Iris
I’ve just begun packing a bag of art supplies when Arthur suddenly bursts into the room. His hair is disheveled, his suit jacket missing, tie askew. For a split second, my heart betrays me with a familiar flutter before I crush the feeling down.
“Iris, stop. Please.” He steps toward me, hands outstretched. “Whatever Selina told you—”
“Is it true?” I ask coldly. I continue tucking my paints into my bag. “Is Miles an Alpha wolf?”
Arthur freezes. The silence between us turns thick and heavy, confirming what I already know.
“Yes,” he finally says. “But I can explain—”
“How long have you known?” I zip the bag and turn to face him.
“A few weeks. I was going to tell you, I swear. I was just waiting for the right time.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “The
