Behind the Spotlight of Love

Chapter 1

**Arthur Aldermore's Unlikely Union**

Arthur Aldermore had jumped into matrimony faster than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

Her family, entrenched in old-money expectations, had orchestrated a marriage with Eleanor Blackwell, scion of the illustrious Blackwell family. Arthur, a pampered wildfire of a woman, was notorious for her bad temper and brash demeanor. She was the storm that blew through a calm town—exciting, loud, and often utterly disruptive.

Eleanor, on the other hand, was the picture of composure and grace. With an ethereal coolness that immediately put others at ease, she spoke softly, as though her words were precious pearls to be savored. Everyone adored her, and that seemed to infuriate Arthur. The woman was as plucky as a saint, presenting an image so perfect that it came off as faux. Ten years Arthur's senior, Eleanor took a cautious approach to life, her frail health making even a brief walk leave her breathless.

Married for two years, their lives had evolved into separate entities under the same very expensive roof—better described as a ‘roommate situation’ than a union.

Then one fateful evening, Arthur returned home, her mind on grander thoughts—until she flung open the door to the Kingsford Bathhouse. That’s when the unexpected became an indelible mark on her psyche.

“Arthur,” Eleanor's melodic voice broke through the steam, “there’s no need to stare. Feel free to look, I'm not hiding.”

Arthur froze, her cheeks reddening as if scalded. “Who’s peeping here? We’re both women, what’s there to gawk at?”

But from that moment, Arthur Aldermore's world tilted off its axis. Meals turned into pondering sessions about Eleanor, and the mere sound of a cough from the adjacent room ignited her anxiety.

She was in trouble.

---

“Arthur!” a voice called, dragging her back to the present as she prepared for the latest episode of *Noble Alliance*, a reality show that had catapulted her into a stratosphere of stardom. She was navigating a minefield of public scrutiny and vendettas, with rumors spiraling that she had clashed with producers at Greenwood Studios.

Eleanor had made a couple of noteworthy guest appearances on the show, captivating audiences with her artistry as a famed Fiddle Master. Fans were abuzz, shipping the two of them as a couple, but then the claws came out. Critics lambasted Arthur, dismissing her as a mere “celebrity bubble,” unworthy of sharing the stage with an artist like Eleanor.

But amidst the chaos, something else had erupted. During the last episode, all eyes were on Eleanor as she left Arthur's hotel room with a soft care that turned heads and ignited speculation. “She was exhausted after a long day. Let her sleep,” Eleanor had whispered, addressing the camera with her usual serene confidence.

Now, while standing at a glitzy fashion event, chaos descended like a thunderstorm. Reporters clambered for her attention, each word sharper than the last. “Arthur Aldermore, what about the recent allegations of diva behavior? Is it true that Edward Ellis snatched your endorsement deal?”

Dressed in a charcoal blazer that hugged her frame, with a vibrant skirt that echoed her usual bold aesthetic, Arthur scanned the hostile crowd. Philip, her ever-diligent manager, was clad in a black suit, attempting to steer her through the throes of press.

“Let’s keep it moving, Nathan,” he urged, a nervous glint in his eye. Philip was wise to the fireworks that were Arthur’s public appearances, especially after the recent uphill battles she fought.

But chaos loves company, and a clumsy journalist who cared little for etiquette managed to find himself colliding with Isabella, Arthur's assistant. The sound of breaking glass severed the moment, and the crowd recoiled as the photographer ducked behind his lens.

Arthur halted, her protective instinct kicking in. Was Isabella hurt?

“Are you okay?” Arthur asked, concern piercing through her usual bravado.

“Just a bit of pain,” Isabella responded, dismissing it with a forced smile. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s go.”

Arthur barely registered her assistant’s words. Her glare was directed toward the offending journalist, who was still trying to regain his composure, fumbling the camera back into place. “What are you doing, Arthur?” he inquired breathlessly.

