Chapter 34

Iris

The following day, I wake to the sensation of warm sunlight splashing across my skin. A familiar scent, one that I’ve long forgotten and can’t quite put a name to, wafts through the cozy room, causing a small smile to spread across my face as I stir.

Home. I’m home.

For a moment, I forget that I left this place for five years. For a moment, I think that no time has passed at all, that it’s the morning all those years ago when I found out I was pregnant. Before everything happened.

It was all just a bad dream.

But then reality returns, as it always does, and my smile fades. I’m home, but not really. It’s not my home anymore. And if I don’t find a lawyer soon, I might be forced to stay here or else wind up in prison.

Arthur is apparently already at work for the day, which is a relief. I make a quick breakfast for myself and Miles in the kitchen, trying not to focus on how familiar everything is and how I know exactly where the bowls, silverware, milk, and cereal are without even having to think twice.

After eating quickly, we head out for the day. I bribe Miles with the promise of ice cream later if he comes with me, and then I take him to a lawyer’s office nearby.

The lawyer, an ancient old man with a birdlike nose and a tired look in his eyes, calls me into his office. “Sit,” he says, gesturing to the seat on the other side of his desk. He glances at Miles, looking almost disgusted for a moment at the very presence of a child, before he turns to me. “How can I help you?”

Taking a deep breath, I explain my situation to the lawyer. But I’m hardly halfway through before he stops me, raising a weathered old hand.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but I won’t help you,” he says.

I blink, taken aback. “Why not?”

“You’re claiming that you intend to fight a legal battle with the President of Ordan himself,” he chortles, as if he doesn’t even fully believe me. “His legal team is far bigger and more equipped than my small team can handle. It will be a certain defeat.”

I purse my lips. “There must be something you can do.”

He shakes his head and pushes his wire-rimmed glasses up on his slender nose. “I’m afraid not, Miss. Might I suggest you try Brooks & Lee, downtown? They might have someone who could help.”

The very mention of that prestigious law firm makes my heart sink. “I can’t… I can’t afford it,” I admit.

The lawyer sighs and leans back in his chair. “Well, then, I can’t help you.”

I push the contract closer toward him and tap on the clause. “At the very least, can’t you tell me that this is completely unlawful?” I ask. “Miles is a human, not property. Surely Arthur can’t—”

“Actually,” the old man interrupts, “Alpha Arthur is doing you a service by taking this route instead of the more obvious one.”

“More… obvious one?”

He nods. “He’s an Alpha. Furthermore, he’s the Alpha President, and has confirmation that the boy is his son. Technically, he could easily claim the Alpha’s Heir law and claim custody of his son. You wouldn’t be able to stop him.”

I suppress the urge to let out a vile string of curse words. Of course; I almost forgot about Ordan’s more… antiquated laws.

Back in the old days—which really weren’t that long ago, only around forty years ago—Alphas could claim complete ownership of their wives and kin. Their wives couldn’t work, have bank accounts, own property, or open credit cards without explicit permission from the Alphas. Furthermore, their children were basically property.

It was a vile old law that was weaponized to ensure that money and property remained within Alpha families. That way, if a child under the Alpha’s custody tried to marry someone of a different class, such as a Gamma or Omega or Goddess forbid a human, they could be prohibited from doing so.

Thankfully, the laws have changed since then. But Alphas can still claim the ‘Alpha’s Heir’ law and gain custody of their firstborn werewolf child in court, if they have reason to do so. And what better reason than being the fucking President himself?

But then it hits me.

“Actually,” I say, my eyes lighting up, “Miles isn’t a werewolf. He’s human. He didn’t inherit any werewolf traits, so the Alpha’s Heir law doesn’t apply to him.”

The lawyer, if anything, just gives Miles another disgusted look. “Right,” he says slowly. “Well, my decision still holds: my firm simply lacks the resources to participate in a legal battle against the Alpha President. I’m sorry, Miss…”

His voice trails off, and I realize he doesn’t even remember my name. I don’t bother to tell him what it is, and simply whisk Miles away.

As I leave, I wonder if he would have been more inclined to help me if I had been a werewolf. Typical.

Afterwards, holding true to my promise, I take Miles to a small ice cream shop and buy him a cone. As we begin making our way home—or rather, back to Arthur’s home—I chew the inside of my cheek, considering my options.

If I could just scrape together enough money, I could afford a better lawyer who will help me with this. It might take a little time, but I could do it—I could sell some paintings, for a start.

We head back into the apartment building, where Cliff is sitting at the front desk. His eyes light up as we approach, and for the first time since this morning, I smile.

“Miss Iris,” he says, struggling to his feet. “I never got to say last night just how glad I am to see you. Are you and Mr. Arthur back together now?”

My smile twitches a little, but I manage, “No, Cliff. I’m just… staying for a while.”

Cliff’s face falls ever so slightly. “Oh. Well, you’ve been missed, you know. You should speak with Ms. Augustine. She never stopped talking about you. Although, her mind is going a bit these days, so don’t be too alarmed if she’s a little… confused.”

At the mention of the elderly landlady, my heart softens. Another face I once loved—we started a book club together back when I lived here, and we would meet every Saturday for tea and to discuss our books. It was just the two of us, and Cliff sometimes barged in to steal our cookies, but I always treasured it.

I never finished the last book we were supposed to read, actually. I wonder if it’s still here.

Smiling, I tell Cliff that I’ll talk to her soon, and take Miles back upstairs. Arthur is still gone when we arrive, and I leave Miles to play in the bedroom while I make my way to my studio.

I hesitate in front of the studio door, my hand reaching for the wobbly old doorknob. There’s still a splotch of paint on the brass. Sky blue, to be exact.

For a moment, I almost can’t bring myself to enter. I’m afraid of the old memories, I guess—of the reminder that, no matter how much I try to will it into being, these past five years really have gone by. And Cliff’s osteoporosis and Augustine’s fading mind are even more proof of that.

But somehow, I manage to build up the courage to turn the handle. I push the door open, steeling myself against the scent of oil paints and linseed.

Just as Arthur said, the room is still exactly the same. The easel is still set up by the window, the white dropcloth still covers the floor, and the metal stool still sits there, waiting for me. And there’s a stack of clean, unmarked canvases leaning against the wall.

Taking a deep breath, I pick up one of the canvases and set it on the easel. Then, I get to work.