drink tonight, but to walk around without a drink in my hand at such an event would raise too many eyebrows to be worth it. “I’m learning. It helps that it’s for a good cause.”

“Speaking of the cause,” a familiar voice says behind me, “how are we doing with donations so far?”

I turn to find Veronica standing there in her crimson gown, looking flawless as always. The color makes her skin glow in this lighting. I fight back that nagging feeling of unease that always rises when she’s near, and offer her a smile.

“We’ve already raised nearly two hundred thousand,” I tell her proudly. “And the auction hasn’t even started yet.”

“Impressive. But remember, we need to hit at least one million.”

My throat tightens. “Yes, of course. The auction pieces should bring in a significant amount.”

Veronica’s lips curve. It’s not much of a smile… or is it? At this point, I can’t tell what’s true or what’s not. “I’m sure they will. Your work in particular should fetch a high price.”

She glances at Arthur, who has gone noticeably still beside me. “Don’t you think so, Alpha?”

Arthur’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “I have no doubt.”

Veronica’s smile widens. “Well, I should circulate. So many donors to charm.” She touches my arm lightly, and her eyes flick to my earrings. “Those earrings really do look lovely on you, Iris.”

As she glides away, I turn to Arthur, who’s watching her with narrowed eyes. “What was that about?” I ask. “You looked like you wanted to punch something.”

He shakes his head, his expression instantly smoothing out. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“It didn’t seem like nothing,” I press. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Arthur hesitates, and for a moment I think he’s going to tell me what’s bothering him. But then a staff member approaches us with a clipboard in hand.

“Miss Willford? We’re ready to begin the auction portion of the evening. If you could make your way to the stage?”

Arthur squeezes my hand. “Go. We’ll talk later.”

“But—”

“I promise you, Iris, nothing is the matter. Focus on your night.”

I suppose now isn’t the time to press for whatever’s bothering him. Whatever it is, it must not be serious enough to dwell on during the event. With a quick nod, I follow the staff member toward the stage that’s been set up at the far end of the gallery.

My artwork is still sitting covered on an easel at center stage. I’ve spent weeks working on it, and I have to admit, I’m a little nervous to unveil it. It’s quite… political.

Alice is waiting for me at the side of the stage. “Ready?” she asks. I nod, and she smiles encouragingly. “They’re going to love it.”

The lights in the gallery dim slightly as Alice takes the stage, tapping on the microphone to get everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the main event of the evening. As you know, the Ordan Public School Fund and Miss Iris Willford have partnered to create this exceptional event, with the proceeds going to fund arts education in our public schools.”

The crowd applauds politely, and I scan the room, finding Arthur’s face in the crowd. He gives me a reassuring nod. Veronica, standing a ways behind him, tilts her chin down as her eyes flick to my earrings. Her lips curve again.

Is it a smile? Or a sneer?

“We are going to begin the evening with a work by the future Luna of Ordan herself, Iris—formerly having gone by the pseudonym Flora. Iris, if you could please…”

I nod and step forward. With a deep breath, I pull the sheet away, letting it fall to the floor.

The crowd goes silent.

But then a voice rings out shrilly: “Imposter! Hypocrite! Slaver!”