In a split second, without a flicker of hesitation, Arthur swatted his arm, and the camera tumbled to the ground, shattering. The audible gasp of the crowd was thrilling, a macabre serenade to her growing agitation.

“Class? Please—do you even know the meaning of the word?” Arthur shot back, her voice sharp as a knife. “You, better take your ass to the hospital with my assistant to get that eye checked. I don't need the headline ‘Ego Trampled at Fashion Bash’ following me home.”

Philip, stunned and laughing internally at the unfolding drama, broke from his position to stabilize the situation. The journalist barely processed Arthur's audacity; he stood dumbfounded, lost for words as if for the first time, he encountered pushback from an actress who was done playing nice.

With brows furrowed, Philip cast a warning glance at Walter Wright—a familiar name, though not one he was fond of—and stepped in. “Back it up. Let’s not make this uglier than it needs to be.”

Arthur inhaled deeply, her expression shifting from fury to façade as the spotlight beckoned her once more. Once she hit the scene, it was as if she transformed.

Adjusting her posture, she glided into view, conjuring a smile that would disarm even the stingiest critic. Dressed in a dazzling rose-hued gown, accentuating her lithe figure, she was every bit the star. The lights dimmed, she laughed, posing into the spotlight—ready to captivate the world again.

Her pulse calmed as she eclipsed the chaos behind her; tonight, she was ready to show everyone, including Eleanor, how not to be silenced.

Top.

Chapter 2

The flashbulbs flickered like fireflies in the night, illuminating the poised figure in the spotlight with an irresistible charm.

Reporters and photographers called her name, and Arthur Aldermore, a striking beauty with sharp features and sultry eyes, shifted with grace, serving different poses for the cameras. Just as she engaged in casual chatter with the host, the next guest made an entrance – none other than Edward Ellis, the starlet who had just snatched a beauty endorsement from under her nose.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, irritated. It was obvious that the event organizers were stirring the pot, playing up the rivalry for all it was worth.

Elegance radiated from Arthur, her attire bold and vibrant. In contrast, Edward’s aesthetic was soft and fresh; she favored white dresses and sailor-inspired outfits, often typecast as the quintessential girl-next-door in romantic comedies.

Though they looked worlds apart, they were of the same age and often found themselves competing for the same resources. They had been rivals since they both broke into the industry. Arthur bubbled with an electric energy, while Edward emanated a sweet, innocent calm.

Arthur was signed with Bright Entertainment, while Edward represented Henry Entertainment, just a street apart from each other; the competition had become fierce. Barely days ago, Edward had wrestled a sought-after beauty campaign away from Arthur.

When Edward spotted Arthur, her gaze flickered momentarily, a hint of surprise crossing her features before she donned a smile and swept towards her, train of her gown swishing behind her.

The host, eagerly sensing the brewing tension, asked, “It has been two or three years since the two of you last collaborated. Are there any plans to work together again?”

“It has been quite a while,” Edward smiled, each word laced with feigned enthusiasm. “I’ve been looking forward to working with Arthur again.”

Arthur surveyed Edward with inscrutable calm and chuckled softly, “Let’s not hold our breath on that.”

The statement hung in the air, tension tightening like a noose, and the cameras clicked more fiercely.

Edward’s expression faltered for a heartbeat, her smile getting stuck somewhere between surprise and dismay.

“I heard your schedule is packed well into next year, Edward,” Arthur continued, her voice punctuated with mock innocence. “I doubt I’ll be able to hold out till then. Right, Edward?”

The subtle dig was unmistakable, the competitive undertone resonating with anyone paying attention. Arthur had not been trapped in silence after all; she openly skewered her rival, revealing the truth of Edward's recent opportunism.

Edward inhaled deeply, teeth gritting in frustration.

With a cool glance, Arthur dismissed Edward, addressing the host instead. She gestured towards her wrist, turning the conversation to the time.

