Between Shadows and Steel

Chapter 1

After completing his final mission in a dystopian world, John Lockhart finds himself back in his former life.
Once a legendary warrior, John is now reduced to being the sickly “illegitimate son” of Lockhart Manor, perpetually medicated and bullied at every turn.
According to the timeline before his departure, Edward Lockhart is pushing him towards an arranged marriage.
Before the apocalypse, John was strongly opposed to the idea of this marriage, as he heard stories about Sebastian Winterbourne, a figure known for his ruthlessness. At that time, John—weak and frail—doubted he could stand up to someone like him.
But now? He’s traversed wormholes, piloted mechs, fought alien races, and even blown up planets. Was he really going to cower before someone with the last name Winterbourne?
“Alright—cough, cough, cough.”
---
On his wedding day, John Lockhart is kidnapped.
The Lockhart family is left in despair, assuming the frail boy wouldn’t make it back alive after such a debacle.
However, when Isabella Winterbourne discovers John, he’s found sitting amidst a dozen incapacitated kidnappers, wielding a bloodied iron rod.
Kicking the rod aside, he leans against Isabella and says, “—Wuwu, darling, you scared me.”
Isabella Winterbourne: “…” Should we clarify who’s actually scary here? (. _. )
---
The Bureau of Defense has recently recruited Dr. Alaric Sage, who developed a capsule capable of enhancing a normal person's combat capabilities. This medication also has another effect: healing chronic illnesses.
Yet, this doctor is extremely mysterious; no one has ever seen his face.
Isabella Winterbourne worked tirelessly to secure some capsules, only to return home and see a figure swiftly scaling her second-floor window.
She bursts through the door of her second-floor room—
John Lockhart, who forgot his keys after a long day, pulls the blankets over himself, collapsing onto the bed. “Wuwu, darling, you startled me.”
---
Isabella Winterbourne and her team are on a mission to rescue a trapped otherworldly creature. One petite subordinate drops down through the vines, slicing through the poisonous plant.
The face is masked and the movements are agile, somewhat resembling the person from her second-floor window.
Isabella grabs the person’s wrist, inquiring, “Who are you?”
The familiar sound of “Wuwu” escapes the figure's lips.
Halfway through, the realization sinks in that it’s not home, and John Lockhart’s response is a silent “…”
Isabella Winterbourne: “.”
**Sickly Warrior vs. Power Player Forced to See His Wife's Secret Life**
★ Important Notes: ★
1. This story is purely fictional, focusing on an imagined universe.
2. Expect a blend of illogical twists—those designed for plot servitude (please don’t draw direct real-world comparisons).
4. Individual preferences may differ; your understanding and kindness is appreciated.
**Context:** A tale of resilience and self-discovery
---
After coming back from a dystopian world, the legendary warrior John Lockhart finds himself regressed into his former sickly existence. He hoped to recover and enjoy life peacefully, but instead discovered a malevolent organization planning to bring destruction upon humanity. His innate sense of justice burns fiercely within him, propelling him to don his battle gear once more and save the world.
The weather is a mixed bag, still chilly yet hinting at warmth, while John Lockhart feels feverish, having just taken some medication. His head spins, and there’s a persistent buzzing in his ears.
Edward Lockhart seems oblivious to John’s discomfort—then again, when has he ever been well in a year?
Edward presses, “Consider this carefully. We’re doing this for your own good. If you agree, I’ll talk to Sebastian Winterbourne and arrange for a meeting.”
John glances at his father, then stumbles through a fit of shallow coughs. “Cough cough cough.”
Having completed his final mission in the apocalypse, John Lockhart has been given the chance for a second life, marking his third day back. He senses his once-strained body gradually recuperating, but this so-called “chance” merely means surviving another day—hanging on for dear life.
However, he can't believe Edward isn’t even giving him the chance to breathe. Pondering who would willingly enter into a union with his frail self, a question arises: which unlucky individual is destined for such a fate?
