Chapter 1
**Title:** When the White Moonlight Loses Heart **Author:** July Gentle Breeze --- **Chapter 1: I Have a Terminal Illness** It was raining as Eleanor Yates stepped out of the hospital, the muffled sounds of raindrops echoing against the pavement. It was neither too late nor too early; it felt as if the universe itself was conspiring against him. While others held umbrellas or sought shelter under awnings, Eleanor stood out in the deluge. Despite the throngs bustling outside the state hospital, his delicate, sickly appearance and haunting grace went unnoticed. He didn’t carry an umbrella, allowing the rain to soak him through. Just an hour earlier, he had been in the oncology department. “Mr. Yates, I’m sorry to inform you that the diagnosis is leukemia. However, your current state is relatively stable. If you cooperate fully with treatment, your chances of recovery are quite good.” The doctor’s words hung heavy in the air, but Eleanor did not respond. He neither cried nor expressed any form of sadness. Surprisingly, rather than weep over his fate, he exhaled in relief, as if a weight had been lifted. His silence was so profound it left the seasoned doctor at a loss for words, struggling to find a way to offer comfort. After a pause, Eleanor finally spoke, his voice a whisper, “How long do I have if I refuse treatment?” The rain intensified, and the chill seeped into Eleanor’s skin, making him feel as if the cold was cutting through to his bones. He navigated through the hospital plaza and waited for a cab, gripping the now-drenched examination report in his hands. Without a second thought, he crumpled the document and tossed it into a nearby trash can. He stood there—a drenched youth, looking as fragile as a bird caught in a storm. His raven locks clung to his forehead, and his skin was so pale it seemed almost translucent. For the past few days, Eleanor had been battling persistent fevers and apatite loss. He had attributed these issues to his reckless relationship with William Westford, whom he had been entangled with lately. He dismissed the symptoms as mere fatigue from late nights or residual effects from their intimate encounters—blaming everything on his lack of proper care for himself. “It's just stress from work,” he had told himself. “I’ve been pushing myself too hard.” Yet, an unsettling truth lurked beneath; he hadn’t been taking care of his health. As raindrops continued to fall, Eleanor felt the urgency of his situation close in around him. What lay ahead was as murky as the rain-drenched streets, where he once roamed freely, now diminished to shadows of a happy life stripped away. ---
Chapter 2
William Westford stared at himself in the mirror, noticing how paler and more worn he looked each day. Last night, he had even mocked himself, asking why he couldn’t seem to get a grip. Did he think that by punishing himself, somehow he would find peace? After yet another day of avoiding the truth, he finally decided it was time for a check-up—after all, it was leukemia that was causing all this suffering. Rain fell steadily outside his villa, and he felt as calm inside as a still lake. Westford Manor was situated on the outskirts of Everwood City, which made it difficult to reach without a car. The taxi driver grumbled about having to come out here, only stopping when Eleanor Yates offered him extra cash to shut up. William understood all too well how inconvenient it was to get around. Over the years, his mood had grown more erratic, and it seemed that only when Jasper saw him in a rare moment of struggle did he find any satisfaction. They had been working together, yet this morning, William purposely left Eleanor behind. Now she had to drag herself out of bed after a sleepless night, endure a twenty-minute walk, and then sit on a crowded bus for another hour to reach the Guild. “What time do you call this? Working means being responsible. This is at least the third time you’ve been late this month. Your sponsorship bonus with Master is canceled,” he had said, his tone cruel. How awful and infuriating of him. When Eleanor finally unlocked the door to their home, it was eerily quiet. She didn’t even take the time for a hot shower; instead, she immediately started laundry, tidied up the house, and prepared a meal. Time was slipping away. The vast, three-story Westford Manor had no servants whatsoever. Every little chore fell onto Eleanor’s shoulders. “She’s fine on her own,” William would insist. After cooking, Eleanor slumped onto the sofa, feeling dizzy and light-headed. It was seven o'clock, and darkness cloaked the house. William still hadn’t returned, but her phone chimed. “Staying at home with my fiancée tonight. I won’t be back. You’ll have to eat on your own.” Eleanor stared at the message for a long moment, her gaze drifting to the steaming dishes on the table. She had no appetite. The chill gnawed at her, and she curled up tight, wrapping her arms around her knees. Turning her head, she caught sight of a framed picture on the table, two young men standing side by side. It was William and her from when they were both just sixteen. She got lost in the memories. What was happening between them? Why did he seem to detest her yet surround their home with photographs from their youth? Perhaps he aimed to humiliate her, utilizing memories to subtly mock her, reminding her of the laughter that had once defined their lives. The picture had been taken during a spring school outing, with both boys standing together. One beamed with kindness while the other wore a lighthearted smirk. Time had flown by, and now, eight years later, Eleanor felt tears brimming in her eyes. It felt like a lifetime ago, but once, Eleanor had truly cherished William. He'd been endlessly kind to her, with a warmth that seemed limitless.
