Chapter 23

Iris

Arthur’s office is the last place I’d like to be this morning. I’d much rather be spending my morning with Miles, or perhaps working on the new painting that came to mind late last night—an abstraction of waffles and strawberries bleeding thick, red blood.

But instead, I’m here, walking through the opulent halls of his headquarters again.

The secretary opens the door to Arthur’s office for me and gestures for me to enter. “The Alpha President will be right with you,” he says with a curt smile.

Of course, Arthur isn’t even here yet. Of course he would make me wait.

I take a seat in the slick leather chair across from his desk, the fabric squeaking as I settle in. For a moment, I glance around the room, taking in the pristine glass-top desk without so much as a finger smudge on it, the state-of-the-art computer, the glass of water refracting tiny rainbows across the desk’s surface, and most of all…

The golden award for the Ordan Historical Society’s Cancer Benefit sitting on the windowsill.

I want to laugh out loud at the award. I’m not so sure anymore if he would donate for the cause or just for the recognition and the trophy. The man I once knew, or so I thought, would have donated just for the cause.

Now… I don’t know who Arthur is anymore, really. I’m not sure if I ever did.

I’m not waiting long before the frosted glass door swings open again, and Arthur strides in with an air of authority. I get a whiff of expensive cologne as he brushes past me and takes a seat behind his desk.

“Iris,” he says, reaching into a manila folder and withdrawing a small bundle of papers. “Thank you for coming.”

“Your Beta told me you had some paperwork I had to sign,” I say as blandly as I can manage. But I can’t help but add, “He showed up at my address. An address that I never shared with you outright.”

Arthur glances up at me. “And why didn’t you?”

I bristle. “Why should I? It’s my personal business, Mr. President.”

He doesn’t respond to that, and I’m not sure if that annoys me more than words could. He slides the papers across the desk along with a pen. “I just need you to sign these,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Your citizenship papers.”

Just to spite him, and just in case he’s trying anything sneaky to get custody of Miles, I pick up the papers and carefully read through each and every one. Arthur remains silent, his green eyes fixed on me unwaveringly as I read. The only sound in the room is the rustle of the papers and the ticking of the clock on the wall, as well as the distant hum of the city far below.

I take my time, ensuring that everything is in order. But I’m both relieved and a little surprised to find that the papers are indeed exactly what Arthur said. There’s nothing fishy in any of the clauses—just simple agreements to abide by Ordan laws, to not bring contraband into the city, and to get an Ordan driver’s license within ninety days.

Once I’m finished reading, I sign my name on the provided lines, then slide the papers back toward Arthur and gather my bag.

“Is there anything else you need?” I ask curtly, moving to stand.

I wish I hadn’t asked. Arthur nods.

“Yes,” he says. “There is something else. Regarding Miles.”

My stomach twists painfully just hearing Arthur say his name, the name he was never supposed to know. I expected this, of course; these papers could have been signed in front of a notary, not the President of Ordan himself.

Honestly, I’m not sure why I agreed to come here, because I knew that he had an ulterior motive already. Maybe my reason for it is something that I’m not ready to admit to myself. Maybe the same reason I accepted the ride from the airport even though I could have called a cab.

The mate bond still pulls me toward him even now, it seems. Making me temporarily lose my sense of logic at the worst of times.

But I shove the thought away.

“What about him?” I ask, lifting my chin.

“As you may have figured out by now,” Arthur says calmly, “I have been investigating you since our chance meeting a few weeks ago.”

I can’t hold back my indignant snort as I fold my arms across my chest. “You don’t say.”

Arthur doesn’t react to my quip, although I can see his eyes flash with annoyance. “I want to perform an official paternity test to determine for certain that Miles is my son,” he goes on. “If it is determined that he’s my son, which I’m fairly certain it will, then I’ll happily write you a check.”

My blood begins to boil. Here we go again—Arthur assuming that I only brought Miles here for inheritance money. But before I can bite out a retort, Arthur withdraws a check from his wallet and holds it up so I can see.

“This will be the first check of many,” he says. “One hundred thousand Ordan dollars for your first year. This will, of course, coincide with your own house for you and Miles to live in, along with whatever expenses you may incur. I’d like to ensure that you are both comfortable and cared for until he’s at least of age.”

For a moment, I just stare at the check in shock. It’s almost entirely filled out—he just has to sign his name.

But I don’t want it. I never wanted any of this—the money, the house, the so-called ‘comfort’. I only ever wanted a loving family, and Arthur stole that dream from me the day he made it so clear that he only saw me as a human mistress and nothing more.

“No,” I say, adjusting my purse on my shoulder and standing. “Keep your money. I don’t want it. Or need it, for that matter.”

Arthur furrows his brow, as if he’s genuinely puzzled. “Then what do you want, Iris?”

“Nothing.”

“There must be something.”

Truthfully, I want to pick up the glass of water sitting on his desk and dump it over his head. But I restrain myself, and instead, something else comes to mind. I pull my shoulders back. “Fine. There is something you can do for me, actually.”

Arthur’s eyebrows lift in question, and I lean over his desk, placing my palms flat on the pristine surface. “Since you love paperwork so much, ask your legal team to draw up a contract for us.”

“A contract?”

I nod and lean a little closer so that our faces are less than a foot apart now. Even now, the sensation of his warm breath fanning across my face, smelling slightly of spearmint, nearly makes my knees wobble with the sort of excitement that can only be caused by the proximity of one’s mate.

But I control myself and say, “I want the contract to state that you will not, under any circumstances, perform a paternity test. And you will not try to take my son from me. You will relinquish any rights to parenthood, and you will stay the hell out of our lives.”

The room is dead silent, as if even the clock and the city below are holding their breath. Arthur blinks up at me in surprise; something about the look he gives me is satisfying, and I straighten, smugly glancing at the handprints I’ve left on that beautiful glass desk of his.

“Why?” he finally says, rising from his chair. “Why would you want to raise a child on your own without any financial support? I’m offering you the world, Iris. Do you want a fucking mansion on the beach? White horses and limousines? Miles would want for nothing. All you have to do is ask.”

No, I think bitterly, my jaw clenching. He still wouldn’t have a father. Not one who would create a real, happy family with us.

No amount of money or things will ever make up for that.

When I remain silent, Arthur sucks in a sharp breath and says, “Fine. Five hundred thousand Ordan dollars a year. Is that enough for you?”

Once again, the glass of water on his desk looks awfully inviting. My fingers itch toward it, begging to watch it soak through his expensive designer suit and ruin his perfectly-coiffed hair.

But once again, I restrain myself.

“I said this the other day, and I’ll say it again,” I manage through clenched teeth. “Fuck you, Arthur. Fuck you straight to hell, and stop fucking investigating me. I want nothing more to do with you.”

And with that, I turn and leave the office.