Chapter 186

Iris

How could he? After everything we’ve been through, after Miles, after all his promises… How could he choose Veronica over me? Over Miles? Over his family?

“Miss Willford?” Emi’s voice breaks through the roaring in my ears. “Are you alright?”

I snap back to reality, finding Emi sitting beside me on the sofa with her hand on my shoulders and a concerned look on her face. The detective has long since left. I hardly even remember him leaving, I was in such a state after seeing that photograph.

“I… I’m fine,” I say, which is a blatant lie. Emi tilts her head, clearly not buying it.

Truthfully, I want to curl up in a ball and die right here and right now. Arthur promised me. He swore he would reject Veronica, that he would come back to me, coma back to us, give me that ring and make me his wife.

Was it all just more lies? More empty promises? Or did he become so entranced with his new mate that he forgot all of it?

“Miss Willford,” Emi says softly, “what can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” I whisper, standing on shaky legs. “I need to be alone right now, I think. You may go.”

She looks up at me. “Forgive me, Iris, but I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” she replies firmly. I’m not sure if she’s ever used my first name before now. “You’ve had quite a shock, and—”

“Please,” I cut her off thickly, unable to bear her pity. “I’m sorry, Emi. But I just need to think.”

Emi hesitates, clearly torn between her duty to stay by my side when I need her and her desire to respect my wishes. Finally, she nods. “Very well. I’ll be right outside the front door if you need me.”

Once she’s gone, I pick up the photograph with trembling hands. The detective left it behind, likely as a tactic to wear me down and make me spill everything I know.

I shouldn’t look at it, but I can’t help it; I need to see it again to know it’s real. Arthur’s smile seems to mock me from the page. It’s the same smile he gave me when he promised to return, when he told me about the engagement ring he had commissioned for me.

The engagement ring that now sits on Veronica’s finger.

In an instant, my anguish is taken over by rage. I tear the photograph up until there’s nothing left of it but tatters, then fling the pieces away from me, not even caring that they’re now scattered all across the very floor Arthur and I used to dance on.

But tearing up a photograph is not enough. I need to do something. I need to channel my fury in the only way I know how.

I need to paint.

Without hesitation, I storm upstairs to my studio, flinging open the door with enough force to make it bang against the wall. The space that once brought me so much comfort now feels like a cage.

And yet, when I step into the room, I freeze, losing all desire to create.

Right now, all I want to do is destroy.

Every painting, every brush, every fucking tube of paint reminds me of Arthur—of the ways he supported my art, of the studio he built for me in our home. The paints he gave me just last week are still sitting neatly in the box beside my easel, just waiting to be used. I want to destroy all of it. Every last thing.

Is any of this even still mine, I wonder? Or will I be forced to leave again, to start over once more while Arthur builds a new life with another woman?

A canvas leans against the far wall—my most recent work. The she-wolf standing proudly on the cliff with a crimson serpent dangling lifelessly from her jaws. Her eyes seem to watch me, the fury there burning like my own. I swear I can feel her presence behind me, huffing a breath of hot air onto my neck as if in encouragement.

She wants me to do it.

To destroy.

To free her from the cage of canvas that I built for her.

Storming over, I grab the edge of the canvas, and before I fully realize what I’m doing, I’m tearing it apart. The thick material resists at first, but then gives way with a satisfying rip. I tear and tear, shredding the she-wolf and her prey until they’re nothing but scraps on the floor.

My chest heaves with exertion, tears streaming down my face as I stand amidst the destruction. I’ve ruined one of the best works I’ve painted in years, and I don’t even care. It was all a lie anyway—a fantasy that I’d somehow triumph over Veronica, that Arthur would choose me in the end.

“Stupid,” I hiss to myself, kicking at the canvas shreds. “So fucking stupid.”

But even then, it’s still not enough. So I grab the edge of my taboret and heave it over, tipping it onto the floor. Paints, cups, and brushes fly everywhere. Ceramic breaks. Not enough. I throw the pillows off the daybed, tear one open with my hands so feathers waft into the air. Still not enough. I want to tear, to shred, to destroy.

How could I have been so naive? How could I have ever thought that Arthur would choose me over anyone else, when he already chose Selina once before?

“Stupid!” I shout, clutching at my hair. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

The rage consumes me, just as it did the day I broke Caleb’s phone in the kitchen or when I frightened that reporter today. But it’s unbearable now. My skin prickles, and my vision blurs at the edges.

Something is happening. I stumble forward, reaching for the door. I try to call for Emi, but no sound comes out. My knees buckle, and I slide to the floor, the wood cool against my burning skin.

As darkness creeps into the edges of my vision, I catch a glimpse of something moving in the corner of the room. Something large and proud, with eyes that match my own.

The she-wolf.

She pads toward me slowly, languidly. How did she even get in here, into my studio on the top floor of the building? Shouldn’t she be hours away from here, at the ranch, living in the wilderness?

But… no. She’s not here. Not really.

Only in spirit.

Even though I should be terrified, I feel strangely calm as she approaches. She stops just inches from my face.

“Finally,” a voice whispers in my mind. “You’re finally ready to hear me.”

I can’t form the words to ask what the hell she’s talking about, or how she’s even saying it, or how the hell I even know it’s her voice to begin with. The darkness is closing in, my consciousness slipping away.

Just before I lose myself, the she-wolf snarls, baring her teeth. “Beware the serpent,” she growls. “She shares our family’s gifts, but twisted them into something dark and bloody… You have to stop her.”

“Wh… What?” I finally manage. My voice sounds far away.

“Iris… The sapphires… It was her all along. It was always her…”

“V…Veronica?”

“Nora…”

And that’s the last word I hear before… darkness.