As Edward fervently delivers his fatherly counsel, John recalls fleeting memories from a decade ago.
Before futuristic chaos erupted, Edward had indeed mentioned this marriage proposal, the pairing being with Sebastian Winterbourne. There was an air of ambiguity regarding the man’s character, and it didn't seem like he was a decent person.
After bringing up the idea of marriage, John’s half-brother provided him with colorful anecdotes rife with disdain describing Sebastian. The assertions about his ruthlessness were exaggerated, yet the criticism was enough to plant doubt.
As John now reflects, Catherine Lockhart's words might have been gilded with falsehood, but it was unnecessary to spread more unverified rumors if such an “ideal” match would ever land in his lap.
Lethargic and muddle-headed from the fever, John yearns for some sleep. The prospect of an arranged marriage can wait until he feels better.
“Cough cough cough. I’m a bit tired and want to sleep.”
Edward would hear none of it. Sleep could mean never waking up.
With a heavy heart, Edward says, “Son, I’m only trying to do what’s best for you. With your health as it is, you won’t find a better match than Sebastian Winterbourne. You're my son; I care about your well-being. Trust me, I wouldn’t harm you.”
John can hardly stomach such nonsense.
To cut off any potential escalation of his father’s sickening sentiments, John resists engaging in further conversation. “Okay cough cough cough.”

Chapter 2

Edward Lockhart paused slightly, “What did you say?”
John Lockhart, supporting himself against the table, rose slowly, his voice barely audible, “I said I agree to the marriage.”
Edward Lockhart looked at him in surprise, “Really?”
John Lockhart noticed Edward’s excitement and nodded, “Yeah, nothing more to discuss. I'm heading back to my room.”
Edward Lockhart wanted to confirm once more, but John Lockhart turned away, uninterested in engaging further.
John Lockhart returned to his room, curling up on his bed, staring out the window with a distant gaze.
He recalled that before the world descended into chaos, he had resisted this union, primarily because Catherine Lockhart had painted an abysmal picture of his betrothal to Fitzwilliam Winterbourne. Although he was frail, he valued his life and feared provoking Fitzwilliam, who could easily manipulate him.
However, he now needed a swift excuse to leave this household, and when weighing the horror of Fitzwilliam against the reality of a foreign invasion, Fitzwilliam seemed the lesser of two evils.
----
John Lockhart slept until nightfall, awakening to feel slightly less burdened. He measured his temperature; at 101.5°F, the fever had lessened since the afternoon.
His chronic illness meant his sleep patterns were erratic, and in this house, no one would delay dinner to wait for him.
Emerging from his room, he found dinner already concluded. A servant presented him with a bowl of the same bland rice porridge they always served, flavorless and unappealing compared to nutritional supplements.
Catherine Lockhart came in from outside, moving heavily as if her feet were stuck.
Hearing her approach, John Lockhart raised his bowl but didn't look up.
Catherine Lockhart reached his side and leaned over the table to peek at his bowl. Her sneer echoed in his ear, “I heard Dad say you agreed to the Winterbourne marriage.”
John Lockhart merely grunted in response.
“Oh come on,” she continued sarcastically, “if it weren’t for the Hale family’s business connections, who would even consider a sickly illegitimate son like you?”
John Lockhart's hand hesitated mid-sip. Illegitimate son.
It had been years since he'd heard that term. Hearing it again struck him as absurd.
Catherine Lockhart was the child of Edward Lockhart and Seraphina Grey; she had an older brother, Margaret Lockhart. Seraphina had married Edward out of necessity after conceiving, while John had been born before their wedding.
To rise socially, Edward Lockhart chose to marry into the Hale family, abandoning John’s mother. John spent his early years with his weak mother until her passing, after which his grandmother sent him to this household.
To conceal her identity, Seraphina pressured Edward into changing John’s birth date, claiming he was younger by a year—this was no secret to the Hale family.
