Chapter 7

Iris's POV

Luke turned and bolted upstairs. His bedroom door slammed shut with a bang that shook the walls.

The living room fell silent. Just me and Lucien.

He stood there for a long moment, then slowly straightened and looked at me, his expression unreadable.

"You did that on purpose," he said.

I picked up my glass, took a sip of water, and said nothing.

He watched me, his brow furrowed. "You know he can't have too much blood right now."

"Lucien, so do you," I said.

He didn't respond.

For the first time, the space between us had no careful accommodations from me, no gentle veneer of harmony.

He paused, then looked away uncomfortably.

"You haven't been yourself lately," he said. "I know the exhibition upset you."

"I know you're hurt that Luke didn't want you at the exhibition." He spoke quickly, as though rushing to reclaim the narrative. "I've told you so many times---he's still young, very sensitive right now, afraid you'll criticize his paintings. That's why he didn't want you there."

"Afraid I'll criticize his paintings?" I cut in.

"When have I ever criticized Luke's paintings? I've never even seen them---isn't that right? Or did you tell him something that made him believe I'd be harsh? That I'd expect too much?"

He faltered. That split second of blankness on his face was more honest than any excuse.

Lucien couldn't change his own vampiric pride and exacting standards. He wanted his son to excel but refused to be the one Luke resented for pushing him. So he dumped that thankless job on me.

No matter what happened---no matter how much our son despised me or how he saw me as a mother---it was always my fault.

Never the fault of his "gentle," "caring" father. And certainly nothing to do with his beloved Rebecca. Of course Luke would only love the parents who let him do whatever he wanted.

"You're overthinking this, Iris. I'm your husband---why would I scheme against you? When have I ever refused anything you've asked for?"

He could say that with a straight face because I'd never asked him for anything. Never demanded a gift.

Even skipping our son's exhibitions---that had been my "choice," something I'd been "willingly" talked into giving up.

I looked at the man I'd once trusted completely, loved unconditionally, and let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

After a long silence, I raised my head and spoke evenly.

"Alright. Since you say so---Lucien, let's go on a trip this weekend."

He visibly startled.

"What?"

"Let's go on a trip this weekend," I said. "Bring Luke. Just the three of us."

His expression locked up.

"This weekend... I might have work."

I looked at him, my gaze an unspoken challenge.

He dodged my eyes. "We're in a critical project phase. I need to meet a client. Luke's tutor also said... there's a makeup class this weekend."

"Which client are you meeting on a weekend?"

I pressed him, and he was clearly caught off guard. Before today, I would never have pushed like this. The moment he mentioned being busy with work, I'd have backed off and comforted him instead.

"... Not confirmed yet."

"What day?"

"Both days this weekend..."

"What time?"

"..."

He stopped answering.

The air went quiet.

And the suspicion in my mind finally crystallized.

Weekends were family time for the three of them---Lucien, Luke, and his other mother, Rebecca.

Lucien looked at me as though sensing something, his tone softening. "Iris, don't overthink it. I really am busy---"

I met his eyes. I could no longer hide the disappointment behind them, so I lowered my head and forced a smile.

"Sure. It's fine. I'm tired. You should rest too."

Lucien seemed to believe his compliant, understanding wife had returned. He pulled me into his arms.

I leaned against his shoulder, my expression cold, already calculating how to gather evidence of his affair.

After that final blow, I'd finally made up my mind.

I was getting a divorce. And he would leave with nothing.

This marriage---I didn't want it anymore.