Between Heartbeats and Secrets

Chapter 1

Arthur Runnings stepped out of the cab and pushed through the heavy doors of the bar, her eyes still tinged with red, the tears long gone but the pain fresh.
The bartender frowned as he sized up the girl in her oversized athletic gear with two awkward braids dangling over her shoulders. “ID?”
“Forgot it. I’m twenty, a sophomore,” she replied, her voice steady yet defiant.
The bartender’s gaze lingered on her cherubic face, his disbelief evident.
Arthur, unfazed, pulled down her jacket zipper, puffing out her chest for emphasis. “Can you tell I’m not exactly underage?”
The bartender’s eyes widened in surprise. Nearby male patrons turned their heads, their expressions a mix of intrigue and astonishment.
Arthur had long grown accustomed to such looks—what could she do? Life had just dealt her a hand she didn’t ask for.
She zipped her jacket back up. “The cheapest beer, make it a dozen.”
Soon enough, the beers arrived along with a text from Clara Runnings, one that carried a poisonous edge.
[After you left, I asked Tobias Evernight if he would come after you. He wouldn’t. Said it would be agony to climb halfway. Don’t even act like he betrayed you, Arthur Runnings. You’re a married woman! Remember? You married an old, ugly, divorced man just after he left the country three years ago!]
Arthur tucked her phone away and, with a stone-cold expression, turned to the bartender. “Another dozen!”
The reality was cruel; her father sold her off for a piece of land. For two years she hadn’t seen her husband, hardly remembering she was supposed to be married at all.
…
The Opulent Chamber.
The meeting had transitioned from a formal signing to a casual card game by the time Evelyn Evers knocked and entered.
Lighting a cigarette, she respectfully handed it to the man at the table. “Lord Whitmore.”
His long, elegant fingers grasped it, but as he took a drag, he caught her hesitant voice. “Lord Whitmore, I passed through the lobby downstairs just now. I think I saw your wife.”
The man’s hand halted, a card poised mid-air. Silence filled the room for several seconds before his confused, low voice broke through. “Wife? Which wife?”
Evelyn recognized the fog of forgetfulness enveloping him. “The one on your marriage certificate.”
His deep-set eyes narrowed, releasing a puff of smoke. It started to dawn on him; oh right, he did indeed have a wife. Her appearance, her age, and even her name were all a complete mystery to him, but he was pretty sure she was at least a woman.
This had all been Evelyn’s doing years ago.
He showed no visible reaction, flipping the card onto the table casually. “Put her tab on my bill. Is she here alone?”
“Didn’t spot anyone else. From a distance, it looked like she was crying.”
His brows furrowed slightly, and he spoke with a measured detachment. “Find a way to get her home early.”
…
Arthur had made it through seven beers before the bartender finally swept her drinks off the bar. “You’re done. Time to head home.”
“... Am I drunk?”
Her head swam, and she felt dizzy—definitely drunk—but why did the agonizing images of Tobias Evernight and Clara remain so vividly in her mind?
So much for the old adage that “getting drunk will make you forget all your pain!”
She swayed her way to the restroom, but found the line wrapped around the door.
Fearing an accident, Arthur ventured upstairs to the second floor, only to find the washroom out of order. “What a joke!”
As one of the most upscale bars in the city, it was horrible that they didn’t even have a functional restroom!
Determined, she trudged up to the third floor.
Welcoming silence enveloped her, the atmosphere rich and luxurious, suggesting it was reserved for the elite.
As she staggered through the hallway, a large door opened across the way, revealing a statuesque man stepping out—

