Chapter 1
Aveline Winter knew that her love for Thomas Hawthorne had to be restrained. Even if he was her legitimate husband, the boundaries blurred within the intensity of their emotions. But was Thomas even aware of this gravity pulling him in? The feelings she evoked in him were like a torrent, increasingly enclosing him, the staunchly stoic figure he believed himself to be. He stood at a crossroads: should he surrender to the depths of desire, or retreat with logic guiding his way? Inside a luxurious private booth at a swanky hotel, smoke curled through the air, and laughter rang out like a melody. Every veteran businessman around Thomas was jesting with beautiful companions, the night slipping into its last moments amidst clinking glasses and well-toasted tales. Just as Thomas departed his seat, one of the women he'd been entertaining moved in closer. “Lord Hawthorne, seems like tonight is your lucky night!” One jovial guest quipped, his tone playful. A smirk danced across Thomas’s face as his sharp eyes met the gaze of Lord Winston across the table. “You might not know this, but our friend Thomas here has quite the reputation for being a doting husband,” he said, sidestepping the woman’s flirtations with grace. “My wife keeps a tight grip at home!” The banter stirred laughter from the others, who regarded Thomas with newfound respect, a paragon of a devoted husband. After exchanging pleasantries downstairs with his colleagues, Thomas slipped into the back of a sleek black van. As he settled on plush leather seats, he poured himself a glass of water. “Mr. Hawthorne, are you heading back to the lodgings or Thomas Manor?” the driver inquired, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. Thomas recalled the idle chatter he'd offered earlier about being controlled by his wife—what rubbish it was! “Where's Margaret now?” he suddenly asked, his mind flicking to thoughts of Aveline. “Just a moment,” the driver responded, reaching out to contact Thomas Manor for information. “Margaret Dayne is not home,” came the eventual reply. “Is she on duty at the Medicinal Sanctuary?” He assumed, knowing his wife—ever the diligent nurse—would be buried in her responsibilities. “Actually, she’s at the Nightshade Tavern dancing…” Thomas’s brows furrowed in disbelief. He thought he misheard. At the Nightshade Tavern, the atmosphere peaked as the clock ticked toward eleven. It was when the crowd thickened that Margaret was in her element, her rhythmic moves igniting cheers that gushed to the heavens. Perched gracefully against a silver dance pole, her figure undulated like a fluid serpent, her chestnut curls flowing around her as she spun and twirled… Just as the crowd reached a fervor, all lights extinguished, and the music cut off, plunging the place into an eerie silence. The elegance of Margaret’s profile faded into the shadows, leaving the audience dumbfounded. Backstage, Aveline Winter returned, perspiration trailing down her forehead, looking for answers. “What’s happening? There wasn’t a power outage!” She confronted Alaric, her irritation evident. A man in a black suit who looked somewhat familiar approached her and bowed slightly, “Margaret Dayne, the driver requests you return home.” Caught off guard, Aveline nearly choked on her mineral water. Without even a moment to change her outfit, she was escorted by Thomas’s bodyguard to the waiting carriage. “What’s this all about? What’s Thomas up to now?!” she exclaimed as she climbed inside, the driver opening the door for her. He remained silent, but her eyes widened as she turned to see the imposing figure of Thomas sitting across from her.
