Broken Promises in a Rainy Storm

Chapter 1

Isabelle Sterling embraced her Buddhist faith like a well-worn spell.
Autumn rain fell softly on the leaves, while a cool wind whispered through the air.
In the mirror stood a girl of seventeen or eighteen, her brows delicately arched, and her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, framed by beautifully elongated phoenix-like lashes, exuding an enchanting allure.
"Miss, the master requests your presence downstairs," a maid called, gently knocking on the door.
"Okay," she replied softly, stepping out, leaving the maid to shake her head at the girl’s indignant stature, before entering to tidy up the room.
The room, dominated by soft pink hues, exhibited exquisite craftsmanship; not one corner was overlooked. The artwork hanging on the walls was invaluable, let alone the treasure trove of exquisite jewelry in her vanity—a clear sign of her parental affection.
The maid pushed open the door to the adjoining bathroom, and a wave of sour odor struck her, revealing the chaotic mess of vomit-stained clothes scattered across the floor.
"My goodness, what on earth..." another maid, armed with cleaning supplies, quickly followed her in. "Where was the miss last night to end up like this?"
"It seems like family troubles drove her to drink away her worries."
"Isn’t that the truth? Once a beloved young lady, now overshadowed by the arrival of a sister—how tragic that she even lost her fiancé to her."
"The Lady Mother threw an emotional fit and stormed out just before Sir Edwin brought that girl home. It seems he planned to introduce her as his daughter while the Lady Mother was away," the maid remarked, separating the dirty clothes by color to sort them into the basket.
"Well, it serves her right for winning over Sir Edwin so effortlessly. Just earlier, I overheard Sir Edwin on the phone—it seems Gideon Fairweather is coming over."
"This must be a strategy to pressure the miss into calling off the engagement."
"If they really do marry, our lady will become the laughing stock of Windsor."
The maids, busily cleaning the bathroom, whispered nervously, completely unaware that Isabelle had turned around, returning upstairs. Her eyes were slightly reddened, glimmering with unshed tears, though she forced the emotion back.
As she made her way down again, a soft smile adorned her lips.
**
In the Whitmore Parlor
A beautiful girl settled on a sofa, dressed in the simplest of white shirts and denim jeans, her black canvas shoes already worn down at the edges. Her lips were pressed together in cautious restraint.
This was her first visit to the Whitmore home.
The garden boasted various ancient trees and plants she was unfamiliar with, while under the awning resided numerous species of orchids. Though she couldn’t distinguish them, she knew that some were worth thousands—the Whitmore orchids being rare specimens, meticulously cared for by a specialized gardener.
Her previous life seemed no more valuable than a single flower at Whitmore.
"Miss Sterling, would you..." the servant set down a cup of tea just as a man positioned himself casually across the room, clearing his throat.
"Miss, please enjoy some tea," the servant offered with an altered tone. While smiling, there was a shimmer of condescension concealed beneath her words.
It was common for illegitimate daughters to be recognized in wealthy families, but for one to step through the front door was rare.
Despite her graceful appearance and delicate demeanor, to have gained entry into Whitmore Manor, one must possess something more than mere charm.
"Thank you," Isabelle Sterling accepted the tea with a slight bow, glancing down at the jade-green teacup—beautiful and dainty, giving off an air of elegance and wealth.
"Elegant, go ahead and have some tidbits."
The voice belonged to a man past the middle years, attired in a dark suit, his steel-gray eyes transmitting an authoritative presence that became softened when he addressed her—Sir Edwin, her biological father.
"Hmm," Isabelle responded modestly, her fragile beauty emanating a nearly porcelain-like vulnerability that begged to be protected.
Just as she lifted the cup to sip, her gaze drifted upwards to glimpse someone descending the staircase.
Her fingers stiffened, tightening around the delicate teacup.
Walking down with a regal air, dressed in splendor that seemed too far for her to grasp.
“Dad,” she called softly, her tone sweet and mild.
“Lena’s here, come sit down,” Sir Edwin beckoned, welcoming the newcomer with open arms.