The host, taken aback for a moment, finally realized, “Alright, ladies, I think it’s time to retreat backstage.”

Arthur shot Edward one last glance, leaving no room for further confrontation. She exited the front stage, bypassing the seats for the inner hall and choosing to leave the event altogether.

Waiting by the car, Philip Crosby, her manager, shed his suit jacket, rolling up his shirt sleeves while admiring his floral tie in the reflection. He greeted their arrival with a light-hearted quip, “Looks like that journalist ran off; probably scared of the medical bills.”

Isabella Davenport, sensing the brewing storm, added, “It’s just a little red at the corner of her eye, nothing to fret over.”

Arthur flashed a sidelong glance. “Fine, but if it starts to hurt later, don’t come crying to me.”

“Trust me, I’m fine,” Isabella insisted, eyes glinting with casual defiance.

Their conversation drifted off course, and as they neared the company, Philip reminded her, “Nathan, if William Crosby starts throwing shade, just bite your tongue. Don’t lose your cool.”

“Got it,” Arthur sighed, already bracing herself.

William Crosby, the head of Bright Entertainment, was not just the boss; he was also Philip’s uncle, recently divorced and navigating the treacherous waters of his forties. Last year, Bright Entertainment signed a deal with another company that entailed hefty profit expectations over three years. Each artist had quotas, and while Arthur wasn't one of the main draws, her expectations weren’t low either, especially after Edward had snatched yet another of her endorsements.

The ride to the office was heavy with unspoken tension. Philip threw in a few comforting words before slumping down in the backseat and falling asleep.

Arthur leaned back, stealing a moment of tranquility as she scrolled through her Whispering Willows account.

Serendipitously, her eyes caught a trending topic:

#Fiddle Master Sophia Montgomery Returns# #Sophia Montgomery’s Female Friend#

Her brows knitted together, she tapped the trending tag, revealing a short clip and two photographs. In one, the young, renowned artist was playfully linking arms with a woman clad in a pristine white coat, the friend’s back portrayed with a certain ethereal elegance.

“Arthur,” Isabella called as she recalled a recent phone call. “Eleanor Blackwell just called. She’s waiting for you downstairs.”

The mere mention of Eleanor sent a jolt of irritation through Arthur.

This was Eleanor Blackwell, her wife — by chance rather than romance — they had rushed into marriage after a single lunch two years ago.

Family pressures had encouraged their union, and while Arthur buried herself in work, Eleanor was off on a world tour, handling her own celebrity status. Their paths had crossed little, and even their messenger conversations had sputtered to a halt after they spoke last summer about sending gifts to Aldermore’s relatives.

With both women juggling public personas and corporate collaborations, their wedding remained a closely guarded secret, known only to a few friends.

Tonight marked an occasion to be observed, as Eleanor's grandfather turned eighty, a fact Eleanor had reminded Arthur of the night before when they inadvertently crossed paths at home.

“Arthur,” Isabella’s voice brought her back.

“I know,” Arthur snapped, annoyance bleeding through her calm facade.

The Bright Entertainment headquarters loomed closer, located in the bustling heart of the city. After an hour on the road, they arrived, greeted by the bustling warmth of the building.

As the executives remained busy in a meeting, Arthur stepped out, picking up her phone to call her friend. “Fiona Fielding.”

“Nathan! I was just about to call you! I’ve finished the project proposal, but I’m in a bit of a pickle with the guest selection,” Fiona’s voice crackled through the line as she typed furiously.

The project, “Noble Alliance,” was a travel-based reality show that Fiona had meticulously crafted for half a year. Just as they were set to film, a couple of guests had pulled out last minute; now they were scrambling for replacements.

“Wait, the people we had lined up actually bailed?” Arthur asked, mentally bracing for the fallout.

“Yeah, they all joined Edward’s dating show, ‘Lady’s Assembly.’ Can you believe it?” Fiona replied, disbelief dripping from her voice.

