Between Love and Letting Go

Chapter 1

Arthur Fairweather stepped out of Fairweather Manor, the loud crash of a fallen vase echoing behind him.
Accompanying the shattering sound of the antique vase was a quivering voice filled with anger and tears: “Today is our divorce day, and you treat me like this.”
Arthur thought to himself, what’s he supposed to do, throw her a lavish party?
Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, he strode quickly out of the manor, leaving behind a family of elders and his “ex-wife.” His secretary held the car door open for him, and he glanced at his watch as he got in.
“Where to, Arthur?” the secretary asked.
Arthur usually had a packed schedule, managing work and various obligations diligently. However, today he had cleared his day just because Elena wanted a divorce. It seemed he didn’t truly want to go through with it; it was all just a show. Otherwise, why would she badmouth him in front of their families, claiming he didn’t love her enough or care enough?
Arthur understood her frustration. He had intended to placate her, attempting to salvage their crumbling relationship, but now that he had a day to himself, his patience was dwindling—only half an hour left before he began to feel restless.
“Let’s go to the office.”
Arthur wasn’t a workaholic, but after signing the divorce papers, he couldn't think of anything else to occupy his mind. With a blank expression, he leaned against the backseat, wiping the car window as the streets he had known for over twenty years drifted by, each familiar sight growing monotonous.
Strangely, Arthur prided himself on not being the type to get bored easily. Yet it seemed that not everything stayed the same; perhaps he had changed, or maybe it was Elena who had transformed during their time together.
“Forget it, let’s head to Bloom Apartment.”
The secretary nodded and changed course.
Bloom Apartment was where Arthur kept his dog, a mutt named Lucky—a name gifted by his grandmother from the countryside. During his darkest times, the dog had stood by him as a loyal protector, and now it was a treasured companion. Unfortunately, Lucky, now fourteen years old, was nearing the end of his life.
The apartment door swung open with a code entry, and Lucky came barreling from the living room, leaping onto Arthur, barking excitedly for attention. A smile cracked on Arthur’s face as he slipped off his shoes and stepped inside.
“Sir, you’re back!”
A voice chimed from the kitchen, and a girl in her early twenties peeked around the corner, her smile bright as the crescent moon. She was Lydia Ember, responsible for taking care of the dogs at Fairweather Enterprises, which was how she paid her bills.
“Are you here to see him? Do you want to stay for lunch?” Lydia asked, beaming.
“No, I’m taking him with me,” Arthur replied.
Lydia gasped, “Taking him away?”
Arthur nodded.
Since his grandmother passed, Lucky had been taken to Town of Briarwood, and Arthur had wanted to keep him, but Elena had adamantly refused. She insisted the dog was ugly and unworthy of attention, with a name that was barely respectable and deemed unfit for their social circle.
In light of her distaste, Arthur had reluctantly outsourced his beloved dog’s care.
Now that they were divorcing, there was no one left to criticize his poorly named mutt anymore.
“Uh… well…”
Lydia hesitated. She had thought about asking, “What about me? Am I out of a job now?” but the words wouldn’t come. She was slightly intimidated by Arthur; despite his handsome features, his expression was often stoic and distant.
Arthur picked up on her uncertainty. “If you don’t want to go back home, you can come work for me at the office. I’ll have Cedric Kingston arrange something suitable for you.” Cedric Kingston was Arthur's secretary.
Lydia’s eyes widened, and she thanked him profusely.
After gathering Lucky’s things, Arthur was about to leave when Lydia hesitated again, words tangled in her throat.
“What is it?” he prompted.
“I’m… I’m really sorry, sir…”
“…”
She seemed to struggle saying whatever it was, her cheeks flushing crimson.
Arthur, who had little patience, almost frowned when she finally found her voice, “I have a cousin, twenty-one years old…”
Arthur’s brow furrowed; the awkward introduction was too uninteresting for him, and he found himself zoning out.
Lydia hurried on, her tone hurried and desperate. “He just got his start as an actor with Briarwood Entertainment!” Briarwood Entertainment was one of the Fairweather family’s companies. “The company gave him a role, but… he has to sleep with an investor to get it. If he doesn’t, there’s a line of people who will…”
Arthur stared at her.
What a mess.
“I don’t meddle in Briarwood’s affairs,” Arthur said evenly, looking at Lydia.
She was on the verge of tears. She and her cousin had been close since childhood, and now seeing him step into trouble while feeling powerless made her heart ache. If Arthur wouldn’t step in, who would she dare ask for help?
“Sir…”
Lydia’s face was flushed, her eyes welling with tears, looking genuinely pitiful. But Arthur felt he had already done enough, owing her nothing. Her cousin didn’t want to play by the Hollywood rules, yet desired the opportunities that came with it—it was a difficult combination.
“I’m not well-versed in the entertainment industry,” he said, rolling up his shirt sleeves, his gaze cold as it dropped to the shadowy ground, “but I’ve heard some stars seek out stable sponsors to navigate their careers. Newcomers without connections do find it tough.”
He almost added, “If you need further assistance, I could introduce someone reputable, but that’s all I can do.” However, seeing the shock in Lydia’s flushed expression made him hold back.
What was so shocking about it? Did she not understand how murky the entertainment business could be, believing that the rules of the game were rare and that helping him this time would be unique?