John Lockhart wondered if Catherine lacked sense; she knew he was the result of an affair yet insisted on throwing the term "illegitimate son" around.
Today, he felt weak and unwell; otherwise, he might have kicked her back to her mother’s womb just to let her experience being an "illegitimate child" herself.
Finishing the last spoonful of porridge, John Lockhart set down his spoon and stood to head back to his room.
Seeing him dismiss her, Catherine rushed after him, grabbing his shoulder, “I’m talking to you, where do you think you’re going?”
John Lockhart sidestepped, leaving her grasping at air as he stumbled forward. He turned back, irritated, “You really think being tied to the Winterbourne family makes you special? You probably don’t know much about Fitzwilliam, do you? You’d do well to prepare for what’s coming.”
John Lockhart was indifferent to what he might face as Fitzwilliam's spouse, but he harbored a paralyzing fear of large gatherings, especially around the Hale family.
Margaret Lockhart walked through the dining area, catching wind of Catherine's outburst, “What’s going on?”
Catherine pointed at John Lockhart, “I was talking to him, and he just ignores me.”
Ignoring people was something John Lockhart had always done out of habit, and his frail condition left him too weak to respond, so he swallowed his words instead.
Seeing him ignore her and head back to his room, Margaret scoffed, “You're lucky to be marrying into the Winterbournes.”
John Lockhart glanced back, remarking, “Why don’t you go instead?”
Margaret was left speechless.
John's words struck a nerve. He had believed that this union was a result of his and Catherine's reluctance, leaving John as a fallback. Yet only yesterday, he overheard his parents indicating that the Winterbourne family specifically wanted John, having no interest in either him or Catherine.
----
Back in his room, John Lockhart noticed a missed call and a text on his phone—“I’m Isabella Winterbourne. Can we meet tomorrow?”
Since he had agreed to the marriage, he knew he’d have to meet her eventually. He replied, “Time and place.”
After sending it, he felt his response was a bit curt, so he quickly added a dog sticker to lighten the mood.
Exiting the messaging app, John texted another person, “Help me find someone: Isabella Winterbourne.”
After Catherine’s warnings, he was increasingly curious about the rumored terrifying Fitzwilliam. He wondered if the tales of him truly amounted to something noteworthy.
Two minutes later, he received a response, “Thirty thousand.”
John felt a pang of annoyance. He was comfortable asking for help because this contact only cared about money, but that price was steep.
John Lockhart: “Is inflation really this bad? Wasn’t it only ten thousand before?”
Sir Edmund: “The people you were looking into before weren’t worth much. This surname commands respect.”
John recalled the last person he checked—Margaret Lockhart. Yep, he knew he hadn’t struck gold there.
He transferred the thirty thousand over and received a quick response: “Tomorrow.”
His phone chimed again. Isabella Winterbourne sent the address for their meeting—a restaurant called The King’s Feast, scheduled for eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.
----
Winterbourne Estate.
Isabella Winterbourne stood tall by the window in her parlor, dressed in a black button-up, analyzing the text message with its blunt request for “time and place” alongside the playful sticker. The messages had arrived seconds apart, the first so direct that it seemed like it had been meant for someone else, while the second felt totally out of sync. Nothing about it suggested it came from the same person.
“Isabella.”
She turned to see Henry Quick walking through the door as he returned from work.

Chapter 3

John Lockhart leaned back in his chair, glancing at the wall clock. “Looks like I won’t have to work late tonight.”
Henry Quick approached him, rubbing his neck. “I’ve been on call for an entire week. If I have to stay any longer, I might just collapse.”
Henry was a brain surgeon at City Hospital. His mother had been a close friend of Isabella Winterbourne's mother. Twelve years ago, tragedy struck when his parents died in a plane crash while he was still in high school, leaving him without guardians. It was the Winterbourne family that took him in.
As Henry entered the room, he noticed John fixated on his phone. Curious, he leaned over to catch a glimpse. “Who’s got you so captivated that you’re staring at your screen like that?”
