Iris's POV

Luke froze, his eyes slowly lighting up. Then he bolted toward the refrigerator like a gust of wind.

I didn't stop him. Didn't remind him to take it easy. I just stood there and watched the panic spreading across Lucien's face.

Luke was still young. He didn't understand what was truly good for him---he could be easily won over and controlled by any adult willing to indulge him.

Seeing that I had no intention of stepping in, Lucien visibly stiffened.

"Luke, wait." He finally spoke up.

Luke had already yanked open the refrigerator door. Cold air and the metallic scent of blood spilled out. He reached for a bottle of animal blood.

Lucien crossed the room in quick strides and caught his wrist.

"Not tonight," he said.

Luke froze, his expression shifting instantly---the look of him about to throw a tantrum.

"Why?"

But Lucien immediately glanced my way, eyes flickering with urgency and expectation. Still waiting for me to play the villain.

I stayed where I was, offering Luke nothing but a gentle smile. I didn't help.

I could guess what had happened. At the restaurant, neither Lucien nor Rebecca had restricted how much rare steak Luke consumed. That was why the boy was now craving blood this badly.

The air between us pulled taut, a wire about to snap. Only the two of us adults understood what we were really fighting over.

Lucien was silent for two seconds, his hand still on the refrigerator door, his voice going stiff. "Luke. Listen to me."

"No!" Luke's voice turned shrill. "You both said I could! Why can't I now?"

This time Lucien didn't back down. He took the bottle away and shut the door.

Luke went completely still.

He looked up at his father, and his eyes slowly reddened.

"You said if Mom agreed, I could!" Luke's voice pitched higher. "Mom said yes, and you still won't let me!"

For the first time in this household, Luke was lashing out at his father instead of me.

Lucien tried to pull the boy back, but Luke wrenched free of his grip.

His eyes were blazing red---his hybrid bloodline had been triggered, and his emotions were spiraling out of control.

"I hate you!"

Those words were aimed at Lucien.

The air seemed to freeze.

Lucien's face went dark.

He'd never been on the receiving end of Luke's defiance.

Because in the past, I'd absorbed every last drop of it.

He'd never had to be the one to say no to Luke.

Now it was finally his turn.

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.