The curator shakes her head firmly. "No. If anything, we''re all impressed by your


    boldness, coing to make some big


    waves, Iris. Just you wait and see."


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    The curator was right.


    Over the days since my seminar, it seems that my ''mysterious'' identity as ''Flora the artist'' has drawn even more interest in my work than ever. My collection is being talked about all over online forums, with local Ordan critics writing articles on the


    symbolism.


    And then, of course, there were my... ''bold'' statements.


    Truthfully, when I said those things about Arthur and his views on equality during the seminar, they just sort of... came out. It''s not that I didn''t mean what I said-I really do think that Arthur has done pretty much nothing when ites to increasing


    equality in Ordan over his five years as Alpha President-it''s just that I never expected myself to say them.


    Especially not with so much passion.


    But maybe it''s time. Arthur used toy in bed with me and talkte into the night about his hopes for the future of this city, how he wanted nothing more than a world that was no longer divided between humans and werewolves but rather united.


    Too bad that was all a lie. A lie just to keep me, his human mistress, around for just a little while longer to sate his needs. Until he


    could find a more suitable woman to be his Luna, of course. A werewolf woman.


    Still, I try not to dwell on it too much. Right now, I''m more consumed by my art career. The value of my art has shot up more in


    the past few days than it has in years, and I''ve already been receiving calls and emails from interested buyers.


    One offer in particr catches my eye. Someone is interested in purchasing ''Wet Nurse'', the star piece from my collection. And


    whoever it is must be high-profile, because the email I receive is from an


    assistant and not the actual buyer.


    I happily agree to meet the potential buyer at the gallery, then get dressed and head out. I don''t bother with my disguise today,


    since I''ll be meeting the buyer alone. Rather, I opt for a smart pair of trousers and


    a button-down shirt, wanting to look as


    professional as possible but also low key.


    When I


    I arrive at the gallery, I head in the back door after having learned my lesson the other night-I don''t want to be seen by any lingering journalists.


    Although most of the recent buzz surrounding my involvement with Arthur has subsided, Arthur and Selina are still under intense scrutiny, so it''s best toy low until I head back to Bo''Arrocan


    I''m just turning theer to the back entrance when I see her.


    She''s wearing dark cat eye sunsses and a silk scarf to cover her bleached blonde hair, but I would recognize Selina anywhere. Her face seared itself into my memory five years ago, and nothing I''ve done since then has been able to get it out.


    I''ve tried therapy, meditation, even the more unconventional methods (at Brian''s suggestion) like energy healing and sound.


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    baths.


    Nothing has worked. Selina''s smirking face, her eyes glittering with malice, haunts my dreams on a regr basis. So when I see her now, it''s only natural that I stop in my tracks, my hand fluttering up to touch the locket around my throat.


    She sees me, too. Her mouth tugs up into that smirk that I know too well the moment she spots me, and she straightens, adjusting her designer purse on her shoulder. She''s with a sandy-haired man that I vaguely recognize, although I can''t quite put


    my finger on it.


    He seems to recognize me as well, his eyebrows shooting up.


    "Well, well. Long time no see," Selina says. "Hello. Iris, was it?"