John brushed off his teasing. “Catherine Lockhart.”
Catherine hadn’t replied to his text yet, and he wondered if she had seen the address and time he sent her.
“Catherine Lockhart?” Henry raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say you weren’t interested in marriage? Why agree to this… engagement?”
“I really hadn’t thought about it,” John replied. “Marrying anyone is pretty much the same. His health isn't the best, and he won't be a burden. I consider a partner like that to be the least worrying.”
That actually made sense given John's nature. Henry adjusted his glasses, somewhat amused. “Are you planning to treat him like a pet?”
John shot back, “Your understanding skills are lacking.”
He sighed as he remembered the history between the Lockharts and the Winterbournes. Catherine’s grandfather had been a guardian for the Winterbourne family back in the day. For years, the elder had wanted to provide for the widow and her child, but her grandmother couldn’t handle the reality of her loss and resisted help.
After Catherine’s mother passed away, and with her grandmother's health declining, Old Lady Agnes left behind a letter asking for a commitment to take care of her grandson.
From that moment on, Sebastian Winterbourne began checking on Catherine’s situation within the Hale Family.
Realizing that Catherine was being poorly treated by her father, Edward Lockhart, he sought to rescue her without openly confronting him. Marriage, he thought, seemed the most feasible solution.
Back then, Catherine was too young for such things. By the time she matured, John had spent another five years abroad. Now that John's career was established, Old Man Winterbourne was finally broaching the subject of marriage with the Hale Family.
John had two older brothers, both of whom had girlfriends. Only their third brother, fixated on his career, remained uninterested in romance. The elder had no expectations for a grand marriage; he simply wanted the chance to take her out and show her life beyond her troubles.
To John, marriage was like any job. Especially when it involved someone like Catherine Lockhart – it seemed less about romance and more about safety and duty’s calling.
Meanwhile, Catherine Lockhart woke up feeling a bit more refreshed. The sunlight poured through her window—a perfect day for meeting her fiancé.
Skipping breakfast, she prepared herself and set out.
Arriving at the designated restaurant, The King's Feast, just before 10:30 AM, she picked a window seat and signaled for a menu from the server.
After ten years in an apocalyptic setting, she'd been surviving on nutritional supplements and hadn't enjoyed a proper meal in ages. The menu was filled with tempting dishes, making her mouth water. “I’ll start with a caramel milk tea, extra sweet, please.”
Her diet had mostly consisted of bland rice porridge lately, and she craved something more flavorful than plain.
Just then, her phone buzzed. It was Sir Edmund, sending information regarding Isabella Winterbourne.
She opened the message and raised an eyebrow at the thorough details—if anyone found out, it could end badly. Sir Edmund’s skills were certainly improving.
She had paid thirty thousand for this information, so she figured she might as well take a look.
The only accompanying photo was an ID picture. Her fiancé looked surprisingly handsome—high cheekbones, sharp features. “Handsome” hardly did justice to what she saw; if his ID photo was this striking, he must be captivating in person.
Catherine flipped to the part detailing Isabella Winterbourne:
**Age:** 30
**Height:** 6'2"
**Weight:** 160 lbs
Catherine pondered her own height—5'9". There was a noticeable difference, and she couldn't help but wonder if she could still grow a bit taller.
“Ah—”
A sudden scream pierced the air as a female server dropped her tray, sending Catherine’s caramel milk tea flying everywhere.
A man collapsed at another table, blood pooling around him. A nearby customer stepped back in shock, brandishing a knife dripping red.
The chaos unfolded quickly. The server’s terrified scream echoed as panic spread; others leaped to their feet. Some shouted for the police, but The Blade Keeper seized the female server, pressing the blade against her neck. “Who dares to call for help?”
Having witnessed her share of violence during the apocalypse, Catherine felt no urge to intervene and stayed remarkably calm.
