The night was silent, but inside their chests, the storm hadn't calmed. Arthur and Rosie sat close — not touching more than a simple held hand — but that one gesture felt louder than anything they'd said or done before.
Neither of them spoke. Just eyes locked, breathing synced.
Arthur, for the first time, understood what it meant to be emotionally available. It wasn't about being vulnerable with words. It was about being there. About holding on when it was easier to let go. And Rosie… she hadn't felt this kind of warmth — ever. Not in her father's absence, not in the hollow exchanges of daily life. Just sitting beside him, she felt held in a way she didn't know she needed.
Eventually, they hugged. It was slow, hesitant… but when their arms locked around each other, there was no space left between. No resistance. Just quiet acceptance of a feeling that was growing too fast to be ignored.
Arthur left her room before it got too late. Not because he wanted to — but because he had to. If he stayed, something more would've happened. And he wasn't ready to cross that line. Not yet.
But neither of them slept that night.
Rosie kept tossing and turning, still feeling his arms around her. Arthur stared at the ceiling, replaying every second of their time under the stars. The way she looked up at him. The way she said thank you like she meant something bigger. The way her hand gripped his at the door, so firmly, like she didn't want to let go.
Morning sunlight filtered in. Jane's knock on the door was soft but concerned.
"Rosie, sweetheart?" she said gently. "You okay? Your eyes are a little red."
Rosie blinked herself awake. "Yeah, I just… didn't sleep well."
"You sure? You're not coming down with something?"
"I'm good," she smiled faintly.
At breakfast, she barely ate — mind somewhere else. Her thoughts still caught in the tangled mess of emotions from the night before. As soon as she could, she left for college.
And there… things boiled over.
Her friend Ava spotted her in the library. "Girl, you look like you didn't sleep at all."
Rosie smiled nervously. "It's been a lot."
"Spill. Right now."
James, sitting across the table, raised an eyebrow. "Something's up."
Rosie looked between them, biting her lip. "Something's… happening. I don't know if it's right or wrong."
Ava leaned in, whispering like it was a secret mission. "With who?"
"I can't say," Rosie hesitated. "Let's just say… I'm staying at someone's place. He's not exactly… unrelated."
James blinked. "Wait, wait — is this a forbidden situation?"
Rosie swallowed. "I'm just a pay guest at his house. That's all."
Ava smirked. "Pay guest or not, if it feels right — go for it."
James added, "You're adults. The heart wants what it wants."
Rosie said nothing after that. She couldn't. Her mind was too tangled.
Back at the mansion, the bell rang.
Arthur opened the door — again. First one to respond. Rosie noticed it this time but didn't react. She just walked past him quietly, heading straight to her room to freshen up.
A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at her door.
"I brought you snacks," Arthur said from outside.
"I'm okay," she replied, not cold — just tired.
Arthur stood there for a second, processing. Maybe she needed space. Maybe he was overthinking things again. He walked away, snacks still in hand.
Outside, he took the chance to wash his car, music low in the background. Water glided down the polished metal, his body glistening under the sun. No shirt. Loose shorts. Rosie, walking past the gallery with a watering can, caught the sight — and froze.
Her eyes lingered.
The flex of his back, the way water clung to his abs, the smooth glide of the sponge in his hand. She bit her bottom lip, swallowing hard.
Why does he have to look like that?
She turned away fast, cheeks flushed. But the image was burned in her mind now.
Later that evening, Jane called out, "Dinner's ready!"
The dining room was transformed. A proper candlelit setup, expensive wine and champagne on the table. Rosie and Arthur exchanged confused glances.
"Anniversary?" Rosie asked quietly.
Jane beamed. "First one with Charles. Wanted to make it special."
Dinner was soft, slow, and filled with stories and laughter. But beneath the smiles, there was something else — lingering glances between Arthur and Rosie, silence stretching just a little too long.
After dinner, Charles and Jane left for a late-night drive.
In their own world, they drove far out, parking near a secluded road.
Charles leaned over, kissing Jane slowly. Deeply. Their mouths moved with hunger — slow at first, then desperate. He gripped her thigh, lifting her onto the car's hood. Her moans soft, breath catching in her throat. Fingers tangled in his hair. Lips dragging down her neck.
Clothes loosened. Buttons undone. The air filled with tension.
"Charles…" she whispered.
He responded by unzipping her dress, slowly, like unwrapping something fragile and dangerous. She gasped as the cold air hit her skin, and then his lips found her chest, her stomach, lower…
Her thighs tightened around him. His tongue trailed down, soft and deliberate, tasting every inch. Jane's back arched, moaning his name.
The car rocked. Their bodies collided. Passion surged. The glass fogged up with heat. Their moans muffled by each other's mouths.
It was raw. Intimate. Messy.
And it didn't stop until both were breathless, sweaty, clinging to each other in the dark.
When they returned to the mansion, hours later, they checked quietly on Arthur and Rosie.
And something made them pause.
Rosie's door was slightly open.
Jane raised an eyebrow. Charles gave her a look.
They couldn't see inside, not clearly — but the silence from that room was too still.
Something was happening.
Or had already happened.
And they both knew it wasn't just innocent anymore.