Reject My Alpha President (Iris and Arthur) novel Chapter 20

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.

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