Chapter 20
Iris
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Selina just stands there in stunned silence for several long moments, and I’m not entirely sure if she’s enraged or embarrassed. Likely both. Without another word, she huffs angrily and storms out of the gallery, leaving Arthur’s Beta still standing there.
I expect him to turn and follow his mistress out of the gallery, but he doesn’t. Rather, he lingers just a moment longer.
“So it’s true. You really have become a successful artist,” he says. “Alpha Arthur has been in a poor state for a very long time, you know. He misses you. Deeply.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “Whether Arthur misses me or not isn’t my concern. And even if he
does miss me for some reason, he’s set up to have the perfect, happy little family that will make the masses swoon. He doe
need me.”
And I mean it when I say that, truly. If anything, I just feel as though my life has been nothing but one troublesome moment after
another since I returned to Ordan, all because of Arthur.
I just want to go home. To Bo’Arrocan. To Miles.
The Beta sighs and shakes his head. He turns toward the door that Selina disappeared through, moving to follow her, but stops short. When he glances at me over his shoulder, something in his gaze makes my breath catch, but I’m not entirely sure what it is
or why.
“You don’t have to be so self–righteous, you know,” he says. “After all, you’re the one who left Arthur for personal gain. Not the
other way around.”
And with that, he leaves.
I’m left silent in his wake, not entirely sure of what to make of that parting statement. I’m the one who left Arthur for personal gain? I left to survive. I left to save my dignity. I left to give my son a life full of love and joy, not one with a father who would
never truly see him as his own.
Who would only ever see me as the human wet nurse.
tet mot to me. I don’t know Arthur’s Beta personally, and he doesn’t know me. He likely only heard what
Even so, I decide not to
he just said through the grapevine, which means that it’s pointless to dwell on it.
Later, I’m set up on the balcony at the apartment, my portable easel and a fresh canvas in front of me. I’ve been staring at the blank canvas for nearly an hour now, and it still doesn’t have a mark on it. My paints have long since dried up.
Truthfully, I can’t seem to find inspiration today. I figure I’m just tired from everything going on, that I’m missing home. But
deep down, I think it’s more than that.
At that moment, the sound of my phone buzzing pulls me out of my reverie. I push my wide–brimmed sun hat back and check the
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screen, finding an email from the gallery curator.
“Iris, it’s with a heavy heart that I say this,” the email reads, “but as of right now, your exhibition is suspended and the gallery
be closed for three days. We received a formal notice that unless your art is removed from our premises, the entire gallery will
be shut down. I’m sorry.”
The moment I read the email, my blood begins to boil. Who else would do this if not for Arthur? No doubt he’s pissed that I stood up to Selina and refused to endorse them publicly, and now he’s throwing a temper tantrum.
Without hesitating, I grab my yellow sweater with the hole in it and throw it on over my painter’s overalls as I storm out. It
doesn’t take me long to get to Arthur’s office.
“I need to see Arthur,” I demand, breathless, as I storm up to the receptionist’s desk.
The secretary glances up from behind his computer, his eyes flicking across my appearance. I’m well aware that I look like a bat
out of hell, wearing my stained overalls with my hair mussed from hurrying acro