Chapter 2

Arthur Fairweather thought he had made his feelings clear; the choice lay in their hands.
With Lucky securely leashed, he turned on his heel and left without looking back.
That afternoon, after settling Lucky in, Arthur held a remote meeting at home. The sound of a door opening outside the parlor cut through the air just as the meeting was winding down. He pulled off his headphones and stepped out of his study.
Elena Greenfield stood in the doorway, her head down, locking eyes with Lucky.
Lucky, being the good boy he was, barked a friendly greeting. But Elena’s expression soured. "Arthur, why did you bring that dog back?"
Arthur and Elena had been married for seven years, though the past year had been filled with constant arguments.
The root of their issues didn’t stem from any major conflicts—there was no infidelity, no family disputes, and certainly no financial troubles. Subtly put, they were both quite well-off and material concerns were not their issue.
It had to be something deeper.
Arthur sometimes thought that Elena had a bit of a mental health issue; artists often walked the line between genius and madness. Elena had an exceptional talent in art, yet her temperament was equally challenging.
But he never truly understood the source of her "mental illness," and day by day, amidst their petty squabbles, he lost the patience to dig deeper. He was naturally a stubborn man, especially when agitated, and Elena delighted in pushing his limits, as if proving her love through their altercations.
If Elena didn’t receive the reaction she craved, she would conclude that he no longer loved her.
Take this dog, for example.
To Elena, it felt utterly disrespectful that, fresh out of their divorce, Arthur would so quickly retrieve the dog, akin to finding a mistress on the day they parted ways—an affront to her sense of authority in their love.
Having known each other since childhood for over twenty years, cutting ties was nearly impossible, and that reality fueled her anger.
“Get rid of the dog! You’re just afraid I won’t leave,” she shot back.
Veins in Arthur’s temples throbbed. She stood firm at the threshold, her eyes slightly red, as she accused him from a distance: “You’d rather keep a dog than put me first.”
“Stop saying these ridiculous things,” Arthur replied, irritated. “Just stop making a scene.”
For once, Elena complied. Her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes glistened with unshed tears, yet she held her chin high, a stiff posture that betrayed her vulnerability.
Arthur didn’t want to dissect his own feelings at that moment; if Elena fell into his arms and sobbed, he might cave and rethink everything, forsaking their issues to return to her embrace.
But what then? The problems would still loom large.
Moreover, Elena was proud and held her dignity close; she would never resort to such tactics.
“Don’t feel rushed to move out,” he said, propping himself against the doorframe, rubbing his temples. He took a deep breath and lowered his tone. “I noticed when I glanced around earlier—your clothes don’t matter, but your studio has too much stuff for you to take. Maybe you shouldn’t bother moving out…”
Elena inhaled sharply, looking up at him.
Arthur continued, oblivious to her distress. “I could handle the moving. It’d just be easier that way.”
Hope drained from Elena’s expression, and tears nearly spilled over. She turned abruptly, avoiding his gaze, her voice tinged with urgency, “Let’s just talk later. I’m leaving.”
The door slammed shut, echoing throughout the house.
Arthur lingered at the study door, silence settling around him before he returned to his meeting.
Time dragged on when one was left alone.
That evening, after finishing his meeting, dinner, taking care of Lucky, hitting the gym for half an hour, showering, and catching a short nap, he woke to find it was only nine o’clock.
Outside, night enveloped the town of Briarwood. From his sixteenth-floor view, cars danced through the streets, the streetlights blazed like veins illuminating the city—bright yet tangled. Arthur watched for a moment, then returned to his bed and picked up his phone.
Before he could dial, the phone rang.
The caller ID flashed: Gideon Ashford, a friend from his circle of affluent acquaintances.
“Hey there,” Arthur answered flatly.
On the other end, Gideon’s tone was cheerful. “Hey, Arthur! Heard you and Elena finalized the divorce!”
“….”
“Welcome back to the world of single men! Doesn’t matter if the wife’s gone; plenty of options for side pieces out there—”
“Shut up,” Arthur interrupted. “Just get to the point.”
Gideon chuckled, undeterred. “No worries, just checking in on you. What are you up to? Want to hang out?”
Arthur agreed and asked for the location.
Gideon rattled off a name, “Sunset Lodge. It just opened, and everyone’s flocking there to check it out. It’s pretty nice.”
Arthur didn’t respond one way or the other; he had a singular view of these types of places, and ‘pretty nice’ didn’t really mean much. However, one hour later, as he stepped through the door of Sunset Lodge, he was unprepared for the overwhelming ambiance of art and culture, leaving him momentarily confused as to whether he had entered the correct venue.
A uniformed concierge rushed to his car, opening the door with reverence.
Gideon striding up, sharing a knowing smile. “Pretty shameless place, huh?” Arthur nodded in agreement; it was indeed shameless—a night club masquerading as an art salon—what a bizarre twist of taste.
The concierge proudly led him inside. Upon entering the lobby, he pointed at a painting on the wall. “Arthur, since it’s your first visit, you should know—we only feature real masterpieces here. Like this one, ‘Oil Painting 'Beneath the Clouds,' created by your ex-wife Elena seven years ago. Sold for a fortune back in the day—”
Arthur’s expression darkened immediately.
Gideon burst into laughter while the concierge froze, scrambling for the right words as he remembered the rumors surrounding Arthur and Elena's past. Realizing his blunder, Gideon clapped the man on the shoulder, “Relax, man, this isn’t an art museum. Let’s just have a good time.”