“Right. You got anyone else in mind? I’ll see what I can do,” Arthur offered.

“I asked some friends for help, and then there’s Gerard Galloway…”

Chapter 3

Arthur Aldermore paced the small conference room, arms crossed, frustration etched across his face. “Gerard Galloway? Why would a big-time actress show up for a no-name reality show like this?” He scoffed, disbelief dripping from his words.

Fiona Fielding, ever the optimist, quipped back defensively, “I’m just trying to see if I can pull something off. You never know…”

“Never know what?” Arthur interrupted, his tone crisp. “The production team has no clout, the investors didn’t bite, and the marketing’s a flop. She’d be crazy to jump on this sinking ship. Is she desperate, or are you?”

“Come on, Arthur,” Fiona said, a little deflated but ready to push back. “Maybe it’s just a fun gig. Not everyone is obsessed with being on top.”

“Unlike you, I don’t go back to my ex,” he shot back, smirking. “You've been hung up on that guy for ages. Let it go already.”

“Look who's talking,” Fiona snapped. “Aren’t you marrying Eleanor Blackwell? Seems like someone’s eating leftovers.”

Caught off-guard, Arthur fell silent, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Before he could regroup, Philip Crosby strolled in, his expression matching the weight of an impending storm. “Need to talk, Nathan,” he said.

“Right,” Arthur replied, straightening as he prepared to face the inevitable.

Philip called after him, “Let's go, Nathan.”

“Coming,” he answered, his heart sinking a little. Business with the boss was never light-hearted.

In the office, Margaret Crosby, the formidable head of operations, waved her assistant away with a flick of her wrist. “You two stay.”

Then, addressing Arthur, she looked unamused. “What’s this nonsense about you kicking someone out of the crew?”

Arthur shrugged, trying to play it off casually. “I did it. Philip wasn’t around to stop me, so it’s not his fault.”

Margaret’s tone turned icy. “You know better than to pull stunts like that. You’re under my management now, and we play by my rules.”

Philip jumped in, eager to deflect some of the heat. “It wasn’t Nathan’s fault! There was this photographer—he was taking photos up a young actress's skirt. She’s barely seventeen, and Nathan reacted. He just kicked the guy out.”

Margaret’s features softened slightly but remained businesslike. “Fine. But you just lost your endorsement deals and the upcoming roles. You need to come up with a plan to recoup that, understand?”

Arthur nodded, “Yeah, I get it. Don’t worry, Philip. I’ll handle it.”

Margaret was tough as nails, and while Arthur respected her, that didn’t lighten the mood. Her support had resurrected his career after a nasty scandal two years ago, but respect doesn’t mean easy conversations.

After Margaret finished her reprimand, Arthur felt slightly better but still irked. Philip’s fate was a different story—he was left behind to face another round of Margaret's wrath.

“Damn it!” Arthur heard Philip wail as he entered the elevator. “Aunt Margaret, I swear I didn’t take any young models home! Please don’t hit me, I can’t take it!”

Arthur chuckled softly to herself, amused, then dialed Isabella Davenport. “Hey, could you swing by and drop off some clothes? I need something more appropriate for dealing with family.”

She sounded incredulous. “You’re not going there in that red sundress, are you?”

“Exactly. Bring something in light cream. Something that’ll blend better,” Arthur said, glancing at herself in the mirror and grimacing. The color made her feel washed out, but it was better than red.

After hanging up, she waited by the curb, casting a glance at her phone. No text back from Eleanor yet.

The chilly air sent snowflakes swirling around her, remnants of a storm earlier in the week. The air had that distinct, sharp freshness only late-snow could bring. Arthur took a deep breath, feeling a bit of the day’s irritation melt away.

As she stood there, a sleek silver car pulled up silently beside her.

It was Eleanor Blackwell’s ride.

Arthur opened the door and climbed in, greeted by the soothing strains of “Celestial Chant” playing softly in the background. The car’s interior was warm, almost too warm for the wintry chaos outside.

