hurrying across the city. But I don’t care.
“Anyone who wishes to see the Alpha President must have an appointment,” the secretary says slowly, as if speaking to a child.
“And I’m afraid he books out quite far, so…”
I slam my hands against the desk, making the receptionist jolt in his chair. “Tell him that Iris is here.”
The receptionist hesitates, but when he sees my furious expression, he complies and dials Arthur’s extension on the phone. To my surprise, he hangs up after a moment and stands.
“Right this way, Miss Iris.”
I follow the receptionist through the sleek halls of Arthur’s office building, trying not to stare. The entire place is gleaming white with floor–to–ceiling windows, frosted glass doors leading into packed conference rooms.
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Chapter 21
The receptionist leads me over a sky bridge with a lobby below, where trickling fountains spray cool mist into the air. This place Is… nice. Really nice.
I always knew that the Alpha President’s headquarters was astonishing, but being here in person is like a slap in the face. While Arthur and I had a nice home before with plenty of space, and he could afford plenty with his family’s wealth, he was still humble.
He always said that even without money and nice things, he would be happy as long as he had m
“No wonder he’s changed,” I think as I follow the receptionist. But then I purse my lips and think, “No, he’s always been like this. He was just a good liar before.”
Before I know it, I’m being ushered into a large, gleaming corner office overlooking the city. Arthur is sitting behind a clean glass
desk, wearing a black suit with his dark hair perfectly swept back. His green eyes flick up when I approach, but to my surprise, he
doesn’t mock me for coming or even mention my slightly haggard appearance.
“Iris,” he says, “to what do I owe the-”
“I know what you did,” I grind out, jabbing my finger in his face. “Seriously, Arthur? You tried to have my artwork removed from Marsiel just because I wouldn’t endorse you and your shrew of a fiancee? Who do you even think you are?”
“The Alpha President of Ordan,” he replies calmly. I suddenly feel stupid for asking, although I’m still pissed. He gestures to the
chair opposite his desk. “Iris, sit.”
I hesitate, but finally plop down. “You didn’t have to go that far,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
But to my shock, Arthur looks utterly confused when I look up at him through my lashes.
“Iris, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“But you-”
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“Iris.” Arthur levels me with a stern glare that gives me pause. His expression is blank, as if I just came in here and told him that the sky is purple. I know he’s not lying now.
“If you didn’t, then who did?” I ask, throwing my hands up in the air. “Because someone ordered the gallery to either remove my work or shut down completely, and I can’t think of anyone but you who would have enough authority to do that.”
Arthur nods and rises, buttoning his suit jacket. I hate the way his broad shoulders straining against the deep blue fabric makes my cheeks flush, and I quickly look away. “I’ll look into this,” he says. “Wait here.”
Before I can protest, Arthur leaves. I sigh and sink down into the chair, pinching the bridge of my nose. A couple minutes later, something steamy and fragrant is shoved in front of me, and I open my eyes to find the Beta holding out a cup of coffee.
“Alpha Arthur said you might like this,” he says.
I sheepishly take the coffee, thanking him. The coffee is sweet and almost chocolatey, just the way I like it. In fact, the taste is so
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familiar that it makes my cheeks flush as old memories rise up.
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Back when Arthur was campaigning, he rented out an office to work in so he wouldn’t have to clutter the house with paperwork. I used to visit him there, bring him homemade meals when he was overworking himself.
When I found out that he was constantly buying takeout coffee, I bought a little coffee maker and splurged on these exact coffee beans, and I would brew us each a cup whenever I visited. We would sip coffee and talk all night.
never g
Even now, I can still see him in that office, his white shirt sleeves pushed up to the elbows and that one pesky curl that he could
quite tame—although now he seems to always have it perfectly slicked back–falling across his forehead. I can still see the stubble lining his jaw, can still hear his rough voice as he would pace the office and read me his speeches.
Back then, I was more than just his lover, I was his partner, his right hand. I was the woman who would stay up with him and help.
him refine his speeches, give him pep talks when he needed them, listen to his worries and hold his hand and tell him that
everything would be okay.
That he would make a great Alpha President.
That we would be great together.
But it was all just an illusion, wasn’t it? And now, this coffee tastes
