Chapter 77

Iris

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Suing Arthur for custody feels wrong. Cruel, even—not just to him, but to myself and Miles as well. Each day since I took the lawyer’s offer, I feel as if I’ve made a grave mistake.

And yet, at the same time, it feels like the only solution. The only way out from a situation that will just get worse with time.

Arthur lied to me. He hid the truth about our son, hid the truth about Selina, about our love. He lies to his people, too—he keeps me, his true mate, hidden away in exchange for political power.

Therefore, how can I trust him when he says he never intends to use the Alpha’s Heir right to take Miles from me? How do I know he’s being honest when he says he loves me and Miles, and that he just wants the family we built?

I can’t. That’s the hardest part about all of this.

I’m halfway to the car when Arthur’s footsteps pound behind me, right on cue. The sound alone makes my stomach twist, even though I knew he would try to talk to me in private. He was quiet and stoic throughout the entire meeting, but now—now that we’re alone, he thinks he can manipulate me again.

But it won’t work.

“Iris, wait!”

I don’t stop. I couldn’t even if I wanted to, because I fear that if I spend too long looking into those green eyes of his, those green irises that are so much like our son’s, that I might not be as strong as I think I am.

Picking up my pace, I tighten my grip on my purse and hurry down the street. Where’s a cab when I need one?

Before I can get far, his hand catches my arm. “Iris, listen to—”

I wrench away, spinning to face him, and jab my finger at the center of his chest. “Don’t touch me.”

The hurt in his eyes almost—almost—makes me falter. But I’ve seen this performance before. The wounded look. The plea. The manipulation dressed up as genuine emotion. I don’t believe any of it anymore. I can’t believe any of it.

“Why?” he demands. “Why are you doing this? Just talk to me.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Just a sharp, broken sound that scrapes my throat raw. “Talk? You want to talk now? After everything you’ve done?”

Arthur takes a step closer. He drops his voice to a velvety whisper—the very same voice that once spoke sweet nothings to me. “Please. Just explain to me what’s going on.”

For a moment, as his familiar and enticing scent washes over me, something inside of me begins to waver. The fight drains out of me far quicker than I was ready for, only to be immediately replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion.

“I can’t,” I whisper. “I can’t tell you everything.”

“Try,” he says. The word isn’t a request. It’s a command—the Alpha President emerging, used to getting his way. Even though I’m not a werewolf, it works on me, and I hate that it does.

I square my shoulders and grit my teeth, making my jaw feather. “I’m afraid you’ll take Miles away from me.”

Arthur’s eyes flash. “You still think I’m going to take Miles? I would never—”

“Wouldn’t you?” My voice begins to rise. “You’ve lied to me about everything. His test results. Our relationship. The contract that trapped me in Ordan. Selina. How many times have you manipulated me, Arthur? How many times have you twisted the truth to get exactly what you want?”

His face falls. “That’s not fair.”

“Fair?” I repeat. The word sounds foreign, almost ridiculous. “Nothing about this has ever been fair.”

The silence between us turns thick.

“I love you,” he finally bites out. “And I love Miles. I would never—”

“Stop.” I hold up my hand, hating the way it’s trembling slightly. “Just stop. I can’t hear another lie.”

Arthur blinks, his eyes flicking to my trembling fingers and then back to my eyes. “Iris…”

Just then, I spot a cab. “Goodbye, Arthur,” I say. Before he can answer or see me cry, I quickly turn and hail the cab, climbing in as fast as possible.

“Iris! Iris, wait!”

I don’t respond. I don’t look back. I don’t even look at his fading form in the rearview mirror.

…

The drive to our new apartment later that afternoon is silent. Miles sits in the backseat, his face pressed against the window. He hasn’t spoken to me in days—not since I told him we were moving. Even with Brian here now to help me move—again—he hasn’t spoken.

The silence is like a knife, twisting slowly in a gaping wound in my chest. Each breath feels like agony.

Brian glances at me as he drives. “Don’t blame yourself, darling,” he says gently, reaching over to pat my leg. “It was an impossible decision with no ideal outcome. It’s not your fault.”

I open my mouth to respond, but no words will come. Truthfully, I feel like the worst mother in the world right now. I almost wish I never even returned to Ordan, not even for the Marsiel exhibit, just so Miles never would have had to go through this.

We were happy, once, in Bo’Arrocan. We didn’t have a lot, but it was something. It was peace. Joy. Not…

I glance in the rearview mirror at Miles, who is still staring out the window.

…Whatever this is.

Our new apartment is smaller than Arthur’s place, but it’s brighter. The windows flood the space with natural light, transforming the compact rooms into something that feels almost hopeful. Almost.

Miles, of course, refuses to unpack. He sits in the corner of his new bedroom, his open suitcase still untouched. Brian has brought a couple boxes of things for us to help settle in, but it’s not the same. The apartment is furnished, but minimalistic and not at all like the cluttered, cozy home that Arthur and I once built.

Still, I try to coax Miles into unpacking. Reason with him. I even try to bribe him at one point. Nothing works.

“I miss Daddy,” he says once, the first words he’s spoken in days. The statement feels like ice water being dumped over my head.

“I know, sweetheart,” I whisper. But I don’t take it back. I can’t take it back.

The first week passes in a blur of unpacking, legal preparations, and Miles’ continued silent treatment. I feel like the worst mother in the world. Every time I look at him, I see the hurt and the betrayal, and I hate myself and every little decision I’ve made to get to this point even more.

Somehow, though, as the days go on, I manage to work on my first painting for the residency. I suppose it’s inspired by all of the bad decisions I’ve made to get to this moment in my life; the painting depicts a cloud of dots, some smaller and some larger, hooked together with red lines. Eventually, it converges into a jumble of lines and dots in the center, before they all merge into one enormous black splotch.

I don’t know what I’m going to name it. I don’t think it needs a name.

Finally, after a week of living in our new place, my first legal meeting arrives. The new babysitter I’ve hired—a kind-faced woman named Rachel—arrives early. Miles barely acknowledges her presence. He’s become a ghost in his own home, drifting between rooms, existing but not truly present.

“He’ll be fine,” Rachel assures me with an award-winning smile. “We’re going to have lots of fun, aren’t we, Miles?”

She holds up a box of boardgames, and Miles just looks away. I’m not convinced they’re going to have much of a time at all, let alone a good one, but at least it will be uneventful. Which is a step up from chaos.

Finally, just before the meeting, I call a cab. The morning is crisp, autumn beginning to paint the city in muted golds and browns. My mind is racing—custody agreements, Arthur’s potential counter-moves, Miles’ emotional state. I barely even acknowledge the driver when I get in and tell him the address.

The cab weaves through morning traffic. I’m watching the city blur past the window, lost in thought. Then, the nearby intersection approaches—a familiar crossroads I’ve passed dozens of times before.

Suddenly, there’s a screech of metal. A violent, crushing sound.

Then darkness.