Chapter 162

Iris

The conference hasn’t even begun yet, and already the small room is packed with reporters. I can hear them murmuring on the other side of the dark blue curtain, can already hear the snapping of cameras and the scratching of pens on paper.

Arthur’s PR team coached me all day yesterday and this morning, and I’ve practically memorized my statement by now. But it doesn’t feel like nearly enough.

Arthur comes to stand beside me and places his hand on my lower back. Through the thick wool of my smart blazer, I can still feel his warmth. “We’re heading out in a minute. You’ll be okay.”

I glance up at him with a disbelieving expression. I’m not so sure about that, if I’m being honest. ]

But whether I want to or not, I have to do this. I can’t go back in time and decide not to go public with our relationship, and even if I could, it wouldn’t have been sustainable. Either the public would have found out everything about me and Miles anyway—which they were well on the way to doing before I made my debut—or my jealousy would have eaten away at me until there was nothing left.

Finally, the curtain parts, and I step forward, blinking as the cameras blind me. In front of the stage, Emi, Ezra, and a few other security guards are posted. Several more are posted around the room. We had to make sure today couldn’t result in more angry humanitarian protesters attacking, so we had to take every precaution.

Arthur’s hand stays at my back, guiding me toward the podium at the center of the small stage.

I clear my throat, setting my notecards on the podium as I adjust the microphone. “Good morning,” I begin. “I want to thank you all for coming. I’d like to make a brief statement regarding the events that took place at the charity gala two nights ago.”

The crowd falls silent, dozens of eyes fixed on me. I take a breath and continue.

“First, I want to address the earrings. They were a gift from my cousin, Veronica, who purchased them from a jeweler who claimed they were lab-grown diamonds. Neither of us had any knowledge that they might have been sourced through unethical means. I condemn any practices that exploit workers, especially children, and I’m working with authorities to investigate the jeweler in question.”

I glance down at my notecards, flipping to the next one.

“Second, I want to express my gratitude to everyone who contributed to the fundraiser. Despite the unfortunate incidents, we met our donation goal of one million dollars. These funds will go directly to arts education programs in public schools across Ordan.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, and I spot a few reporters scribbling notes. So far, so good.

“Finally, I want to address the attack on my artwork. While I’m deeply saddened by the destruction of my painting, I refuse to let this incident distract from the real issue—the need for better funding for arts education in our schools. I remain committed to this cause and will continue to advocate for it.”

I look up, forcing a small smile. “I’ll now take a few questions.”

Immediately, hands shoot up across the room. The PR manager points to a woman in the second row.

“Miss Willford, can you explain why you chose to send your son to the most expensive private school in Ordan when you’ve been so vocal about public schools not receiving adequate funding? Isn’t this a contradiction?”

The question doesn’t catch me off guard; in fact, we prepared extensively for this. “Not at all,” I reply. “We may have chosen to send our son to Wellington Academy, but it doesn’t mean that I care any less for public schools. In fact, Wellington Academy has a solid scholarship program that allows a large percentage of the students to come from lower socioeconomic backgrounds.”

Another reporter stands up.

“Many believe that this fundraiser was just a scheme to detract from your superiority complex,” he says. “That you’re just another high-society werewolf heiress pretending to be a philanthropist while exploiting the small folk behind closed doors. How do you respond to that?”

“I—that’s not true at all. I actually grew up in an orphanage without money. I had to struggle through the first twenty-six years of my life. I may be a Willford by blood, but I certainly didn’t grow up wealthy.”

“But you became mated to Arthur, a very wealthy Alpha, by the time you were twenty. How much did you really struggle if you always had him to fall back on?”

“Arthur and I were separated for five years,” I manage. “During that time, I—”

“Is it true that you’re not a true werewolf?” another voice cuts me off. “That despite being from two prominent werewolf bloodlines, you have no wolf?”

I hesitate. What does my lack of a wolf have to do with any of this? Even Arthur tenses behind me.

Suddenly, like a vision in crimson, Veronica appears from the side of the stage.

She walks purposefully to the podium, placing her hand gently on my arm. I blink and step back, and she takes my place in front of the podium. The room falls silent in an instant. It’s like she’s cast a spell on every single person, even me and Arthur.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she says, smiling as serenely as always, “I must insist that you show my cousin the respect she deserves.”

She turns toward me, giving me a small, reassuring smile before facing the reporters again. I’m frozen, not sure what to say or do.

“I am personally responsible for the diamond earrings Iris wore at the gala,” she says firmly. “I was the one who purchased and gifted them to her. If anyone is at fault here, it is me.”

“Furthermore,” she continues, “I may not have known Iris for as long as I would have liked, due to a tragic incident at her birth, but even so, I believe I can still attest to her character. She is a good person with a good heart. If she weren’t, I never would have partnered with her for this event. The fundraiser was her idea, born from a desire to help children in need.”

All I can do is stand there, stunned. Did she just swoop in and save the day? After I hatefully accused her of sabotaging me yesterday?

“Cousin,” she says, turning to me. “Would you like to add anything?”

I shake my head slightly, speechless.

“Well then,” Veronica says with a gracious smile. “I believe that concludes our press conference. Thank you all for coming.”

With that, she gently guides me off the stage, Arthur following close behind. As soon as we’re behind the curtain, my legs nearly give out. Arthur steadies me with a firm grip on my elbow.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I completely froze up out there.”

“You did fine,” Arthur assures me, but we both know it’s a lie just to make me feel less fucking… useless.

Veronica touches my arm lightly. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, cousin. The press can be vicious.”

I nod, but I’m unable to meet her eyes. She just saved me from complete humiliation, and now I feel even worse about accusing her of sabotage. But beneath my gratitude, there’s something else—a twinge of resentment.

Once again, Veronica has proven herself to be perfect. She knew exactly what to say, how to say it, when to step in. While I fumbled and froze, she was composed and commanding. I can already see the headlines: “Illustrious pianist and philanthropist Veronica saves the day… Wolfless Iris Willford once again has no clue what she’s doing!”

I’m not fit for this life. I’m not fit to be Arthur’s Luna.

I should be covered in paint in my studio, not… this.

I need some space for a moment, so I quickly excuse myself, then make my way to the small dressing room adjacent to the stage.

Once I’m alone, my reflection stares back at me from the vanity mirror. Perhaps my styling has improved greatly since my initial debut, but even now, I barely recognize myself because of the dark circles around my eyes and the drawn look to my face.

I take several deep breaths, willing myself to pull it together. For a moment, I think that if only I had my wolf, maybe I wouldn’t freeze so easily under pressure. Maybe then I would know instinctively how to handle these situations.

Out of curiosity, I close my eyes, reaching inward, searching for that presence I’ve heard other werewolves describe. That second consciousness that provides support and wisdom.

Nothing, just as always.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes on the vanity: a notification from one of Ordan’s major news sites. My stomach sinks; it’s probably already reporting on my disastrous press conference.

Even though I know I shouldn’t, I tap on the notification, and a picture loads on the screen. It takes my brain a moment to process what I’m seeing.

Arthur and Veronica. At this very event. The picture must have been taken mere minutes ago.

They’re standing so… close. Arthur’s back is to the camera, but there’s no mistaking his broad shoulders, his dark hair. Veronica’s crimson dress peeking out from behind him.

But most painful of all, Arthur’s head is bent down, his hand pressing into the wall above her head. From this angle, they look like they’re…

Kissing.