Chapter 2
Aveline Winter could hardly believe her eyes. Thomas Hawthorne—her husband—was sitting in the driver’s seat of the car? They had been married for nearly two years, yet this was only one of those rare moments when they managed to see each other. And now he was picking her up himself? It made her heart flutter nervously. As a medical student, she was often distracted by the acrid smell of cigarettes that lingered in the air of the car. Thomas didn't say a word as he blew out a plume of smoke, obscuring his features in the haze. Aveline struggled to get a good look at him. She sat there in a skimpy outfit she had been wearing at the pole dancing class, feeling exposed. The tight, strapless top clung to her body while her waist and flat stomach were all too visible. The glittery jewel at her navel only highlighted her figure in an overtly alluring way. A fleeting thought crossed Thomas's mind—a single word: "temptress." His gaze briefly met the heavily made-up face across from him, and he felt a sense of distance. This was not the shy girl of yesteryear, the one who would blush at a simple conversation. She was not even the soft-spoken, obedient woman he met before; she had transformed into someone undeniably stunning, a woman who could captivate any man—even him, the self-proclaimed man of unshakeable self-control! He extinguished his cigarette and took a sip of water, trying to douse the irritation that bubbled within him. It was only then that Aveline realized she was still in her pole dancing attire, and embarrassment surged through her as she fumbled for her bag. “My clothes are still in the changing room!” she exclaimed, rummaging through her bag that contained only her wallet, phone, and some makeup—nothing to wear. She lowered her head, speaking in an almost sulky tone to mask the awkward tension filling the vehicle. With an unsettling silence almost reminiscent of being with a stranger, Aveline felt the weight of the moment. Even though Thomas had occupied a space in her heart for years, now they seemed worlds apart. Suddenly, the darkness enveloped her again as something heavy draped over her shoulders. It was a tailored blazer of his, imbued with his warmth and the faint scent of smoke and alcohol—comforting yet strangely exhilarating. She blinked as she gazed at Thomas. He lounged casually in his seat, arms crossed, black eyes scrutinizing her with an inscrutable seriousness, his handsome features sharp and rugged. He exuded maturity and stability, but to her, he was also cold and distant. “Who was it that said medical students had it easy, that we were just whining after long shifts?” he finally broke his silence, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The implication was clear: he couldn't fathom why she found time to go out dancing when she should be resting. Aveline, wrapped in his oversized blazer, couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his jab. She directed her gaze to the middle of his forehead, dismissing the implied concern beneath it. “Today is my day off. I don’t start back until tomorrow afternoon,” Aveline responded cheerily, wielding her politeness like a shield. “If you’re off, shouldn’t you be at home, recuperating? Going out dancing simply adds to your exhaustion,” he said, his tone deceptively tender, though Aveline recognized the cover for his ulterior motives. “I could barely sleep all day! A girl has to work out, right? A good physician needs a healthy body,” she countered playfully, maintaining her facade of ignorance to his condescension. Thomas's eyes flickered momentarily, surprised by her quick wit; this new version of Aveline was unexpectedly feisty. He laughed softly. “My dear Aveline, your idea of staying fit is prancing around on a pole, is it? Tell me, what exactly is rattling around in that pretty little head of yours?” His teasing tone held an edge of affection that caught Aveline off guard, causing a twist of longing and nostalgia in her chest. It was a reminder of the trust and intimacy once shared between them. The air grew thick with unspoken words, memories flooding back, yet both remained in their respective worlds of silence and pretense, each holding on to their own guarded hearts as they drove through the dusk.
Chapter 3
It felt as though she had been transported back to a time when Anthony Hawthorne treated her like his little sister, Margaret. That time when he showered her with unwavering affection stirred a flutter of anxiety in her, almost overtaking her thoughts and composure. Aveline took a deep breath to steady herself, finally realizing what Anthony was insinuating. He was reprimanding her for not upholding the lavish image of Julian Grant and Margaret Dayne as she stepped out to dance... "Brother John, I have my own life to lead, Aunt Selene and I talked about this before the wedding!" she retorted playfully, a charming smile tugging at her lips as she locked eyes with the tall figure across from her, Anthony. Before their marriage, she had always called him Brother John. His gaze shifted, narrowing at the petite woman who was his nominal wife, Leaf. Aveline Winter felt exposed and anxious under his steady stare, but he maintained a thoughtful silence. As the SUV rolled into the sprawling estate, she was the first to step out, still wrapped in his oversized suit jacket. To her surprise, Anthony followed closely behind. "Margaret Dayne is back!" greeted the housekeeper warmly. "Yes! Welcome, Aunt Selene! I'm heading upstairs to rest!" Aveline replied, smiling warmly without turning back to look at Anthony. His eyes followed her retreating figure—the lively silhouette that stirred something within him. "Winter! Get to the study; I need to talk to you!" His voice, low and dispassionate, called after her. Aveline's footsteps faltered for just a moment as she responded, "Oh!" without turning around. Once inside