People surrounding the scene hesitated, caught between fear and instinct to report the emergency. The knife at the server's throat created a tense stalemate. A regretful click of her tongue escaped Catherine as she glanced at her spilled milk tea—was this a sign she wouldn’t get to enjoy it?
Glancing at her phone, she noted she still had thirty minutes before meeting Isabella. There was ample time to manage the situation.
With swift fingers, she texted Isabella: [Call the police; someone’s committing murder in the restaurant.]
Once she sent the message, Catherine laid her phone down and grabbed the tablecloth, loosening the elastic band holding it. Testing its grip, she decided to double it for more strength.
Positioning a ceramic chopstick holder on the band, she aimed casually at The Blade Keeper, taking one eye off the target to establish her aim. She pulled back the elastic and released it. The chopstick holder shot forward, striking the man sharply on the head.
As the chopstick holder clanged against the ground, The Blade Keeper crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Gasps erupted around her as startled diners took in the unexpected scene, turning to see who had just subdued the attacker.
A faint smile crossed Catherine’s lips as she lowered the elastic band, ready to let her success fade into anonymity. But when her gaze shifted, she found herself locking eyes with the cold, impassive face of the man from the dossier she had just reviewed. He stood at the entrance of the restaurant, staring directly at her.

Chapter 4

John Lockhart sat across the table from Isabella Winterbourne, the new restaurant on the corner, The Queen's Table, bustling just outside the window. Police cars and ambulances rushed by, sirens wailing, while a crowd gathered in the streets, but John’s mind was elsewhere. He let his gaze linger on Isabella as she perused the menu. After a moment, he cleared his throat with a series of deliberate coughs.
"Could you bring him a glass of warm water?" Isabella instructed the waiter without looking up from the menu.
John couldn’t help but sigh inwardly, thinking of the sweet milk tea he’d missed out on. The waiter placed the warm water in front of him. He managed a weak “thank you,” his demeanor resembling a delicate flower, prone to be swept away by the wind.
If Isabella hadn’t seen him subdue a criminal using just a rubber band, she might have fallen for this façade of fragility. As their eyes met, he lifted the water glass and took a sip, pondering how to navigate this bizarre first meeting, especially after the little stunt from earlier.
"Do you have any dietary restrictions?" Isabella asked, casting her gaze back down to the menu.
He shook his head. “Just keep it light.”
She knew John had a weak constitution and was allergic to many things, but wasn’t quite sure about the specifics. Each dish she considered, she turned to the waiter for ingredient confirmations before checking with John if it was safe for him to eat.
It took them nearly half an hour just to decide on their orders. John pointed at a bold dish of fish, but Isabella snapped the menu shut just in time to avoid clamping his finger in it.
He shot her a displeased look.
“We’ve already ordered the fish. It’ll be steamed,” she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
John couldn’t help but think she should know by now that he couldn’t handle spicy food, and yet here they were.
He curled his finger back, feeling petulant. All he wanted was a taste, but apparently, that was too much to ask.
After handing the menu to the waiter, who walked away, Isabella looked back at him. “I heard you agreed to the marriage.”
John strategically took another sip of water. He had said yes, but how could he go through with a wedding after she’d seen him incapacitate someone just hours ago?
Reluctantly, he nodded.
Isabella didn’t bring up the earlier incident, making John wonder if she'd even noticed. A part of him hoped she hadn’t. She introduced herself, stating matter-of-factly, “I don’t have many hobbies. I work more than I rest. After we’re married, I might not have much time to spend with you. I don’t live with my family, but if you enjoy company, you can move into Winterbourne Estate with my grandfather and the others. They’re very welcoming—you’ll see. Feel free to express any requests you have; I’ll do my best to meet them.”
An official introduction, indeed. John couldn’t help but speculate what "I'll do my best" really meant, wishing it applied to forgetting the earlier incident.
Clearing his throat again, he said, “Um, I’m not great right now. If we do get married, I won’t be a burden—I’ll take care of myself. I just want the wedding to happen quickly so I can move out of Lockhart Manor.”
