Chapter 24

Arthur & Iris

Arthur

I watch Iris storm out of the office, her yellow cardigan fluttering behind her like a shaft of sunlight. In a flash, she’s gone, leaving behind nothing but a single chestnut hair and a trace of the scent of oil paints. The frosted glass door slams shut behind her.

For several long moments, all I can do is stand there, staring at the spot where she just stood. Then, my eyes flick down to the hand-shaped smudges she left on my desk.

My wolf whines with yearning just at the sight of those small hands, those slender fingers.

I sigh and sink down into my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose wearily. What the hell is wrong with her? She’s seriously turning down five hundred thousand dollars a year for the foreseeable future? Has she gone mad?

When I met Iris, she was… not in the best financial position. She was waiting tables and scrounging up tips just to afford rent and art supplies, and the thought of art school was like a distant dream for her. I was from a wealthy Alpha family, and when, after dating for a little while, I offered for her to move into my family home with me, she jumped at the opportunity.

She didn’t even have to work when we were together. She could spend her days painting to her heart’s content, and I never minded footing all the bills for our living expenses.

And that was then. Now, I have even more money. I could literally give her the moon on a string if that’s what she wants, and yet…

She doesn’t want it. Even when I multiplied my offer five times over, she refused. She doesn’t want ten times more than most people’s salaries, she doesn’t want an entire estate of her own, and she doesn’t want all the comforts that money can buy.

It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

Her apartment is nice, I suppose. Not nearly as nice as a mansion, though, and she doesn’t have any staff. Plus, it’s just a rental; even with her newfound success as an artist, she seemingly still can’t afford owning property outright.

Why?

Shaking my head, I grab the glass of water on my desk and take a sip, letting the cool liquid soothe my frayed nerves. The water and glass catch the morning sunlight streaming in through the enormous windows overlooking the city below, sending tiny rainbow-colored fractals across my fingers and the surface of my desk.

I consider the small array of light for a moment, turning the glass in my hand. Then, my eye catches the handprints left on my desk once more, and my chest tightens uncomfortably.

Those hands once held me at night. Those fingers once fit so perfectly between mine. Like two pieces of a puzzle.

Unless Iris has become a negotiating extraordinaire over the past five years, I’m beginning to think that maybe I was wrong about her. Maybe money isn’t her main driving force.

Still, Miles is my son. I may not have performed a paternity test yet, but I can sense our kinship in his blood—my wolf can sense it.

And right now, I want nothing more than this sweet little family. I’ve always desired a family like this, one built on love. My own parents, rest their souls, hated each other until their dying breaths. They only ever cared about money and material things, something that I guess I assumed everyone only wanted until this very moment.

Iris…

I shake my head, setting the glass down. I don’t know what Iris really wants, but that’s of no consequence right now. Right now, all that matters is bringing her back to me. Bringing my son into my life.

I have to win them back.

…

Iris

I pace the kitchen, stirring the pancake batter so furiously that it sloshes out of the bowl and splatters onto the front of my shirt. It’s been twenty-four hours since I last saw Arthur, and I’m still fit to be tied.

Five hundred thousand Ordan dollars. Per year.

And for what? To keep me under his thumb? To ensure that Miles feels obligated to him, so that he can groom him into being the Alpha heir he always wanted?

Even if I accepted that absurd offer, which I would never, it likely wouldn’t change the fact that Arthur would never view us as fully worthy of his love. I’d still be his sordid human mistress, and Miles would be the half-blood son. Accepting us, loving us, in the eye of the public would be too messy for Arthur.

Arthur and his pristine office, his spotless desk, his perfectly-tailored suit and neatly swept hair.

He would never.

And what really hurts is that he still seems to think that I’m just a shallow gold digger, that adding more and more zeroes onto his offers will make me happy when all I ever wanted was for him to view me as worthy of marriage.

Not her.

I don’t realize that I’ve whipped the pancake batter into oblivion until Miles suddenly tugs at my pant leg. “Mommy? Are you okay?”

I startle, almost having forgotten where I was for a moment. The sight of my son’s big eyes blinking up at me softens me, though, and I offer him a smile and ruffle his hair.

“Ready for pancakes?”

Miles grins and scrambles onto his chair at the kitchen table, waiting patiently as he nibbles at the berries and melons I’ve prepared. I turn toward the stove and pour the batter onto the waiting pan, taking a deep breath to steady myself.

It’s not worth getting angry over anymore, I decide. I’ve told Arthur how I feel, and hopefully, he’ll stay out of our lives for good now.

And now, I’ve got other things to look forward to. Like enjoying a decadent breakfast in our sunlit kitchen with my son. And I still have that painting to get started on; I can already picture it in my head, can smell the oil paints calling to me.

Today will be a peaceful day, I decide, which feels like a small rebellion against Arthur. Just me and Miles, enjoying our new home. I’ll surprise him with a trip to the farmer’s market later to get some fresh vegetables for dinner, and we’ll be happy, and things will feel normal again, and I won’t see or hear from—

Knock, knock.

My hand stills over the frying pan, my heart leaping into my throat. Somehow, I know it’s him before I even open the door. I can feel the mate bond practically vibrating with his proximity, like an invisible thread attached to one of my ribs is being faintly tugged from the other end.

I turn, about to tell Miles to ignore it—that it’s just the mailman letting us know he dropped off a package—but it’s too late.

“I’ll get it!” Miles shouts, jumping out of his chair and running to the door.

“No, honey—”

He swings the door open, and just as I suspected, Arthur is standing on the threshold.

Miles stares up at him, his mouth hanging open. Mine falls open, too, only because Arthur isn’t dressed in his usual suit, but rather wearing a plain white t-shirt and tailored trousers, a baseball cap sitting on his head. That single curl that I used to love is still firmly tamed and out of sight, but he looks almost… casual.

Like he’s not just here on business.

Still, I feel the urge to shout at him to leave, to tell him that I made it perfectly fucking clear yesterday that I want him to leave me and my son alone.

But before I can speak, he holds up three tickets.

“Who wants to go to the amusement park?” he asks.