Chapter 2

Arthur Runnings cast a glance around, taking in the crisp white shirt and sharply tailored black trousers of a man standing a few feet away. He had legs that seemed to stretch for miles.
Ugh, she had the worst weakness for tall men. Fueled by a couple of drinks, she felt an unexpected boldness surge within her, and before she knew it, she let out a flirtatious whistle.
The man's posture stiffened, clearly taken aback by her playfulness. He turned slightly, tilting his head to give her a perplexed look.
Once she could see his face clearly, she noted that his features were strikingly handsome, exuding a mature, cool detachment. But in his eyes, she caught a flicker of disapproval for her teasing, which made her feel slightly embarrassed. Arthur Runnings let out a sheepish chuckle, silently chiding herself. Seriously, what was with these stern older men who couldn't take a joke?
Lady Isolde, meanwhile, ignored the giggling little drunk in her presence and continued walking away.
Arthur Runnings hurried to keep up, since she had lost sight of the restroom and he represented her best chance of finding it.
Inside the men's restroom, the man held his composure until the moment reached its peak. Coldly, he ordered, "Get out."
Arthur Runnings swung the door wide open, stepping in with a nonchalant attitude. "Hey, old man, just doing my business here. I can't find the women's room, so I'm borrowing your space!"
The guy just stood there, momentarily grasping the absurdity of the situation.
Unbothered, she swaggered into a stall, remembering at least to close the door behind her.
Before long, the sound of rushing water filled the air, akin to thunder from a waterfall. This was a first for him: hearing a woman’s urination was certainly… not dignified.
“Ah… so much better,” Arthur Runnings said as she stepped out of the stall and leaned closer to the man. She gazed right into his eyes, her large doe-like pupils locking onto his. Just as Lady Isolde was getting ready to zip up her pants, Arthur interrupted, “Uncle, at your age, shouldn’t it be all split and stuff?”
“…” Split? Hardly. You probably should be the one splitting, and so should your entire family. Wait a minute, how old was he? He looked far older than he should.
Arthur Runnings gazed dreamily at the man’s perfect profile, evidently not wanting to take her leave just yet.
Lady Isolde, gathering her dignity, quickly zipped her trousers and turned to walk toward the sink.
Arthur followed suit to the sink beside her. “You have elegant hands, so clean and long!” she declared, washing her own hands.
The man seemed indifferent, his lips pressed in a tight line, betraying no hint of interest in her compliment.
That small movement triggered a memory of Tobias Evernight in Arthur's mind. Tobias had the same habit of compressing his lips, and, boy, did he look good doing it. Yet, Arthur couldn't shake the memory of catching him in bed with her sister earlier that day.
He could cheat on her; why shouldn't she drown her sorrows with someone much better?
The man in front of Arthur was everything Tobias wasn't—more mature, vastly better looking. And as Arthur recalled that brief glance at his… lower assets… she was certain taking her first time with him would be a sweet revenge against Tobias.
With this thought in mind, she leaned into him.
Lady Isolde was utterly unprepared for Arthur Runnings' bold move—she attempted to shove the playful drunk aside—
“Hey there, handsome Uncle! Tonight, I’m all yours, deal?” Arthur clung to his shirt, her demeanor suggestively joyful.
His gaze hardened, sweeping her youthful, cherubic face with clear disdain. “Not interested in girls.”
Arthur shook her head earnestly. “Uncle, you’re mistaken! I might look young, but what I have here…”
As she slowly unzipped her jacket, she blinked innocently. “See, I’m not lacking anything.”
For a moment, he stood frozen. The sight before him was jaw-droppingly astonishing. So this was what they meant by ‘bouncing in’—and it was no exaggeration.
After thirty-two years, this was the first time he’d ever seen anything like that.
He felt a response deep within him, but his expression remained stoic. When she finally zipped her jacket up, he extended his well-defined hand toward her, the contours of his fingers suggesting he was more than intrigued.
Fully intoxicated and letting go of her inhibitions, Arthur responded, “You touched me, so I should touch you too…”
Before she could finish her sentence, her hand slid past his belt.
The man didn't resist her awkward attempt; the twinkle in his dark eyes bore an expression that was ominously playful. He parted his lips, “Playing with fire, huh?”
“Exactly,” Arthur replied. If he could betray her, so could she.
With a quick arm motion, he enveloped her smaller body into his wide, solid embrace.
To Lady Isolde's surprise, Arthur's touch elicited a reaction despite his attempts to keep his desires locked away.
Years of accepting that he couldn’t respond let alone feel with another woman were fading away. Now, being in contact with someone full of spirit and life rejuvenated that hope deep within him.
He couldn’t forget what it felt like to respond, his eyes now drawn to the stunning woman in his arms. In a low, seductive voice, he said, “Come on, let’s play with fire, shall we?”
As they stepped out of the restroom, they encountered Evelyn Evers on the corridor. “Lord Whitmore, why have you been gone so long… um, Mrs. Smith?”