Eleanor’s elegant peacock blue coat stood out against the white backdrop, the simple cut accentuating a delicate waistline. She turned her head, her dark hair framing a face that glowed in the dim light of the car. The sweeping tassels of her earrings danced softly as she spoke, her voice calm and inviting. “Arthur Aldermore. Ready to head home?”

“Uh-huh,” Arthur replied, adjusting in her seat, trying to shake off the last of the anxious tension.

As Eleanor backed out onto the road, she drove with a steadiness that assured Arthur, even in the treacherous weather. “Did you wait long outside?” Eleanor asked casually.

“Not too long,” Arthur replied, a little evasive, not wanting to dwell too much on the awkwardness of her day.

“Been under the weather,” Eleanor said, catching Arthur off guard.

“Not really sick,” Arthur defended, more to herself than Eleanor.

“Hmm,” Eleanor mused, as the snow began to fall heavily again, tumbling through the rearview mirror like a white curtain.

Arthur settled in, staring out the window, and tried to shake off the lingering noise from the office. Whatever tomorrow brought, at least tonight she was with Eleanor.

Chapter 4

Arthur Aldermore tugged at her scarf, irritation brewing beneath her calm exterior. She wasn’t used to such overt displays of concern. Slipping on her headphones, she turned away from Eleanor Blackwell, effectively signaling that she wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

Eleanor merely smiled, a soft, knowing expression that didn’t invite further questions about whether Arthur was coming down with something.

The car was filled with the haunting strains of “Celestial Chant,” its classic melodies low enough to blend into the background—ethereal and lingering.

Arthur, still plugged into her music but not playing anything, allowed her eyes to drift out the window as the scenery blurred past. Before she realized it, fatigue pulled her under, and she drifted off.

When she finally opened her eyes, everything outside was blanketed in snow.

The car had come to a stop on Maple Street, the music had faded, and a gentle, calming scent hung in the air. Arthur inhaled deeply before finally turning her head.

She found herself caught in Eleanor’s warm gaze, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a way that spoke of genuine softness.

How long had Eleanor been looking at her like that?

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Arthur asked, her voice slightly sharper than she intended.

Eleanor chuckled softly. “We’ve only just arrived. You look worn out. Rough day at work?”

Arthur had always prided herself on her independence. She found such domestic concerns maddening. But today, with her spirits already low, she almost snapped back that it was none of Eleanor’s business. Her gaze fell to Eleanor's soft yet concerned eyes, and she swallowed her retort.

After a moment, she managed a half-hearted, “Yeah, it’s just the usual.”

What job wasn’t demanding, anyway?

Unbuckling her seatbelt, Arthur swung the door open and stepped out, not waiting for Eleanor to lock up. She started walking away, ready to shake off the heaviness of the day.

“Arthur,” Eleanor called after her.

Arthur hesitated, turning back with a furrowed brow. Eleanor was approaching, having just locked the car, clad in a peacock-blue coat that accentuated her slim waist. In the stark whiteness of the snow, her figure stood out, elegant and striking, despite the pallor that hinted at long-standing health issues.

“What?” Arthur asked, her tone curt.

“Mrs. Blackwell,” Eleanor said slowly, as if savoring each word.

Arthur blinked, taken aback. Mrs. Blackwell. The weight of the title weighed heavy in the air between them.

Eleanor stepped closer until they were only a breath apart. Arthur clenched her lips tightly, feeling the need to run but eventually relenting and wrapping her arm around Eleanor's. There was still a considerable distance between them—enough space to fit another person comfortably.

They started walking, the chill in the air biting at Arthur’s skin. She hated physical closeness, especially with someone she hardly knew, but the path toward the house wasn’t long.

The housekeeper emerged, beaming at the sight of the two women. “Miss, Mrs., welcome back!”

“Where’s Grandpa?” Eleanor asked.