the bathroom, Aveline leaned against the door, holding the thick fabric of Anthony's suit that still smelled like him, a pang of longing surged within her. She found herself bending over, inhaling deeply, as tears threatened to spill over her eyelids. Her heart clenched painfully. Hadn't she sworn to distance herself from Anthony Hawthorne from the very start? Just a few words exchanged, and her heart betrayed her once more, igniting feelings she thought she had kept buried! "Aveline, don't be foolish. You know who holds his heart!" She scolded herself, a siren blaring in her mind as she snapped back to reality. With a self-scoffing shake of her head, she gently placed the jacket into the hamper, deciding to take a shower and wash away these unwanted thoughts of longing and the heartache of unrequited love. Yes, she had been harboring a crush on Anthony Hawthorne for almost a decade. The first time they met, it was love at first sight for her. But by that time, he was already taken. Anthony's study resembled a small library, adorned with countless books reflecting his brilliance, a place where she often sought refuge when life got overwhelming. Knocking lightly, she entered to find him facing away, standing at the bookshelf in a crisp white shirt and gray waistcoat. His posture was commanding, exuding an air of calm authority that made her heart race. "Brother John!" He turned around. The moment their eyes met, that gorgeous face once again captivated her; the effect was the same as their very first encounter. Was it truly love that made her unable to resist the gravity of his every gesture, every word? No matter how much she tried to hide or suppress her feelings, she couldn’t harden her heart against him. Her makeup washed away, revealing her natural beauty; she wore a modest yet stylish sleepwear set, her curls damp, framing her face. She had let her hair go, feeling a little more grown-up than the girl she was all those years ago. The silence that enveloped them was soon broken by Aveline's sweet, melodic voice. "Brother John, what did you need? I know that me dancing at the Nightshade Tavern could tarnish your reputation and the Grant family’s, but I use a stage name and wear heavy makeup to ensure none of the guests recognize me! Please try not to be upset."
Chapter 4
Aveline Winter stood in the bathroom, steam swirling around her as she took a deep breath, reminding herself to keep her distance from Thomas Hawthorne. He was the kind of man who had navigated the military with his sharp instincts and faced the business world with cunning for years. Aveline couldn’t let this man, with his inscrutable gaze and sharp wit, catch a glimpse of her feelings. She was a woman who loved passionately and felt deeply, but this connection was one she couldn’t pursue. It was beyond her grasp. At that moment, she felt more like a sister than a partner. Thomas stood quietly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he studied her. His dark eyes glimmered with an intelligence that could pierce through her facade. But even with that penetrating gaze, he failed to see through her heart. Why would he want to? He had his own mind to muddle through tonight! “Eat the bird’s nest soup on the coffee table,” he commanded, glancing at her with a hint of authority. “And don’t even think about going to that club tonight! You’re from a principled family, a descendant of revolutionary leaders! If Benjamin Reed found out, he'd hold me responsible!” “Not interfering with my plans yet here you are, meddling again! I’m not a child, you know!” Aveline shot back, raising an eyebrow at his reprimand. Thomas raised his hands in surrender, chuckling softly. “I don’t know, Winter. You used to be grounded, but lately, you seem so drawn to that scene!” “Come on, Brother Jack is out there! And Brother John, I’m twenty-four now! Working as a nurse takes its toll, and I deserve a little fun in my downtime. I'm not a saint!” Aveline’s bold words flowed freely, her eyes clear and unapologetic. Her confidence gave Thomas pause for a moment. He stared at her, then shook off the thought. “Twenty-four… In the blink of an eye, that little girl with pigtails is now a young woman. It’s surprising how time flies!” He tapped the table absentmindedly, glancing at her as she sat composed on the couch. She was indeed still his legal wife, though that fact felt incredibly ironic now. An agreement of marriage, devoid of romance—each step was intended to keep things separate and simple. Despite herself, Aveline felt a small sting at his words, a twitch of sadness creeping in. What kind of marriage was this? “I overlooked the most important point! You can date if you want, but as your…I don't know, your protector, my advice is to find a decent guy and stay out of that nightlife!” Thomas added, his tone earnest, showing genuine concern. “Anyone who knows me understands I’m married. Why would any respectable guy want to pursue me?” Aveline challenged, looking at him with a playful grin. “I don’t have any options outside the guys from the tavern. Unless you’ve got someone in mind?” Thomas’s expression shifted, a flicker of discomfort in his eyes. “Cut the jokes, Winter. I’m not here to joke. I wanted to tell you that Grandfather Edmund is coming back tonight, and he insists on staying with us for a while. During this time, keep a low profile and put on a good show for him. Ease Old Man Tobias’ mind!” Grandfather Edmund was back? Aveline rolled her eyes internally. Another round of acting was about to begin! In her heart, she scoffed at the absurdity of their situation. They couldn’t be a couple, but they’d have to pretend for Grandfather’s sake. “Him? Coming back…Got it. Is there anything else? If that’s it, I’ll head back to my room. It’s getting late, and I’m tired…” she replied lethargically, barely finishing her bowl of soup before rising from the couch.