Chapter 3

The manager didn’t dare waste any more time on pleasantries and, following Arthur Fairweather’s instructions, led them to the billiards room on the fourth floor.
As they stepped into the elevator, Gideon Ashford remarked, “I’ve recently started dating this adorable girl. She’s smart and just delightful.”
“She’s a huge fan of some superstar—what’s her name again? Yvette something.”
The manager quickly chimed in, “Yvette Silver.”
“Right, Yvette! She’s always pestering me for an autograph, saying she just has to have it—she’s been shamelessly trying to sweet talk me into it. Where do you expect me to get that for her?”
“…”
“Anyway, it reminded me of our Arthur.”
So, it wasn't just a casual chat; he wanted something.
Arthur Fairweather shot a glance at Gideon Ashford. After knowing him for years, Arthur was fully aware of Gideon's ways; today he might charm this girlfriend, but tomorrow he'd cast her aside like yesterday's news—he was a notorious womanizer.
To Arthur’s surprise, Gideon pressed on, “What do you say? If I can’t get Yvette to sign something for her, she won’t let me sleep in our bedroom! Why not just have Briarwood’s Director Liam ask her? It would be so easy…”
Arthur could barely tolerate him anymore. “Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”
Just as they spoke, the elevator doors slid open.
The corridor on the fourth floor was unusually quiet. At the far end, two men were walking toward the elevator. One was a slick, rotund businessman, his belt struggling to contain his exaggerated beer belly. The other was a younger man dressed in a white shirt, slightly frail-looking, leaning against the businessman’s shoulder, his head bowed and body trembling, his expression obscured.
As Arthur and his party exited the elevator, they briefly made eye contact with the pair.
Then, the younger man stumbled over, nearly falling into Arthur.
“Wait!” Arthur instinctively stepped back.
The man crashed down at his feet, grasping Arthur’s leg desperately. He looked up, half-revealed by a dangling collar of his shirt, exposing a gaunt collarbone, and said, “Mr. Fairweather… I recognize you…”
His voice quivered unsettlingly, sweet yet haunting, causing an itch at the base of Arthur’s neck.
Arthur frowned. “Who are you?”
“I… I’m Lydia Ember’s…”
He struggled to finish his sentence before his eyes rolled back, and he fainted.
Gideon burst out laughing, “Oh, what a sight! A damsel in distress, huh? Heroic rescue moment!” He pulled out a cigarette as the manager quickly lit it for him. Breathing out a cloud of smoke, he settled back, clearly enjoying the show, and grinned at Arthur. “You know him?”
Arthur didn’t respond right away. His gaze fell steadily on the businessman, detecting a distinctly unsavory vibe from him. Looking back at the man sprawled at his feet, Arthur noted the odd demeanor—he appeared to have been drugged.
He suppressed the urge to say, “I don’t know him,” considering it might provoke additional trouble. “A friend,” he replied, not looking at Gideon, his eyes locked onto the businessman. He forced a half-smile filled with disdain. “What’s your name, sir?”