“Ah, his memory isn’t what it used to be,” the housekeeper laughed lightly. “The old man went out this afternoon. He told me to let you know you didn’t have to rush back.”

Just then, Arthur's uncle, Charles Blackwell, stepped outside. “Your grandfather's old friend had a heart attack. He had to head to the hospital. He won't be home today.”

“Uncle,” Eleanor replied, turning her focus back to Arthur. “With Grandpa out, we can eat and head back home.”

“Fine,” Arthur said simply, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she allowed Eleanor to drop the touch.

The Blackwell family tree was complicated. Eleanor's father had died years prior, and with her aunt living elsewhere, the house was filled with her uncle Charles and her other uncle Marian, both of whom had their wives in attendance. Tension simmered beneath the surface, especially when it came to family expectations.

“Eleanor, how did your tour go?” Henry Hawthorne, Eleanor’s aunt by marriage, asked, dishing out food for her.

“Very smoothly,” Eleanor said with a polite smile. “I worked with my teachers and a junior, so it was pretty stress-free.”

“That junior, Fiona Fielding, right? I saw her in the news yesterday—quite a face she has! Did you travel back together?” Henry pressed, her curiosity piqued.

“Something like that,” Eleanor said, purposefully avoiding further discussion.

Meanwhile, Arthur picked at her food, rolling a kernel of corn around her bowl. She felt out of place, bored, trying to tune out the conversation that whirled around her.

Uncle Marian’s wife, Lily Kingsley, leaned closer to Arthur. “You and Eleanor have been married for two years. It’s important to spend time together, you know. With busy careers, it’s easy for those feelings to fade. And if you’re thinking about kids, well, time waits for no one."

Arthur didn’t respond. It was a conversation she despised, but considering that Lily was family, she kept her silence.

“Maybe you should check in with Professor Zimmerman, like you asked, Eleanor,” Lily said cheerfully, trying to redirect the conversation.

“That’s already been settled,” Eleanor replied, delicately steering the topic away from uncomfortable territory.

Just then, Lily’s granddaughter sat beside Eleanor, tilting her head up. “Auntie, can I have some of your juice?”

Eleanor was about to hand it over when Lily swiftly intervened. “Maybe not, dear. We want to be careful in case it makes Oliva sick.”

Cold silence fell over the room. Eleanor’s chronic health issues were well-known, but to frame it in such a blunt manner felt particularly harsh given the gathering.

Lily’s cheeks reddened with awkwardness. “Eleanor, I didn’t mean it like that. You know how it is. Just... let’s avoid anything too risky.”

Eleanor smiled, her warmth never faltering. “It’s alright,” she said softly.

There was an unspoken understanding that lingered in the air, thick with the weight of familial expectations and personal grievances.

But Arthur knew tonight would merely be another performance in the ongoing play that was their lives.

Chapter 5

Arthur paused, his fingers stilling over the bowl of corn kernels in front of him.

Was this guy a total wooden statue?

He just sat there, letting himself get pushed around, with zero response.

Lily had just served a bowl of fish soup in front of him when Arthur looked up, smiling at her but addressing the woman beside him. “No thanks, I’ll take another bowl. Don’t want to give me any bad vibes.”

Lily's expression turned icy. “What did you just say?”

Arthur’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “What do you think I said, Auntie?”

Eleanor didn’t care about losing face; she’d built a reputation for sharp edges since childhood. Her family knew her mood swings; losing one argument couldn’t change that. If someone was rude, they deserved a comeback.

Lily nearly stood up, but her husband held her back, shaking his head, a smile plastered on his face as he addressed Arthur. “Nathan wants a new bowl? How about we just switch out all the dishes, Margaret?”

Lily’s face darkened. She’d heard about the family princess’s spoiled attitude, but today it was Arthur who'd started the trouble. She would have to swallow it this time.

The table fell into an uneasy silence.