Chapter 2

Elena Whitmore sat directly across from Isabelle Sterling, her gaze straightforward yet penetrating, seeming to look right through her.
“Elena, let me introduce you to…” Sir Edwin Whitmore hesitated, caught off guard by the naive confusion in his daughter’s eyes and searching for the right words.
Everyone in the room understood the unspoken truth; no one, however, dared to shatter the silence.
“Miss, your favorite white tea.” The maid smiled as she set a fine blue-green cup in front of Elena, interrupting Sir Edwin’s introduction.
“Thank you.” Elena accepted the cup, its shape delicate between her fingers, reminiscent of exquisite jade.
She lifted the lid, steam swirling upward, obscuring her features momentarily. With narrowed eyes, she daintily sipped, her expression lazy yet enigmatic.
Isabelle bit her lip nervously.
It was clear from the teacup alone that Elena was the host; she was merely a guest.
It was Isabelle’s first time meeting Elena, who was just a year younger at seventeen.
The people of Windsor held her in high regard, often saying she was as stunning as a blooming peach tree, captivating everyone.
At the sight of Elena, Isabelle realized those words didn’t do her justice. There was a certain purity about her, an allure that danced dangerously close to seduction; her innocent eyes lacked worldliness, and her movements flowed with grace, unpretentious.
In the mist of the tea, she appeared almost ethereal.
Even her fingers were long and flawless. Isabelle instinctively pulled her hands back into her sleeves.
“So, Isabelle, how was military training? Was it particularly tough?” Sir Edwin tried to lighten the atmosphere.
“It was fine.” Isabelle managed a laugh, recalling that she had only attended for two days. Despite applying sunscreen, she had still tanned, while the girl across from her looked like a porcelain doll, radiant and untouched.
Actually, it was hard not to compare.
Even as Sir Edwin tried to uplift the mood, an awkward tension lingered in the room until a servant hurried in, softly announcing, “Gideon has arrived…”
Isabelle’s fingers tightened around her tea cup, a demure blush washing over her cheeks.
Elena lightly traced her fingertips along the cup’s rim, observing the situation unfold.
Her mind flicked to the many dramas she had viewed, where the narratives often featured a prince and a Cinderella, with a relentless princess everyone detested.
And at that moment, she felt like the envious antagonist, determined to ruin a romance.
**
As Elena took a few more sips of tea, a young man in his twenties strolled into the parlor.
He wore a crisp white shirt and neatly pressed black trousers that accentuated his tall, elegant frame. His features were refined, almost boyish yet undeniably handsome, exuding an aloof charm that made him quite popular in their school.
“Hey, Senior!” Isabelle stood up, her smile radiant.
“Hey.” Gideon returned her smile warmly, briefly acknowledging Sir Edwin. “Good to see you, Sir Edwin.”
But when his gaze shifted to Elena, it became a tad awkward.
“Elena sure moves fast! Just broke up with me two days ago, and here she is already with a new flame,” Elena remarked with a sarcastic laugh.
The faces of the newly bonded couple turned grim.
“Elena,” Sir Edwin chided, showing a frown.
“What? Am I mistaken?” Elena raised an eyebrow, looking back at the couple across from her.
Though she was young, both had been engaged for over a year. They treated each other more like siblings than lovers. Gideon, three years her senior, had always looked out for her.
Now a senior in high school, Elena had only just returned to school after a month-long summer break in early August. The summer program had been intensive and isolated; her mother hadn’t informed her of any family matters.
On the first day back, Gideon picked her up, and she initially thought he would take her out to eat. But before they reached the restaurant, he had dropped a bombshell: he wanted to break off their engagement.