The businessman knew of him—few in the financial circles were unaware of Arthur Fairweather. He straightened up, nearly choking on his words, and stepped forward, saying, “I’m Henry, Henry Lewis. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Fairweather. An unexpected coincidence, truly; you are indeed extraordinary!” He laughed awkwardly.
His polished speech masked the unscrupulous intent behind him. He knew Arthur was poised to intervene and figured, if he played his cards right, he might score some brownie points, easily dismissing a celebrity for a good face-saving opportunity.
Arthur was fed up. The divorce had thrown off his mood, and now this unexpected trouble? It felt like the universe conspired to pile on the bad luck all in one day.
After a few terse responses, Arthur barely paid any attention to Henry Lewis, instead instructing the manager to help the unconscious man. He planned to set a room aside, intending to toss him in there while calling Lydia to pick him up.
However, the manager's touch was too gentle, and the drugged man began to awaken.
He wasn’t fully alert—a dazed look clouded his vision, like he’d just emerged from underwater, unable to register his surroundings but somehow recognizing Arthur Fairweather through the fog. He pushed the manager away and clung to Arthur like a lost child.
“Please… I’m scared,” he whimpered, the tremor in his voice striking a chord of desperation.
Arthur felt a wave of confusion wash over him.
Gideon stood by, slack-jawed, before snapping out. He slapped the manager on the back. “What are you waiting for? Get Arthur a room!”
Getting a room didn’t take long; it was just downstairs.
As they made the short trek, the “lost child” clung tightly to Arthur's neck. At six-three, Arthur towered over the younger man; with the effects of the drug weighing heavily on him, the guy felt flabby, practically melting into Arthur’s embrace.
This was the first time in Arthur’s life someone had been this clingy. His one close companion, Elena Greenfield, wasn’t the type to cling to him, and the ones who did approach him usually kept their distance due to intimidation. Even those who had ulterior motives never acted so blatantly.
With a frown, Arthur tried to shake him off a couple of times, but the man only tightened his grip, seeking solace in Arthur’s presence.
“Nope, still sticking,” Gideon remarked, unable to contain his smirk. “Arthur, you’re quite the lucky guy! This little beauty is really something…” He reached out to lift the boy’s petite face, studying it closely before gasping, “Wait… I’ve seen that face before!”
Arthur noted it too—how could he not? The resemblance was startling; it was eerily similar to Elena Greenfield’s.
But despite the shared features, their vibes couldn’t have been more different. While Elena was raised in opulence, never knowing hardship, she carried a sense of entitlement and haughtiness; this boy seemed fragile and worn, as though the harsh realities of life were etched into his being.