The previously pleasant atmosphere dissolved, and they forced themselves to finish the meal. Afterward, Eleanor announced they needed to leave.

Samuel had come to pick them up since they had been drinking, waiting outside in the cold.

When Arthur and Eleanor had married, William had simply signed over a luxury villa on the mountainside to Arthur—secluded, away from prying eyes.

The snow hadn’t let up the entire time they’d been at the table.

The snow on the road was thicker than when they arrived.

Arthur frowned as he answered his phone in the car. It was his agent, Philip. “Nathan, Edward is targeting the magazine we had lined up. She wants us on the cover now.”

Arthur’s patience frayed. “What is going on with Edward lately?”

“I’m trying to figure that out. Even her agent is losing it too. I’ll dig into it.”

Arthur hung up, frustration boiling over, wanting to open the window and let the cold air in.

He nearly pressed the button but hesitated and pulled his hand back.

Eleanor glanced over at him, only to receive a fierce glare from Arthur that seemed to say, “What are you looking at?”

When Arthur was in a bad mood, everything irritated him. The memory of Lily’s smug face at the dinner table only fanned the flames of his anger.

He could see Eleanor’s coat reflected in the window and remembered the calm, serene look on Sophia’s face when they were photographed at the airport, her arm linked with Eleanor’s.

Eleanor felt perplexed by Arthur's foul mood. Sure, there had been times when he was quiet, but this was different. In the past, he would just ignore her; it was rare for him to act cold like this.

The car tires struggled against the snowy mountain road, Samuel’s face tense with concentration. Sweat was trickling down his forehead. “Eleanor, Nathan, the roads aren’t great today. Maybe we should take a detour?”

“No need,” Arthur suddenly asserted. “Stop the car. I’m getting out.”

Samuel, confused, came to a halt. “But it’s still quite a way…”

Arthur flung the door open, stepping into the snow.

The warmth of the car felt stifling against the chill of the winter air.

They were close to the villa; walking back wouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.

Just as she stepped out of the car, she heard someone call her name. “Arthur.”

Looking over, she saw Eleanor following her, but she continued walking without waiting.

Eleanor’s pace was slow, and she quickly fell behind.

After a moment, Arthur turned around. “Why are you walking so slowly?”

Does she want to freeze to death out here with a body already weak?

At a distance, Eleanor smiled through the falling snow and replied softly. “What’s wrong? You’ve been in a bad mood all day.”

Arthur didn’t respond, countering her question with one of her own. “Aren’t you upset?”

Eleanor thought she was still talking about dinner and replied gently, “I’m not upset.”

“Why not?”

Eleanor’s voice held a soothing quality. “Why should I be upset? You defended me, didn’t you?”

Arthur blinked, momentarily speechless.

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned on her heel, but her steps were now slower, just a couple of feet ahead of Eleanor.

The sound of Eleanor’s footsteps was pleasant and steady, cutting through the silence of the falling snow.

Arthur glanced sideways, letting out a small huff.

By the time they reached the door, Arthur shook the snow off her coat.

With Eleanor unwell and needing to rest, they’d only take up residence in the main house of the villa, while the maid, driver, and cook stayed in the guesthouse.

Just then, Margaret, who had cared for Eleanor for years, emerged holding a white coat. Her expression conveyed concern. “You’re back! Evelyn, you really lost that coat?”

Eleanor nodded. “Yeah, it’s gone.”

Margaret looked exasperated. “That’s such fine material! You barely wore it. How could you lose it?”

Arthur turned back, recognizing the coat as the one Eleanor had worn home from the airport yesterday.

She didn’t say anything, quickly changing her shoes at the entry before heading upstairs.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, she lingered, listening to their conversation below.

Eleanor’s voice floated up. “Someone touched it; I don’t want to wear it anymore. Maybe you can find someone else to give it to.”

Arthur stood still, the shadow lingering at the top of the stairs.

Someone touched it.

Someone.

Oh.

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