Chapter 160

Iris

My painting is ruined.

All those hours of work, all the blood, sweat, and tears that I poured into that piece—gone. Destroyed in seconds by a bucket of pig’s blood.

Without thinking, I stumble forward, reaching out. I have to fix this. Have to save my hard work, have to save this entire night—

Before I can reach the painting, I feel strong arms around me. I look up to see Arthur standing beside me. His face is somehow even more thunderous than before, and he’s already pulling me away from the scene.

“We need to go,” he growls. “Now.”

I want to protest, but I know it won’t be any use; Arthur is already pulling me away while Emi flanks my other side, and Ezra is clearing a path through the stunned crowd. As we emerge from the building, all I can see are the flashing of cameras. All I can hear are the shouts of angry protesters and curious journalists.

“Iris! What happened?”

“Blood diamond wearer!”

“Is it true?”

“What will you say to these claims?!”

Somehow, we manage to make it into the car and pull away without further incident. I’m not sure if I doze off at some point or if I’m just in such a haze that I don’t notice the entire drive home, but somehow, we’re pulling up to the apartment building in the blink of an eye.

Cliff is waiting in the lobby, anxiously wringing his hands. His face crumples when he sees us.

“Thank goodness,” he breathes, rushing forward as we cross the blissfully quiet lobby. “Are you alright? We’ve been worried sick.”

I manage a weak nod as we step into the elevator. I just want to go to bed. I want tonight to have all been nothing but a bad dream. I want to wake up in the morning and find that none of that ever happened, that it’s the morning of the event all over again and I can redo it all.

I wish I never accepted those fucking earrings.

When we arrive upstairs, Augustine is waiting for us. She and Cliff were watching Miles tonight and, presumably, watching the event on the television. She looks devastated.

“Oh, darling,” she gasps when she sees me, rushing forward to throw her arms around me. “Cliff and I saw everything on the news. Those terrible people!”

“Miles?” I manage to choke out.

“The little man is sound asleep,” Cliff says. “He’s been down for hours.”

I let out a breath of relief. At least Miles didn’t have to see that horrific display on TV. With a heavy sigh, I sink onto the couch, kicking off my shoes. I hear Arthur’s voice in the hallway, pacing as he speaks urgently into his phone—already taking action. Already cleaning up the mess.

Augustine disappears into the kitchen and returns moments later with a steaming mug of tea. She presses it into my hands, and I welcome it with a thin smile. “Thank you, Augustine.”

“You couldn’t have known about those earrings,” She says, sitting beside me. Even with her aging mind, she still has an uncanny ability to read mine. “None of this is your fault.”

“She’s right,” Cliff chimes in, perching on the edge of the coffee table in front of me. “Don’t blame yourself, Miss Iris. These things happen.”

I take a small sip of tea. “But they were right,” I murmur. “I should have asked Veronica where the diamonds came from before I accepted the gift. What kind of person just accepts something like that without question?”

“A normal person,” Augustine says firmly. “A trusting person. Your own cousin gave them to you—anyone would assume their family means no ill will.”

My throat constricts as I think about Veronica, who was conveniently missing from the scene by the time we found the painting covered in pig’s blood. Arthur and Ezra say she was likely escorted out by her own security during the chaos, but I’m not so sure about that.

I keep thinking about Veronica’s serpentine smile throughout the night. She looked… knowing. Smug, even.

Did she intentionally give me blood diamonds in the hope of ruining the evening? It’s hard to believe, considering the fact that she partnered with me for this event and her own reputation would be at risk.

I’m not sure. I need to think. And rest.

“I’m tired,” I say abruptly, setting aside my tea cup and rising. Cliff and Augustine don’t stop me, although they watch me with sad expressions as I slump out of the room. Arthur is still on the phone, and gives me a curt nod and a sympathetic look when I brush past him in the hallway.

But I don’t go to our bedroom. Rather, I go down the hall to Miles’ room. He’s sleeping, just as Cliff and Augustine said, his nightlight casting the room in a gentle shade of blue.

I pause in the doorway, watching the gentle rise and fall of his small chest. His innocence breaks my heart, and I hope he won’t be affected by my mistakes. I never wanted that for him. All I ever wanted for him was happiness and a family that loved him.

Without bothering to change out of my gown, I carefully climb onto the bed beside him. I curl my body protectively around his, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo.

“Mommy?” he whispers, stirring.

“Shh, little wolf,” I murmur as I stroke his hair. “Go back to sleep.”

“Did you have fun at your party?”

I feel like I’m going to retch, but I manage a small, “Yes.”

“With a cherry on top?”

Dammit. I hate lying to him now just as much as ever, especially when he says those words. I hate it with my entire being; I hate this life of lies and political maneuvering and anger.

I can’t lie to him again. So I shake my head and whisper, “I would have rather spent the night with you, little wolf.”

Miles hums softly and nuzzles into me, already falling asleep once more. Even now, despite everything, I can’t help but smile as he curls himself against me.

But even then, a single tear slips down my cheek as sleep takes me.

I wake the next morning to the feeling of a cat batting at my face. My eyes crack open to see Scout staring down at me, orange fur lit up by the morning sun, mewing softly for his breakfast.

I’m about to gather him to my chest for a little more time in bed when I hear the soft murmur of voices coming from somewhere in the apartment. For a moment, I’m a little disoriented, still dressed in my mother’s gown—the velvet now crumpled—with my hair half falling from its updo.

But it only takes a moment for the events of the previous night to come rushing back. The earrings. The blood. My ruined painting.

I set Scout aside and sit up slowly, careful not to wake Miles, who is still sound asleep beside me. The clock on his nightstand reads 9:17 AM. Later than I usually sleep, but understandable given the circumstances.

I slip out of bed, wincing as I touch my torn earlobes. They’re still throbbing dully, although not bleeding anymore, and I wonder if I’ll heal quickly thanks to my werewolf ancestry.

The voices grow clearer as I quietly move down the stairs. Arthur and…

Veronica.

“Such a shame…”

I hesitate at the corner, suddenly self-conscious about my appearance. I must look like a mess—tear-stained, wrinkled, with bandaged ears and tangled hair. Meanwhile, Veronica probably looks as flawless as ever.

Holding my breath, I briefly peer around the corner into the kitchen.

Arthur is sitting at the island counter with a mug of coffee between his hands. Across from him is Veronica, looking like she had the best fucking beauty sleep of her life last night, and it reignites my anger.

She certainly doesn’t look like she spent the night worrying about the blood diamonds she’d given to me. And to make matters worse, her hand is touching my husband’s arm.

I move then, a floorboard creaking beneath me, and Veronica lifts her head. Her hand withdraws quickly from Arthur’s arm as her eyes meet mine.

“Iris…” she says softly, smiling serenely. “I was just hoping to speak with you.”