Reject My Alpha President (Iris and Arthur) novel Chapter 252

Iris

I can’t sleep. It’s partly due to worry about Miles–his fever has gone down with the medicine my mother had on hand, but he’s

still restless–and partly everything else that’s swirling around in my head.

Selina, the residency ending, Arthur, my wolf… it’s all too much to process while lying in an unfamiliar bed, staring up at an

ornate ceiling that I hardly recognize.

After tossing and turning for what feels like hours, I finally slip out of bed, careful not to wake Arthur. He’s sprawled on his side,

breathing deeply, one arm still extended toward where I was lying. Even in sleep, he reaches for me.

I pull on a robe that was hanging in the en–suite bathroom and slip into the hallway. The Willford estate is eerily quiet at night,

but the moonlight streaming through the enormous windows is also beautiful. I’ve never had a chance to really explore this

place, especially not at night.

The corridors seem endless, each one lined with priceless artwork and antique furniture. I run my fingers along the smooth

wooden banister as I descend a grand staircase, trying to imagine growing up here.

Would I have slid down this banister as a child? Would I have hidden behind these heavy drapes during games of hide–and–seek

with Caleb?

Instead, I grew up in a cramped orphanage with peeling paint and too few blankets, sharing a room with several other girls. The

contrast is jarring. I had nothing, and now I have… all of this. Access to wealth, power, luxury beyond anything I could have

imagined.

A strange, uncomfortable feeling settles in my stomach. Not quite guilt, but something adjacent to it. What did I do to deserve

this life of privilege? Nothing except being born with the right blood.

I follow a dimly lit corridor that leads to what appears to be the east wing of the house. Eventually, I find myself at a set of glass

doors that open onto a courtyard.

Stepping outside, I’m met with the soft sound of running water. The courtyard is a meticulously maintained garden with stone

pathways winding between flowerbeds, statues, and small trees. In the center stands a large fountain–a woman pouring water

from a jug, the marble gleaming white in the moonlight.

I approach the fountain, drawn to the peaceful sound of the trickling water. Looking down, I see my reflection rippling in the pool

below. My face, distorted by the gentle movement of the water, looks back up at me.

Is this really me, I wonder? Iris Willford, daughter of one of the most powerful werewolf families in the country, and mate to the

Sometimes it still feels like I’m dreaming. Like I’ll wake up at any moment.

But I know it’s not true. This is my life now, no matter how strange it feels.