Chapter 4

Arthur Fairweather stood in silence, his thoughts whirling as he held the delicate figure in his arms. Even with his eyes shut, one could see the hints of timidity and caution etched into his features. It was a look that spoke of years spent navigating a harsh world, an expression born from the struggles of life.
“Arthur, it must be quite the thrill that the pretty boy looks so much like your ex-wife. Are you tempted to give it a shot?” Gideon Ashford broke the silence, his voice dropping conspiratorially.
“Really, not even a little curiosity?” Gideon pressed, discomfort pooling in his stomach.
Arthur's patience wore thin. “Tempted? Please. Your mind is just wallowing in the gutter.”
“Wow,” Gideon gasped, feigning astonishment. “You’re not actually going to pursue him, are you? He’s practically throwing himself at you! And don’t even think about bringing up Elena. You’re divorced now…”
Arthur’s expression darkened, and he chose to ignore him, swirling deeper into his own thoughts.
Gideon sighed, turning inward as he tried to untangle the web of Arthur’s motivations. It struck him that Arthur had always been this way—he never engaged in casual flings. Did he even have a reputation for wild nights? Gideon couldn’t recall.
It was strange, indeed. In Gideon’s view, men were expected to lose themselves in drunken nights and fleeting affairs, but Arthur wasn’t a saint by any means. His rigid standards weren't just puzzling; they suggested there was something deeper at play—perhaps genuine love for Elena, or something else entirely.
Maybe it was love after all.
Years prior, rumors circulated through Briarwood that Arthur's grandmother was gravely ill, her personality radically changed as she demanded he father an illegitimate child to keep their family's name alive before she passed. Elena was understandably upset, yet who could argue with a dying matriarch?
Things grew increasingly awkward as his grandmother even had a candidate in mind. Yet, when the moment came, Arthur firmly rejected her demands. Rumors suggested he had rocked the family dynamic, leaving his grandmother heartbroken before her health took a nosedive—she passed not long after the confrontation.
Gideon noted the credibility of those rumors was questionable, though Arthur’s fractious relationship with his family was common knowledge in Briarwood. It wasn’t entirely about Elena, but rather a storyline that pulled from darker family histories.
Arthur's mother was a stunning beauty from humble beginnings, yet her life turned grim when she married into wealth, ultimately leading to her tragic end by suicide after suffering from prolonged depression. Afterward, Arthur grew up as a pampered boy, living life until his eleventh year when a paternity test revealed unsettling truths that shattered the family’s facade. The Fairweather clan believed his mother had wronged them and they sent him away to live with his grandmother.
For several years, Arthur’s life was a mystery, returning to society only four years later when the family discovered a mishap in the original paternity test. He was indeed their blood, and the mistakes were swept under the rug—never to be discussed again.
Gideon reflected on the stark contrast between Arthur and typical wealthy heirs who indulged in affairs, gambling, and reckless lifestyles—Arthur held onto his morals fiercely. Who could say why—a love for Elena or perhaps a response to a complicated upbringing?
With his musings aside, Gideon glanced over at Arthur once more.
Arthur stood at the threshold, cradling the pretty boy, the lingering effects of the aphrodisiac radiating from him—his cheeks flushed, eyes glossed over, lips whispering need as he pressed against Arthur.
With one arm around the boy, Arthur pushed the door open and, half-managing, half-dragged him onto the bed. Just as he attempted to leave, he felt a tug at the hem of his shirt.
The boy opened his eyes, panic dancing in them. “Don’t go…” The plea dripped with vulnerability, almost spilling into tears, as if he were begging for solace.
Arthur turned back, his heartache starkly evident as he took in the resemblance to the face he had dourly hidden from his past.
“Please, don’t leave.”
Arthur remained silent, refusing to answer as the boy clumsily pulled himself up and began shedding his clothes, inching closer to him, trembling slightly with each move.
Naked and vulnerable, the boy pressed himself against Arthur, throwing both arms around his waist in a desperate embrace, lacking any understanding of further intimacy.
“What are you doing?” Arthur questioned, gently nudging him back.
He could feel the boy’s determination, an unwavering resolve that didn’t succumb to his initial rejection, drawing nearer still. “Aren’t you the one who wanted to take care of me?”
“…”
“You told Lydia, she hinted at it to me…”
The boy bit his lip, slowly trailing his hand down to unbuckle Arthur’s belt.
The door swung shut behind them, a generous move from Gideon.
Arthur couldn’t help the smile creeping onto his lips. He now realized Lydia misinterpreted his innocent words, thinking he had promised something to her cousin—no wonder she was shocked earlier.
“What’s your name?” Arthur asked, his voice steady against the quiet backdrop of the room, a large bed between them.
The boy, on his knees and bare, breathed shallowly close to Arthur, his delicate hands fumbling with the belt. “Sylvia Frost,” he replied, the timidity tainting his confidence.