Chapter 3
Eleanor Yates thought to herself that he must have once liked her. Every time she saw their pictures together, a pang of destiny struck her. She and William Westford had known each other since childhood, growing up side by side, yet now their once-solid friendship had turned into something entirely different. She recalled the doctor's words and the medical report that had been carelessly tossed into the trash outside the hospital. When she was gone, perhaps all of this would finally come to an end. **Chapter 2: A Dance of Torment** The message William Westford sent Eleanor Yates was a lie. There was no fiancé named Home; it was just his little girlfriend pestering him to take her to the latest romantic blockbuster. William's girlfriend, Margaret Sweetberry, was the head of a renowned local talent agency, beautiful and charming, but possessing an insatiable need for attention and affection. She was a whirlwind of energy, and when they first met at a gala, she had just finished performing “Wedding of Dreams.” Amidst the thunderous applause, she made her way over to William in her high heels, beaming and unabashedly bold. "Mr. Westford, care to dance with me?" She never held back her affection for William, nearly shouting her love from the rooftops for everyone to hear. It was no wonder she was so eager; everyone knew William Westford was a notorious heartbreaker, someone who had left many an admirer blissfully wooed but ultimately unfulfilled. He always acted as if he were above it all, scrutinizing those who tried to get close. Sometimes, it seemed he might take an interest in someone, only to discard them shortly thereafter. His standards were impossibly high, and he was rarely satisfied. Jasper, his best friend, attracted admirers like honey to bees, yet he was someone who could easily ignore the throngs around him—a puzzle no one could solve. Rumors swirled about William's flings; he changed partners more frequently than most people changed clothes. Despite his reputation, there was an undeniable charm about him. He was mature, well-off, strikingly handsome, smart, and emotionally intelligent—sometimes tender, but at other times as cold as an ice sculpture. He was like a veil-draped treasure, enticing those nearby while making them yearn to see more, only to find he remained untouchable. Even amidst a sea of admirers, William Westford floated through life, untethered and carefree. Yet, this very elusive nature made him all the more desirable. Human nature is such that often, the more unattainable something is, the more people covet it. No matter what others said about the harsh realities of life, many still daydreamed they could be the one to earn his lasting favor. Among his numerous admirers, Margaret had stuck around the longest. Their relationship had lasted more than three months—an unprecedented record for William. Her victory song rang throughout her circle as she boasted to friends, crowing about the charms that had turned the rogue’s head. In a bid to secure William's heart, Margaret had even confided in her close friends about their relationship, unafraid of any repercussions, proclaiming herself William Westford’s fiancée. What she didn’t realize was that William's interest in her stemmed from a familiarity he felt upon first seeing her. Her confidence, pride, and striking beauty struck a chord, making him feel inexplicably connected to her. As they began dating, days turned into weeks, and Margaret reveled in it, blissfully unaware that William was growing increasingly bored with her.
Chapter 4
William Westford sat through the movie, coldly detached from the experience. As he proposed that the driver take her home, Margaret Sweetberry suddenly grabbed his arm, leaning against him. Her striking figure brushed against him subtly, and with a sweet, flirty voice, she suggested, "It’s pretty late. We could stay out a little longer, you know." Her invitation was unmistakable, but William merely extracted his arm, offering her a polite but insincere smile. "I have a meeting first thing in the morning," he replied. He signaled to the driver to start the car, but Margaret was not ready to concede. Acting coy, she tried using charm and persuasion, her eyes sparkling innocently. When none of it worked, frustration bubbled up, and in a moment of utter exasperation, she shot back, "William, we’ve been together for three months. Are you even... up for it?" The instant the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Accusing a man of being "not enough" was a grave insult, one she felt weighed heavily in the air. She darted a glance at William, but he remained unfazed, almost casual about it. "You can think whatever you want, then," he replied lightly. By the time William reached Westford Manor, it was almost midnight. As the car pulled up to the driveway, he noticed lights still on inside the house. Eleanor Yates was asleep on the couch. The dinner spread on the table sat untouched, its warmth replaced by a cooling chill. William glanced at the sleeping figure without a word; suddenly, hunger struck him. He grabbed chopsticks and picked at the food without heating it up, feeling the rumbles of his appetite taking precedence over all else. Despite the noise, Eleanor didn’t stir. Irritation gnawed at him; had Eleanor completely forgotten her own words? Did she truly not remember her promise to be there for him? It seemed like “always available” had turned into faded echoes of the