His request aligned perfectly with Isabella’s grandfather's wishes. To Isabella, it didn’t feel like much of a demand. “The soonest we can have it is a month from now. If you want to move out sooner, I’ll speak with your father and see if we can arrange for you to move in with me today.”
Caught off guard, John blinked. “Uh, wouldn’t that be a bit much?” The idea tempted him, but he wanted to play it cool. “Let’s wait till we’re married before we cohabitate.”
“Suit yourself,” she replied, a hint of amusement playing in her eyes. “I’ll discuss it with my family and see if we can move the wedding up.”
“Thanks,” he said, grateful for her straightforward approach. If it weren't for the earlier mishap, their meeting could have felt delightfully pleasant.
But that had already happened, and John still couldn’t decipher Isabella’s silence on the matter.
Suddenly, unable to help himself, he blurted out, “I’m really good with a slingshot.”
Isabella regarded him with her calm gaze. “Yes, it’s evident you’re quite accurate.”
John felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment. He could tell she really had seen him make that surprising move.
He sipped his water again, choosing not to push the topic further. After all, she hadn’t asked him to clarify.
An awkward silence enveloped them, until Isabella brought up, “How did you recognize me?”
John frowned, unsure what she meant. “What do you mean?”
She looked him square in the eyes. “How did you know I was the person you were supposed to meet today?”
He felt the blood rush from his face. His brain hadn’t processed that he had introduced himself to her earlier at The King’s Feast, specifically calling her name.
Isabella's quiet scrutiny made it impossible for him to dodge the question. Just moments before, he had scanned the dossier Sir Edmund had given him, merely glimpsing the section on Isabella and discovering her status as a Commander of the Defense Bureau. Information like that was usually confidential; no wonder Sir Edmund could only scrounge up one ID photo of her, revealing how elusive she truly was. He couldn’t possibly recognize her at first glance.
Swallowing hard, John cursed himself for making such a rookie mistake, practically offering her something to hold against him.
“Uh, well,” he stammered, scrambling for words, “my dad mentioned you’re supposed to be really striking, and I thought—well, honestly, you were the most beautiful person in the restaurant just now.”
Isabella’s eyelashes fluttered slightly, surprised by his comment.
To John’s relief, he sensed a hint of lightness in her demeanor. Despite her composed exterior, she didn’t mind his less than composed attempt at flattery. It was almost as if she appreciated it, even if he had come across like a flustered fool.
In that moment, he might have realized she wasn’t at all like he initially thought, a realization that made this peculiar partnership seem much more interesting.

Chapter 5

John Lockhart was taken aback by his own words, barely believing what he had just said. “You were staring at me and coming closer. Honestly, you could be Isabella Winterbourne, and I wouldn’t question it.”
This was their first meeting, and under the pretense of having agreed to marry, Isabella knew he wasn’t being truthful, but she had no intention of pressing the issue.
She simply replied with a soft, noncommittal "Hmm."
“What does that 'Hmm' mean?” John Lockhart asked, irritation creeping into his voice.
He cleared his throat, coughing a few times for effect. “Cough, cough. I’m not feeling well.”
“I know,” Isabella replied tersely, her eyes narrowing slightly.
John felt a surge of frustration. She might say she understood, but her skeptical gaze suggested otherwise, as if she doubted his frail state.
Meanwhile, at The King’s Feast, the police had finished reviewing the security footage and walked over to inquire about the incident involving John.
“I didn’t mean it; I just misfired,” John explained, glancing at Isabella to gauge her reaction.
He found her hard to read; her expression was as expressionless as stone, and he had little patience for those who hid their emotions so thoroughly.
John leaned in carefully and asked the officer, “Did I kill him?”
The officer shook his head. “No, he’s alive, but his injuries are quite serious. Your behavior was reckless. A slight miscalculation could have hit the hostage in the head. Please don’t do that again.”
John nodded obediently. “I won’t do it again.”