Chapter 3

In the parking area outside The Drunken Dragon, a sleek black Mercedes van stood ready.
Arthur Runnings was guided into the back seat, the door closing with a soft thud behind her.
Beside the vehicle, Lady Isolde Whitmore held a cigarette in one hand and shoved her other deep into her tailored pants pocket, her brow furrowed. “So, that’s the woman listed on my marriage certificate?”
“That’s Mrs. Smith,” Evelyn Evers responded, equally shocked at how they had just run into each other, Susan coming out of the bathroom with Arthur wrapped in her arms.
Lady Isolde’s expression was stone-cold as she finished her cigarette. Raising an eyebrow, she quipped, “You didn’t tell me Mrs. Smith is a literal knockout with a baby face?”
Evelyn let out a gasp as a tall, handsome man opened the back door and leaned into the car, meeting Arthur's bleary eyes.
His features were striking, and there was an enticing undertone to his deep voice carried by the night breeze. “Mrs. Smith, please tell me where we’re headed. Home sounds great; we can play without needing a hotel.”
Evelyn Evers: “…”
What was happening?! Lord Whitmore, of all people, preferred such youthful…?
An unsettling thought washed over her. Over the years, she had tried to set him up with girls who embodied innocence and allure, never once thinking he would lean towards the innocent yet sultry.
In the Mercedes, Arthur Runnings provided her address before succumbing to the warmth of her drunken stupor, completely forgetting to ask what “Mrs. Smith” had meant moments earlier.
As she slid from the tall man's embrace, her head fell precisely at his waistband.
His gaze turned conflicted as she slipped lower, her face nearly brushing against his side.
It was early September, and the thinness of his pants allowed her heated breath to elicit a reaction, a sign that their earlier encounter in the bathroom wasn't a mere accident.
Despite her unintentional contact, he felt an undeniable urge stirring within him.
It had been far too long since he last felt such excitement; a flush crept to the corners of his eyes. He licked his lips and commanded the driver, “Harold Lefton, step on it.”
Harold barely grasped the situation but understood enough to press the gas pedal. This was the first time there had been a woman in the boss's car, and the Mercedes shot forward.
Soon after, they arrived at Autumn Grove Manor.
The housekeeper, Aunt Marigold, blinked in surprise. She hadn’t seen Mr. Runnings here in two years since she was assigned to care for Mrs. Smith.
Lady Isolde cradled Arthur as she ascended the stairs, asking, “Where’s Mrs. Smith’s bedroom?”
…
In a daze, Arthur Runnings felt herself being laid on a soft bed.
She could barely open her eyes, only hearing the metallic sound of a belt unbuckling, followed by a rush of air as her clothes vanished.
A weight settled heavily above her.
“Everything I saw was correct, E.” His voice was low, teasing her with every word spoken. His lips trailed down her neck, lingering with an almost feral hunger across her curves as he breathed heavily, kissing the woman who had awakened feelings he thought he’d long buried, “Now tell uncle, what’s your name?”
“Arthur…Arthur Runnings.”
“Moist?”
In the man's mind, “moist” conjured images unfurling.
A low chuckle escaped him. “Well, that’s an interesting name.”
The last layer slipped away.
Her youth displayed in all its unblemished glory elicited a stark reaction in him; his dark eyes widened as a wave of aversion hit him. The urge disappeared, replaced by the unpleasant memories of his earlier encounters with other women, flooding back with the sensation of countless needles pricking his nerves.
Arthur waited for what felt like an eternity, chilled yet aware of the storm brewing within him.
He gripped her painfully. “Uncle Master, it hurts…”
Her cry startled Lady Isolde from her thoughts.
He relaxed his grip, cradling her with surprising tenderness. “You go by Rina, don’t you?”
She nodded, her large eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The drunken haze rendered her even more vulnerable and naive.
Lowering himself again, he pressed a kiss to her delicate neck, his breathing quickening with the escalating tension. He murmured softly, “Rina, little Mrs. Smith, you’ve hurt me but can’t well explain how to ease it. What do we do now?”
As his whispers lingered, his burning gaze traced down…

