Chapter 2

Iris's POV

I walked toward the gallery entrance, looking at Luke's paintings one by one.

I'd set this space up myself, staying up through the night. Even though the frames had been empty when I hung them, I'd poured my heart into imagining how Luke would portray me, his mother. That hope had kept me going.

The first painting was a meadow scene.

A woman shielded the sunlight with a parasol, sitting on a picnic blanket, peeling an orange for a child. The boy was laughing, practically tumbling into her arms.

I stopped.

The woman's face wasn't mine.

Instinctively, I reached up and pressed the surgical mask higher against my face. I blinked hard, holding back the tears.

The second painting was a nighttime beach.

Wind swept through the woman's long hair as she held Luke's hand at the water's edge.

Luke gazed up at her with bright, adoring eyes, hugging her leg.

I stared at the ocean in the painting, and alarm shot through me.

Luke could't go to the beach.

Half-blood children born of vampires and humans carried vampiric strength, but in early childhood their condition was highly unstable---prone to fevers, prone to losing control.

I'd been meticulous about controlling Luke's environment. I even scheduled regular cleaning for dust mites. Yet he still got fevers repeatedly.

He hated when I dragged him to the doctor, but as his mother, I couldn't let him take any risks.

The doctor had asked whether Luke had been to environments like the beach. For vampire hybrids, places with too many biological organisms and overwhelming scents could destabilize them, triggering their vampire bloodline prematurely and actually damaging their bodies.

I shook my head every time. Impossible. I never took him to the beach. Even when we went out, I kept him bundled up and away from crowds.

But in the painting, he'd been there. And he looked so happy.

Once, he'd had a fever that wouldn't break all night.

I held him in the emergency room hallway, my clothes soaked through with sweat.

In his delirium, he kept crying out the same words over and over.

"I don't want to go home."

"I don't want Mommy."

At the time, I thought it was the fever talking---just a delirious child in pain. My heart ached for him.

Now I knew the truth.

He just wanted to go back to the "Mommy" in the paintings.

I kept walking.

The third painting was indoors.

A woman sat beside a piano while Luke lay nearby, drawing.

She looked down at him with a gentle smile.

Then I noticed the bracelet on her wrist---a string of rubies.

Pigeon-blood red, the color of flame, matching the woman's eyes exactly.

I'd only ever seen that caliber of jewelry on the wrists of my gallery clients.

A bracelet like that was worth a decade of my income when I was young.

My throat went dry.

Lucien had told me many times that he wasn't the kind of vampire who lived off inherited wealth. Everything he had, he'd earned through his company. All his capital was tied up in projects and couldn't be touched, so he needed me to keep our household frugal.

So I never asked for anything extravagant.

The most expensive dress in my closet was one I'd bought before the wedding. After the marriage, I barely bought new clothes, spending the household allowance entirely on him and Luke.

Until the year my father got sick.

The medical bills piled up into a mountain. We couldn't make ends meet, and I had no choice but to ask Lucien for money.

He was silent for a long time before finally saying: "I really don't have any available funds right now."

He looked at me, and I suddenly remembered the way his vampire friends had looked at me at our wedding.

A human marrying a vampire---it was only ever about money and immortality.

Even though none of them had said it aloud, I could imagine what they whispered behind my back.

I didn't want Lucien to doubt my love. I'd never asked him for money. After giving birth, my health had suffered, but I'd never brought up being turned, either.

I said nothing. I went back to our room and opened the cabinet.

Inside was the painting I'd treasured most from my youth.

One of the pieces from my very first gallery exhibition.

I'd never been able to bring myself to sell it.

That night, I took it down, had it framed, and contacted a former client.

The sale price was just enough to cover my father's treatment.

Lucien held me afterward and said he was sorry, that once the company stabilized, he'd make it up to me.

I'd even cried.

And now, standing before my son's paintings, I stared at the priceless gems on that woman's wrist.

The jewels glittered in the painted light.

Lucien had probably never been short on money at all.

He simply never trusted me---his human wife. Even after I'd borne his child, I was still in some endless, inescapable probation period, fit only to play the dutiful, penny-pinching nanny.

The fourth painting.

The woman and Luke sat in an upscale restaurant. On the plate was a steak, nearly raw---still bloody.

In the painting, Luke's eyes crinkled with happiness.

My chest seized.

Luke shouldn't be eating steak that rare, practically dripping with blood. He was still too young. Activating his vampire bloodline this early would only burden his body and send his emotions spiraling out of control.

I'd restricted him many times, enduring his tantrums while holding firm, managing his diet.

Lucien always used work as an excuse, refusing to step in and discipline the boy, content to play the gentle, permissive father.

I stood before the painting, my fingertips ice cold.

I finally understood what all these paintings meant. The beach, the steak, the trips, the jewels, the smiles---it had all actually happened. Someone had taken photos of Luke with that woman, and Luke had preserved those memories in oil paint.

I looked toward Lucien in the distance. He was holding the woman's hand, listening as Luke enthusiastically introduced each painting.

Lucien seemed to sense my gaze and turned around, but I'd already stepped back into a corner.