Chapter 5
"Thomas Hawthorne nodded. 'There’s nothing else. Winter, if you face any difficulties, don’t hesitate to reach out to me through Margaret!'" As a male of the Hawthorne family, Thomas believed he had a responsibility to Aveline Winter, even if he didn’t love her. If she was in trouble, it was his obligation to help her. But the little girl had never contacted him or expressed any struggles—at least not in the time he had known her. A warm surge of emotion suddenly overwhelmed him, but Aveline couldn’t meet his gaze. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to control herself. “Thanks, Brother John! I’ve got to go!” She smiled quickly and fled toward the doorway of the study, holding her breath and not daring to look back until she stepped outside into the fresh air, exhaling a long sigh of relief. The doorway kept him hidden, just a sliver visible through the crack. She couldn’t bring herself to close the gap, peering through it like a small thief, looking for treasure. Thomas Hawthorne, his tall and handsome figure leaning against the wall as he lit a cigarette, exuded a mature charisma. As he turned toward her, he straightened up, his left hand slipping into his pants pocket, casting a long, solitary shadow that drew her in. Aveline felt as if she was being pulled down into a whirlpool, her heart racing as she sank deeper... “Thomas Hawthorne! I like you!” a young girl proclaimed loudly near the riverside, bold in her declaration. Thomas turned, his expression vague. Aveline watched, entranced—Margaret had suddenly emerged from his embrace, a shocking sight that left Aveline pale and speechless. “No…” She jolted awake, gasping for air as if emerging from a nightmare. She squeezed her eyes shut again and sighed deeply. Thank goodness it was just a dream! Why was this dream haunting her? In reality, she had never confessed her feelings. Even her younger self, innocent and naive, had once contemplated doing so. Morning had arrived, and there she was, alone in her bed, the emptiness echoing around her—a stark contrast to the love and warmth she craved. Aveline didn’t have the habit of sleeping in, and she grabbed her phone, which had 36 unread messages. As an intern, she had the previous day off, and thankfully, no calls had come in overnight, just one message. The sender's name made her heart skip a beat. “Winter, I heard Grandfather Edmund is returning. You and Ladyir will be performing again… Sorry for putting you in a tough spot. I can't help it, Ladyir said, 'let it simmer a bit longer.' After all, the House of Kahn is still under Grandfather Edmund's command. Again, sorry for the trouble. Life’s good here in Melbourne, don’t worry.” Aveline leaned back against her headboard, staring at the message, her heart feeling crushed beneath the weight of a mountain. “Anne! You met the Outlander! Please, no more politeness! I’m getting angry! I'm doing well too, just really busy as an intern—don’t blame me for not being in touch!” After editing the message, she sent it off quickly without looking back at her phone, heading straight to freshen up. Clara Winter was her idol since childhood, but over time, Clara became a shadow in Aveline's heart. The truth loomed heavy because Thomas Hawthorne's heart belonged to Clara. In the bustling city of Kingston, under the shade of a parasol at ten in the morning, a woman with sunglasses picked up her phone. After reading her sister’s reply, a smirk graced her lips as she scoffed, “Winter, you can hide this from Thomas Hawthorne, but not from me, your sister, who has watched you grow up!” She said to herself with a tone of disdain, feeling a mix of superiority and concern.
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