Chapter 4

Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a hazy glow on the room. Arthur Runnings jolted awake, his head pounding like a drum. As he turned in his familiar villa bedroom, he was greeted by a troubling sight: clothes strewn across the floor—men's and women's garments alike.
Just as despair began to sink in, the sound of running water came from the bathroom.
Wait—was that handsome guy he met last night still here? Wasn't he supposed to pull a classic move and sneak out early to avoid the awkwardness?
But no, he was clearly sticking around for only one reason: to collect his fee. In other words, last night wasn’t just any flirtation; she had turned the encounter with the *Cowherd* into a business arrangement?
Oh great! She had a feeling she wouldn't be that lucky; betrayal couldn't lead to a quick turnaround.
Feeling irritated, he scrambled to find his wallet. The bathroom door swung open, and a gust of fresh, invigorating air rushed in.
Arthur raised his eyes, and within seconds, his face flushed bright red! There stood the infamous model: chiseled abs, perfect V-cut, and a towel barely hanging on. His skin was pale, droplets of water glistening, a picture of steamy seduction.
That perfect male body had been on top of her last night…
Arthur quickly yanked the covers over her face, hiding her burning cheeks!
"Scared to look at me?" the guy's long legs approached, his deep voice tinged with amusement.
Arthur inched toward the headboard, fumbling to grab her wallet from beneath the pillow. She cursed herself for being nervous. Regardless, she had given him some attention; he should be paying respects!
Clearing her throat to play it cool, she stated, "How much do I owe you? Just tell me so you can leave."
"How much?" The man's expression darkened in disbelief. Did she really mistake him for some bar boy? This was getting interesting!
He chuckled, mischief glimmering in his handsome eyes, "I come at a premium, you know."
Arthur scoffed, expecting him to take advantage of the situation. She boldly pulled out every single bill from her wallet: "How about one thousand five hundred dollars…?"
"Ten thousand for the night."
What?!!
Arthur gasped, struggling to regain her voice, “You must be joking… right, Uncle Master?”
He chuckled warmly, "I don’t joke around, darling."
"Ten thousand? Don’t you think that's a bit much?!"
The man, now leisurely lighting a cigarette, ran his elegant fingers across his striking features, "You pay for quality."
"Looks great but can’t deliver!” Arthur exploded, exasperated. “I don’t feel like I’ve been run over by a truck! No soreness, no tearing pain, my legs aren't trembling, my voice isn't hoarse, and there’s definitely no evidence of passion lingering in the air…"
“…”
The man’s handsome face hardened, waiting for her to wake up from the fairytale world she was living in.
After ranting without a response, Arthur finally conceded defeat.
Ugh! She was in the wrong, yes, but haggling over bed fees didn’t feel right! But getting sold for ten thousand was just ridiculous!
Switching strategies, she slipped her hand around his toned arm, turning on the sweetness, "C’mon, headliner Uncle, I’m still a student! Student discount, please? How about half price?"
The powerful allure of her voice reached *Uncle Master*, who recalled the way she cried out for him last night, helping her through her pain, whispering "Uncle, I’m hurting…"
His heart was melting at the sweetness.
Seeing he didn't protest, she pressed on, “So it’s a deal for half! I only have one thousand five hundred right now… Can we do installments? Please don’t charge me interest!”
She was quite the negotiator—like a seasoned pro at it!
With a mock frown, the man replied, “Can we still negotiate this pleasantly?”
Arthur immediately knelt up on the bed, hands clasped together, wide-eyed like a puppy, "Please, Uncle! I promise I’ll recommend you to all my friends!"
"…” Did she really think of him as *The Cowherd*?

