Chapter 126
Iris's POV
I walked out of the glass doors without looking back, casually waving my hand in dismissal as Thomas Stone's enraged shouts followed me through the lobby. Security guards exchanged uncomfortable glances, shifting their weight from foot to foot as Thomas's voice grew increasingly desperate behind me.
"You can't just walk away like this! You'll regret this, Iris! You don't know what you're doing!"
A cold smile touched my lips as I pushed through the revolving door into the afternoon air. After all these years, Thomas hadn't changed one bit—still believing that volume could substitute for actual authority. The same man who'd spent years belittling me now looked absolutely terrified by what I might do next.
"Two decades of undermining my father's company, and he falls apart after one meeting," I muttered to myself as I slid into my car. "Pathetic."
The drive back to Crescent Design should have been peaceful, but my phone vibrated incessantly in my purse, practically dancing across the passenger seat at every stoplight. I glanced at the screen—notification after notification, from people I barely spoke to and groups I'd forgotten I was part of.
"Damn, news travels fast," I said, scrolling quickly at a red light. There were messages from werewolves I hadn't heard from in years, all suddenly interested in my life. My finger hovered over a text from Kim, my throat tightening at her transparent attempt to reconnect now that I held power. Delete.
By the time I pulled into the parking garage at Crescent Design, it was clear that word had spread beyond just the werewolf community. The building's security guard, who normally gave me a perfunctory nod, actually stood up straight when I approached, his eyes widening slightly.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Stone," he said, with new deference in his voice.
"It's still just Iris," I replied, trying to keep things normal. But normal had apparently taken a vacation.
The lobby was worse. Claire, the front desk receptionist who typically barely acknowledged my existence, nearly dropped her phone when I walked in. Her eyes grew as wide as dinner plates, and she fumbled to stand up.
"G-good afternoon, Ms. Stone," she stammered, looking at me like I might spontaneously transform into a wolf right there.
"Hi Claire," I said, trying to act casual as I headed for the elevator.
As soon as my back was turned, I heard her urgent whisper to her colleague: "That's her—the one who just took over Stone Industries—she's a Lowell!"
I suppressed a sigh as I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for my floor. Alone in the metal box, I studied my reflection in the polished doors. Same face, same clothes, same person I was yesterday. Yet somehow, overnight, I had become someone else in everyone's eyes.
My phone buzzed again. I pulled it out and saw the werewolf community chat had exploded with messages. Opening it briefly, I skimmed through dozens of speculations about my "hostile takeover" and newfound Lowell connection.
You think you're so clever now, but mark my words, the Stone family will be ruined in your hands!
Thomas's parting words echoed in my head as I scrolled through the messages. I couldn't help but laugh at how terribly wrong he was. The Stone family had already been in ruins—he just hadn't wanted to admit it.
I remembered what Ethan Lowell had told me last week: "You have Lowell blood flowing through your veins. You were born to be respected, not dismissed." At the time, it had felt like a foreign concept. Now, watching people's reactions change in real time, I was beginning to understand what he meant.
The elevator doors opened, and the usual buzz of conversation on our floor abruptly died. I stepped out, feeling dozens of eyes track my movement down the hallway. People who normally brushed past me without acknowledgment now pressed themselves against the walls to give me space. A design assistant nearly tripped over herself trying to move her coffee cart out of my path.
I walked into our department area and felt the collective intake of breath. My colleagues froze like startled deer, all pretense of work abandoned as they stared openly. I gave a brief nod and headed straight to my desk, feeling their gazes burning into my back.
Opening my laptop, I tried to focus on the design sketches I'd been working on yesterday—was it really just yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago. The whispers around me gradually resumed as people returned to their tasks, though I could still feel occasional glances being cast in my direction.
After about an hour, I noticed my water bottle was empty. I sighed, looking at the dry container and feeling my throat tighten with thirst. Rising from my chair, I grabbed the bottle and headed toward the break room.
As I approached, I heard familiar voices through the partially open door—Jessica and Amber, two junior designers who'd never bothered to hide their disdain for me, probably because they'd both tried and failed to catch Sebastien's attention.
"I heard she's already pregnant with his child," Jessica was saying in a hushed tone that was still perfectly audible to werewolf hearing. "But she's planning to get rid of it."
My hand instinctively went to my stomach, a surge of anger rising in my chest. The rumors about my pregnancy weren't entirely inaccurate, but the rest was pure fabrication. I could smell Megan Claire's influence all over this gossip.