Chapter 5

Arthur Fairweather nodded, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Elena Greenfield again; she no longer resembled the girl he had thought she was moments ago.
Adjusting his belt, Arthur Fairweather asked, “Can we go?”
“...Where to?”
Arthur pointed toward the bathroom. Sylvia Frost didn’t question him; she obediently climbed off the bed. However, just as her bare feet met the wooden floor, her legs buckled, and she collapsed forward.
She fell toward Arthur. He could have stepped forward to catch her, but it was as if he could read her desperate intention. He stood there, unmoving. Sylvia's little scheme had been unveiled, and she felt tears welling up, biting down on her lip in shame, “I didn’t mean to.”
The defiant look she wore was more foolish than anything, bordering on pitiful yet strangely endearing.
Arthur Fairweather laughed quietly, recalling something Gideon Ashford once told him. Gideon had shared tales of his many romantic entanglements—some girls were straightforward, while others were cunning. The former would simply do what they were told for the cash they received, while the latter thought themselves far smarter than they really were, pretending to like him while playfully sulking, only to eventually seek his forgiveness and more money—treating him like a foolish, compliant mark.
And Gideon? He had no qualms about playing the fool in their eyes. After all, they had invested so much effort into their manipulations; all he had to do was shower them with the latest name-brand handbag, and he could indulge in their theatrical antics.
Ultimately, both parties achieved what they wanted, leaving them both satisfied—a simple dynamic of a sugar-daddy relationship.
At that moment, Arthur found himself understanding that notion a little better, though he wasn’t Gideon. Such trivial “fun” wouldn’t entice him; he didn’t waste time on such things.
The effects of the drug coursing through Sylvia were hitting her in waves. The sudden fall made her feel a rapid jolt of pain, pulling him back to a bit of clarity. He straightened himself, walking toward the bathroom.
Arthur understood what he was implying: he didn’t want to touch her; she needed to douse herself with cold water.
After a few steps, Sylvia hesitated, turning back to him. “Are you dissatisfied with me?”
Arthur replied, “Your cousin misunderstood; I have no such intentions.”
“But she doesn’t know,” Sylvia interjected. “She mentioned it to me but didn’t support my coming to you... I never expected to be deceived into coming here, almost just…”
Arthur met her gaze but remained silent.
Looking down at her feet, Sylvia didn’t dare meet his eyes. “I don’t want to do this, but… if it’s you… Sir, I think I would be willing…” Her voice trailed off to a whisper.
Arthur asked, “Why?”
Her ears turned red. “You are very handsome.”
“...”
Arthur chuckled again.
Seizing the moment, Sylvia ventured, “What about now? Can you consider that?”
He was indeed good-looking—slim face, stunning eyes. As she anxiously met his gaze, her eyes sparkled with a nuanced allure. She had the face of a star; perhaps her future held grand prospects.
Arthur didn’t say “yes,” nor did he deny it. After pondering, he replied, “You are still young. I respect you.”
Disappointment flashed across Sylvia’s face. Respect? What did that even mean? It meant stepping outside only to face being sidelined, not being able to land gigs due to the unspoken rules, being looked down upon by faces artificially enhanced by affluence, aging without having accomplished dreams—
“...Does respect matter? I don’t want it,” Sylvia’s voice trembled, her lashes wet with unshed tears. In a moment of reckless abandon, she took an audacious step forward, disregarding her nakedness. She knelt at Arthur Fairweather's feet, casting off her last bit of self-respect. “Arthur... Mr. Fairweather, am I not attractive? Don’t you like me at all?”
Her heated breath wafted against his trousers as she leaned in, her mouth nearly capturing the bulge concealed there.
Arthur’s expression froze.
Sylvia, embracing her reckless desperation, slurred, “I won’t trouble you. I won’t waste your time; I won’t speak about this outside and ruin your reputation... Can you accept me?”
He thought, it’s like having a pet dog.
…
On the fourth floor, in the billiard room.
Gideon Ashford glanced at his watch. “It’s been over an hour; our Mr. Fairweather hasn’t emerged.”
Across the table, a woman in a form-fitting dress and heels leaned over, holding a cue stick. As she bent down, her ample bosom threatened to spill from her low-cut top. With a flirtatious glance, she shot Gideon a smirk, “That’s typical; he probably won’t be coming out tonight. Let’s just head out.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Gideon yawned. Picking up his jacket, he strolled toward the exit, muttering to himself, “Honestly, for someone who just said he wasn’t tired, it’s a shame he won’t sleep when temptation’s so close at hand… Arthur Fairweather, it’s quite a puzzle. Look at him—all these years, he doesn’t smoke, drinks sparingly, runs a solid career, and steers clear of mistresses, yet here we are. And does anyone sing praises for him as a good man? Not a chance.”
“……”
“Thus, the crux of life is not about self-restraint but indulgence, enjoyment—forcing life to give way. If you don’t seize it, it’ll force itself onto you, right? That’s the gist of it.”
“Right, right.”
Arthur Fairweather drifted into a dream.
In it, he reverted to the youthful version of himself at fourteen or fifteen, leaving the country town to return to a city he hadn’t visited in four years. Just before departure, Grandmother Beatrice, leaning on her cane, walked him to the door, softly hugging him. Panic swelled in his chest as he buried his face in her embrace, murmuring, “I don’t want to leave.”

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