Chapter 5

**Chapter 005: A Debt of $48,500 and the Need for Proof**
The tall man adjusted his finely tailored suit, a slight smirk appearing as he pocketed the $1,500 “convenience fee.” “You owe me $48,500. Surely there’s proof of this?”
Arthur Runnings smiled nervously as he handed over his student ID. “With our little arrangement, Uncle, you should probably sneak out the back. I think I just spotted a suspicious middle-aged woman lurking around!”
Why would he hide in his own house? What kind of blind spot could mistake someone so strikingly handsome, charming, and exuding power as simply a male escort?
Face a shade paler, he headed towards the door, but paused, his dark eyes flicking back. He lowered his voice, “Be careful when you shower; don’t forget to put on that ointment for your chest…”
“What are you talking about?” Arthur asked, puzzled, stepping into the bathroom. As she removed her nightgown in front of the mirror, a sharp scream tore through the air—
Lady Isolde stood poised outside, listening to the scream with a brief, closed-eye moment of contemplation.
The impulsive act from last night had led to a loss of control as he fixated on her.
The entire shower felt like torture, the water hitting her heart like a relentless drum!
Arthur wondered about this strange pain; shouldn’t it have been a discomfort down below rather than in her chest? Why was it the other way around?
“Little One, Little One, tell your sister what happened! Who hurt you? Was it that awful Uncle Master?”
But what had he done that would lead to such a mess?
“Mrs. Smith, it’s seven-twenty!”
Arthur scrambled to get dressed. “Aunt Marigold, I can’t eat breakfast. I have classes to get to!”
“Don’t rush, dear. The driver is downstairs waiting for you.”
“Has the Grand Duke returned?!” Arthur exclaimed, jumping at the thought of a plump old man with a bald head. No way did he come back last night? Hadn’t she been caught looking at him?!
Aunt Marigold recalled the Grand Duke’s instructions before his departure. “No, he hasn’t come back yet. But he did send the driver to take you to school.”
Arthur sighed in relief, puzzled. Why would that old man suddenly remember her after being away for two years?
Maybe it was guilt for keeping her in the dark for so long? Arthur prayed he would stay away until after their wedding—just one more year, and she would finally be free!
Outside the villa, the Maserati door opened, and Harold Lefton approached. “Madam, please get in.”
“No need for all that fuss.”
At school, she was just a dedicated student. Aside from her best friend Flora, no one knew she was married to an old man. The three girls in their dormitory had no clue.
Maserati... Come on, she was longing for a quiet existence.
At the headquarters of Whitmore Corporation.
In the executive elevator, Harold Lefton spoke into his phone, “Sir, the Madam declined my offer to drive her, saying if she took a luxury car today, she’d struggle with the bus next time.”
Lord Whitmore raised an eyebrow, hanging up the call, finding the wild girl’s cheeky words amusing.
As the elevator doors opened, Evelyn Evers was already waiting. “Lord Whitmore, your shirt.”
He took the crumpled shirt from last night that she had wrestled with in such haste.
Evelyn entered the executive office with coffee as the man had already changed into a bespoke black suit; the sleek black shirt enhanced his intense and solemn demeanor.
With elongated fingers, he pointed to a stack of fifteen hundred-dollar bills on his desk. “Go open an account and deposit this.”
Evelyn looked puzzled. “Sir, what’s this money for?”
His gaze remained focused on the document as his thin lips curled in slight amusement. “It’s a fee from the Madam.”
“$1,500 for one night? Sir, that’s pretty cheap…”
His eyes stayed glued to his work. “I could easily make your salary just as cheap.”
“Sir! My mistake! I’ll keep this to myself; I’m leaving now!”
“Get out.”

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