The officer seemed satisfied with his response, but Isabella remained unconvinced. She had witnessed his confidence when he pulled back that rubber band, fully aware he was aiming for the assailant's head, determined to strike cleanly without a thought for the man’s life.
Closing his notebook, the officer said, “Thank you for your cooperation. We may contact you again if needed.”
Isabella then placed a black badge emblazoned with a silver eagle on the table. Her tone turned serious, sounding more like a command than a request. “My fiancé is not well. I hope this doesn’t cause him any more trouble.”
Seeing the badge, the two officers nodded hastily, already recognizing the implications. “Of course, we’ll ensure that all records and footage related to your fiancé are immediately cleared.”
The Bureau of Defense had its own protocols, and even a family member of a high-security official wielded considerable influence. Had she presented this badge earlier, they would have entirely bypassed this documentation process.
John Lockhart stared at Isabella in disbelief. You had this all along, and why didn’t you show it sooner?
Looking at the badge and then back at the officers’ promise to clear everything, he sensed something was off. When they left The King’s Feast, Isabella had specifically told the staff they were there for dinner, yet she never mentioned the incident afterward.
Was Isabella setting him up on purpose? He couldn’t believe she had waited for the police to arrive just to make him recount the whole situation.
He felt as if she wouldn’t even bother to ask him about it.
He gazed at the placid Isabella, thinking that today, he had come to meet his future fiancée, not to duel with an enemy. She cunningly played him on their very first encounter—was that polite?
Isabella definitely had taken the upper hand, but it didn’t turn out as she anticipated. He hadn’t told the truth in front of the police, either; this sickly-looking facade hid a steady, strong hand that withheld deceit.
The lies he told the police wouldn’t hold any weight, just an unnecessary complication for him, and it would be better to sweep this under the rug.
After the officers left, Isabella regarded him, her expression calm. “You look like you’re not pleased.”
How could he be happy?
John thought about staying weak for so long, but he dared to wear a strained smile. “How could I not be? My future husband is so capable that even the police have to watch what they say around you. I’m impressed that all those statements were wiped clean with just a few words of yours.”
Back when Old Man Winterbourne showed Isabella Lockhart’s photo, she merely thought of him as a pallid youth; seeing him now, bearing his disingenuous grin, only added clarity to his previously sickly demeanor.
“Hubby,” she said, looking at him with an unusual tranquility, not a shred of remorse over her tactics. “That rolls off the tongue nicely.”
Having spent the last decade in difficult situations, being thick-skinned was one of John Lockhart’s traits. He accepted the absurdity of it all. “It’s okay. I’m just getting used to it. If you like it so much, I can practice a few more times.”
Showing her lack of interest, Isabella stood to pay the bill. As she turned away, John swung his fists a few times behind her back, rolling his eyes dramatically in frustration.
He thought this would be the last time he saw Isabella for a while, but that evening he received a call from her.
“Wedding is set for next Saturday. You don’t mind, right?” Isabella’s voice was direct and matter-of-fact.
“Next Saturday?” John echoed in disbelief. Today was Thursday; that left less than ten days.
Weren’t we just discussing how we'd have at least a month before we tied the knot?
“If you’re on board, let’s go pick up the marriage license tomorrow morning. And you should pack your things. After we get the license, I’m taking you to The Grand Mansion to stay with my grandfather until the wedding.”
“Wait,” John interjected, caught off guard by her insistence. “Getting the license is one thing, but why do I have to stay with your grandfather?”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to move out of Lockhart Manor? If you don’t want to stay with me, then you can stay at The Grand Mansion. It’ll be easier for you to discuss the wedding arrangements together.”
Now John was wondering if he had pretended to be unwell for so long that Isabella thought he might not last long enough to warrant a longer wait for the wedding.
“I’m not that sick, you know,” he protested.
Isabella surprisingly picked up on his shift in tone. “What are you thinking? Didn’t you say earlier that you wanted to get the wedding scheduled as soon as possible?”

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