past. He approached and called out, "Eleanor Yates." She stirred, frowning slightly but didn’t open her eyes. To him, she looked utterly spent, as if caught in vivid dreams. His annoyance flared, and when she didn't wake, he seized her arm roughly, shaking her awake. His grip was strong, like iron, and in an instant, he had lifted her slightly, causing a yelp of pain to escape her lips. The sight of William's furious expression made Eleanor blink slowly, her confusion evident. "Y-you're back?" she stuttered, her face a ghostly shade of pale. William scrutinized her for several long seconds, as if deliberating something unspoken. Gradually, he released her arm, tossing a curt instruction. "Go clean up the table," he said, before retreating upstairs. Even after he vanished around the stairwell corner, Eleanor could still feel her arm smarting. With a body still feeling the lingering effects of a fever, she painfully gathered herself to start clearing the table. The sight of the untouched dishes ignited confusion within her. Was it due to having company with his future in-laws that she had gone unfed? While washing the dishes, her arm regained some sensation, sending a sharp reminder of the grip he had held onto her. When she climbed upstairs, the shower was running; William was washing up. He seemed to sense her presence, calling out from within, "Eleanor Yates, could you grab the towel for me?" William had a remarkable memory; the towel was laid out on the bed, a clear reminder that he would need it after his shower. Yet, she had forgotten to fetch it. Eleanor took a breath to steady herself, unbuttoning her shirt slowly.
Chapter 5
William Westford deliberately dropped his towel, casually mentioning he needed to grab something from inside. But as soon as he pushed the door open, he would pull himself inside. Eleanor Yates was too experienced to worry about getting his clothes wet. Having been intimate with William Westford more times than he could count, there was no reason for embarrassment anymore. With the final piece of clothing discarded, he stepped forward barefoot and knocked on the door. As expected, he fell into a fiery embrace, with the cool shower spray landing on his skin; Eleanor instinctively shivered. William's body radiated heat, and he always kept the water temperature on the lower side when he showered. For him, the temperature was fine, but it left Eleanor, who was sensitive to the cold, shivering. "You’re getting more obedient every time," he teased before instructing, "Wash your back." Eleanor fumbled as he tried to scrub himself clean. It wasn’t that he intended to take a long time, but his partner’s impatience was palpable, and with a dissatisfied huff, William took over himself. Eleanor was in discomfort, entirely uninterested; perhaps due to fatigue and unease, William’s teasing felt like torture. In his arms, Eleanor's thoughts were a reckless mess, recalling their past, the doctor’s words, and the diagnosis on the lab report—leukemia—along with the promise William made to be with his fiancée. Unable to hold back, Eleanor finally whimpered, “I don’t want to go through with it tonight. I’m not feeling well.” William noted that Eleanor's temperature was indeed higher than usual, but he continued without stopping. Unaware he was about to explode from pent-up frustration, he replied, "What's with the theatrics? You've got a fever, not a death sentence." Eleanor fell silent, looking wounded and pitiful, her breaths the only sound escaping her lips. William continued his actions but soon found it lackluster. After a few minutes, he frowned and stepped back, pushing him away with a dismissive, "What a buzzkill." Eleanor's legs turned to jelly; the unexpected shove caused him to stumble against the bathroom wall. Before he could even fully see what was happening, William had already thrown on his robe and left the room. With a loud slam of the door behind him, he strode off, leaving the day wrapped up in disappointment. **Chapter 3: A Dark Sense of Humor** After William left, Eleanor Yates felt like a discarded ragdoll, frozen on the bed. He held his position, trying to recover his strength while replaying William’s words in his mind. Finally, he succumbed to exhaustion, catching a few an uneasy hours of sleep. It felt like mere moments when his phone alarm blared, jolting him awake. At 6:30 AM, Eleanor groggily pulled himself up, sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes. It took him a full five minutes to muster the energy to get moving. People really do grow up and change. In his younger days, he never wanted to get out of bed, always grumpy when woken too soon. If he wasn’t sufficiently rested, he’d often have tantrums. Back then, William bore the brunt of his mood swings, yet he never seemed to mind, always smiling gently and speaking in that softly affectionate tone. Forgetting a person often meant forgetting their voice first. Time had whisked away the memories; Eleanor struggled to recall how comforting William's voice was while urging him out of slumber. Dragging his weary body downstairs, he ventured cautiously to avoid making noise. As he passed by the neighboring room, he instinctively held his breath, fearful of waking the sleeping giant inside. In the early spring of Autumn Springs, when daylight scarcely broke, Eleanor began to move skillfully in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.
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