Chapter 3

Elena Whitmore thought he was joking when he proposed the idea, but it turned out he was dead serious. With her pride on the line, she agreed on the spot, almost expecting him to reconsider. However, that very evening, she heard from others that he was dating a freshman at the university.
After all these years of knowing him, was he really willing to break their engagement for a brief fling with some young girl?
As Elena dug deeper, she learned that they had met in a group for new and returning students, and that the girl had worked a summer job at the restaurant owned by the Fairweather House.
Gideon Fairweather had been offering her overt and covert help—this was straight out of a soap opera.
"Whitmore, I really want to explain…” Gideon attempted to justify himself to her.
"I know exactly what you want to say." Elena had read more than enough books and watched enough dramas to recognize the plotlines. "You’re going to tell me that you're genuinely in love, and that you didn’t intend to hurt me." Her voice dripped with disdain.
"You expect me to give you my blessing," she sneered.
"Elena, it's not what you think. My relationship with the senior isn’t like that, we..." Isabelle Sterling stammered, biting her lip, looking unreasonably pitiful.
“Who said you were my sister?” The term hit her nerve like a hot iron, and Elena hurled her cup across the room.
“All I know is, you’ve become intimate while I’m still engaged to him. And then you play the victim when you’re the one acting like a homewrecker."
“If I’m being cheated on, should I just cry about it?”
Tea splattered everywhere, and the tension thickened in the air.
"Whitmore," sighed Sir Edwin Whitmore, attempting to temper the situation.
Elena stood up abruptly, glaring at Isabelle, "At the end of the day, I used to be his first choice. Go ahead and take him; he’s all yours now."
The two of them exchanged shocked glances.
“Used choice?”
The words cut like a knife.
“Elena, you…” Sir Edwin’s face had paled in frustration.
Elena smashed the cup down forcefully before turning to leave.
"And where do you think you’re going? It’s raining outside!" Sir Edwin was aware this situation had unfairly burdened Elena, but matters of the heart couldn’t be forced, could they?
Elena grabbed a floral umbrella from the porch, intent on marching out.
Outside, the air was thick and humid, mingling with the rain, leaving her uncomfortable. A black sedan splashed through the puddles, sending mud and rainwater flying, and parked elegantly in front of a stately mansion.
Elena squinted at the incongruous vehicle—definitely not local.
The door swung open, and a cool breeze rushed in as a man dressed in black emerged from the passenger seat, holding a black umbrella, standing at the car's side.
The occupant inside did not step out but lowered the window, and from Elena's angle, she could barely make out half of his profile.
Dressed in an open-front black coat, the man had thin, slightly upturned lips that looked quite tempting, with his head lowered, signaling someone closer, mumbled a few words.
Dangling from his hand was a string of smooth prayer beads, his slender brown tassel fluttering in the rain.
Perhaps noticing Elena’s gaze, he subtly turned his head. Through the curtain of rain, his features were obscured, but he emanated an air of melancholy charm, toying with those prayer beads like a sage from a different world.
Slightly tilting his head, the downpour blurred his visage, and two phrases echoed in Elena’s mind.
【Seven Parts Ethereal, Three Parts Enigmatic】
But it was those deceptively cool eyes that caused her to look away in haste, missing the faint smirk that curved at the corners of his mouth. That same man had boasted a few nights earlier in a bar that he intended to sleep with her.
At this moment, a watchman sprinted toward the entrance of the Quinn Family Home, shouting, “Sir, Lord Alistair Fairweather has arrived.”
Elena froze momentarily; this was Gideon’s feared uncle, the one person he dreaded above all.
A devout person, perhaps he’s genuinely kind-hearted.
Later, Elena would come to learn that beneath the façade of spirituality lay a man with bizarre behavior, someone whose moral compass was far from clear.

Chapter 4

“Call me Uncle Malcolm. You aren’t worthy,” came a voice laced with condescension.
The rain poured down in a relentless torrent, creating a scene of chaos as leaves were swept off trees, swirling into puddles below.
At that moment, Elena Whitmore heard the excited announcement, “Sir Malcolm has arrived!” followed by the clinking of cups. Standing at the entrance, a swift turn revealed the chaos inside the living room— and the one who had knocked over a teacup was none other than her former fiancé, Gideon Fairweather.
Her heart skipped a beat, the color draining from her face as she barely registered the hot tea splashing against her skin.
“Are you sure it was Sir Malcolm?” Sir Edwin Whitmore leapt from the sofa.
“Yes, it’s definitely Sir Malcolm,” replied the Watchman, running in with rainwater dripping from his face.
Sir Edwin cast a sharp glance at Gideon Fairweather. “Fairweather, why didn’t you mention Sir Malcolm was coming?”
Gideon Fairweather, now entangled with Isabelle Sterling after breaking off his engagement with Elena, had come today specifically to discuss this matter with Sir Edwin. However, given that the Fairweather household had sent no elders, things seemed to be as expected.
The marriage between Elena and Gideon had always been seen as a stretch; his mother had never thought highly of her, let alone Isabelle, who carried the stigma of being illegitimate.
“I didn’t know he was coming,” Gideon muttered, a fear evident in his eyes, as if something dark was creeping into his expression.
“You don’t understand,” Sir Edwin’s voice rose sharply in surprise.
“Senpai,” said Isabelle Sterling, rummaging through her bag for tissues, she bent down to wipe the tea off Gideon’s hand. “You need to be more careful! Who’s coming that has you so rattled?” It was clear she had her own motives as well.
Deep down, Isabelle knew entering the Fairweather household would be full of challenges under her current status. However, aligning herself with the Fairweathers would provide leverage over Sir Edwin.
She had hoped to use this opportunity to stay at Whitmore Manor. With Gideon around, plans could be executed more easily, but who was this unexpected guest causing such a stir?
Around Windsor, Gideon Fairweather was essentially a prince at the apex of a social pyramid, and now…
Just the announcement of that person sent a wave of panic through him.
Elena had no idea what Sir Malcolm’s intentions were, but witnessing Gideon so unnerved brought her a strange sense of satisfaction. Twirling her umbrella, she managed a light laugh, “Oh, Sir Malcolm? You haven’t heard of him?”
Isabelle looked up, bewilderment shining in her eyes.
Before getting involved with Gideon, she was simply an ordinary girl, leagues away from their social circle, and there were still many things she didn’t know.
“He hasn’t mentioned him to you, has he?” Elena smirked, her expression playful.
Isabelle suddenly realized—this Malcolm was part of the Fairweather family. Was he a relative of Gideon's? She pondered silently, no reference ringing a bell from her previous conversations with Gideon.
“Well, you really are in the dark,” Elena quipped, her smile mischievous, those captivating, elongated eyes holding a glint of amusement. “Seems like your relationship isn’t as close as I imagined.”
A flicker of unease crossed Isabelle's face.
“How do you think you’ve been together this long but don’t even know who Sir Malcolm is? Are you really dating?”
“Or maybe…” Elena’s light laughter hinted at something more. “Gideon just thinks you don’t need to know.”
Isabelle was acutely aware that Elena was trying to sow discord between them. Yet her heart twisted with frustration and regret.
Elena thrived on the discomfort flashing across Isabelle’s face, her smug smile deepening. Unbeknownst to her, the mysterious guest who had originally been in the car was now approaching.
The sound of rain muffled the footsteps, yet Elena’s teasing remarks cut through the murmur of the storm.
“How much longer are we going to stand here? Sir Malcolm is still waiting outside,” she raised her eyebrow in mock impatience.
“Quickly prepare hot tea and towels. I’ll go greet him,” Sir Edwin fumbled for assurance, the uncertainty evident in his voice.
“I’ll come with you,” Gideon said, not daring to stay idle.
Isabelle, sensing the urgency, sprang to her feet as she heard a deep male voice from outside proclaim, “I’ve arrived.”
The voice was low and resonant, smooth like velvet, mixing seamlessly with the sound of the rain, imbuing the air with a mysterious quality.

