The iron gates creaked open slowly, as if the house itself needed time to accept them.
Rosie Morris sat stiffly in the backseat, her palms damp and cold against her jeans. Her mother's hand rested briefly over hers, but Rosie didn't return the touch. She stared out the window, wide-eyed and tight-lipped, watching the trees thin out and the estate rise up like a kingdom she hadn't been invited to.
The Weston mansion was more than just big. It was designed to make people feel small. Glass and steel, columns that reached for the sky, manicured hedges shaped into perfect silence.
Jane turned to her daughter, her voice featherlight. "I know it's a lot… but maybe this is where we start over."
Rosie sighed. It wasn't loud or dramatic. It just… slipped out. A soft, reluctant release.She didn't want to argue. Not anymore.
Charles Weston greeted them at the door with open arms and that same well-groomed confidence Rosie had come to associate with money. His suit was casual, tailored to perfection. His smile a little too polished.
He kissed Jane's cheek.
"Welcome home," he said.
Rosie's hand felt small in his when they shook. "Thanks," she mumbled.
He didn't ask her anything else.
Inside, the house was immaculate—but empty. No sound of life, no warmth on the walls. It was all glass reflections and expensive silence. The kind of silence Rosie didn't know how to live in.
They took her upstairs, where the hallway stretched too far and the chandelier above her head sparkled like cold stars.
"Your room is here," the maid said politely.
Rosie stepped in and blinked. The room was twice the size of her old apartment's living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows. King bed. Marble floors. White walls. A walk-in closet she didn't need.
She set her bag down and walked to the window, pressing her fingertips to the cool glass.
And that's when she saw it—his room.
Directly across the hall.
The door was cracked open. Purple LED lights framed the dark inside like a portal to another world. A low, lazy beat drifted out. She could just make out a shadow moving—Arthur.
Bare chest. Loose joggers. Something about the way he moved made her feel… nervous.
She didn't know him. Hadn't even seen his face fully.
But she could feel his energy from here. And it made her exhale again—another small sigh she didn't want to explain.
She met Arthur for the first time properly at dinner.
Or, more accurately, she saw him.
He stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, watching them all from above. Shirtless, again. His tattoos were clearer this time. Sharp ink over lean muscle, his hair messy like he didn't care how he looked—but of course, it was perfect.
Rosie looked up and met his gaze.
For one second.
And then… nothing.
Arthur looked past her like she was glass. Like she didn't even register. Not a nod. Not a word. Not even a flicker of surprise. Just cold, effortless disinterest.
Her stomach tightened. She turned back to her plate.
The dinner passed in quiet waves of conversation. Jane and Charles laughed softly, sipping wine like they belonged in this world together.
Rosie picked at her food. Her thoughts swirled.
He didn't even look at me.
That night, the walls of her room felt too wide. The ceiling too far above her head.
She walked barefoot into the hallway, hoodie zipped up, her breath barely a whisper in the cold air.
Arthur's door was still open.
The music was softer now, a lazy, sensual rhythm. She stepped closer. Just one glance. That's all.
He was lying on his bed, one arm flung over his head, shirtless again. Cigarette smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling. The window was cracked open, letting in the breeze, but Rosie still caught the scent of his cologne—something dark and spiced.
She stood there, just watching.
And he didn't even blink.
Didn't look up. Didn't shift. Just blew another cloud of smoke toward the ceiling like no one was there.
Like she didn't exist.
Rosie stepped back quickly, cheeks flushed, heart racing.
Back in her room, she curled beneath the sheets, pulling them up to her chin. Her mind raced. Why did it sting so much—to be ignored by someone she didn't even know?
She hated that it made her feel small.
She hated that it made her curious.
But mostly… she hated that she wanted him to look again.
She closed her eyes and sighed one more time. The deepest one yet.