Chapter 5

As the rain poured down, Elena Whitmore felt a sudden stiffness in her body and instinctively turned around. There, standing just a foot away, was a figure obscured by the morning light, almost divine in his presence.
Their gazes locked, causing her breath to hitch. She had seen him through the rain-soaked air moments before, but now he stood before her, clear as day. A faint scent of sandalwood enveloped him, intertwined with the cool, damp aroma of the rain, instilling a paradox of unease and intrigue.
Dressed in a black, long coat, he appeared tall and imposing. He looked to be in his early twenties, yet the vibrant energy of youth that one might expect was absent; instead, he exuded a tranquility that suggested a life rich with experiences and introspection, much like a celestial being, aloof and above the troubles of the world.
Elena was unsure when he had arrived, as the relentless rain muffled any sound. The thought of having borrowed his name, wielding it like a weapon for her own benefit, filled her with a sense of guilt.
“Mr. Fairweather, you’re here! Please, come inside,” said Sir Edwin Whitmore, her father, stepping forward to invite him in.
The man nodded slightly, his composure unwavering as he stepped into the warmth of the house.
Gideon Fairweather’s complexion paled further at the sight of him, adopting an unusually submissive demeanor.
Isabelle Sterling, who had expected the formidable Mr. Fairweather to be an older gentleman, was taken aback to find a younger man before her. Her initial assumptions shattered, she could hardly reconcile how someone so youthful could command such authority.
In fact, he was strikingly handsome.
“Mr. Fairweather, this way, please,” Sir Edwin gestured to the main seat at the table.
But the visitor showed no inclination to take the honored spot. “I arrive unexpectedly, so please, Elena, don’t stand on ceremony. You sit.”
Sir Edwin opened his mouth to respond, but the man’s terse demeanor disallowed further pleasantries, and he took a seat beside him.
“Your tea, sir,” a maid promptly presented the steaming cup.
Seated with an air of authority, he raised his eyes to Gideon, who stood before him. “It’s been years, and yet, you’ve forgotten how to address me properly.”
Gideon jolted slightly, swiftly correcting himself. “Uncle... Uncle Malcolm.”
Isabelle’s eyes widened. Uncle? This man was a direct relative, seemingly too young to hold such a title.
“Uncle, this is Isabelle Sterling, my girlfriend,” Gideon said, eager to share this moment of connection, understanding that business was the reason for this gathering.
Isabelle immediately sat up straight, taking a deep breath and showcasing her best smile as she greeted him. “Hello, Uncle.”
His gaze remained detached, never casting a glance her way, his voice languid and indifferent. “Gideon, those who are irrelevant are not meant to be introduced to me.”
He leaned forward slightly, a shuddering intensity in his manner. “Even Mr. Whitmore is to call me Uncle Malcolm.”
“Isabelle, call me Uncle.” His tone was calm, but the words carried an arrogant weight.
“Do you think that’s appropriate?”
His fingers caressed the beads of a rosary, slender and delicate, his features reflected an otherworldly grace, yet his words were piercing, laced with hidden barbs.
As Isabelle’s face drained of color, she hadn’t anticipated such blatant disrespect from a man of supposed stature.
Elena observed silently, contemplating the reality of Gideon Fairweather's uncle—his words nothing short of razor-sharp.

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