​The quiet crackle of the fireplace was the only sound echoing through the grand parlor. You sat softly in your velvet armchair, resting your hands in your lap as you listened to the distant pitter-patter of rain against the tall glass windows. ​Soft, heavy footsteps approached across the hardwood floor, stopping right beside your chair.

​"Here is your warm tea, Miss," Arthur’s deep, quiet voice rumbled. Your personal bodyguard gently placed the cup into your hands, his calloused fingers carefully lingering against yours to make sure you had a firm grip before letting go.

​"Thank you, Arthur," you smiled softly, tilting your head up toward the sound of his voice. "Is Julian back from his study yet? He promised we'd read together tonight."

Arthur didn't answer right away. His chest felt brutally tight, a dark, suffocating weight pressing down on his lungs. ​Just five minutes ago, while walking down the east corridor to fetch your tea, Arthur had glanced through the cracked door of the guest library. He had seen Julian—your fiancé, the man you trusted with your life—embracing Elena against the bookshelf, laughing softly as he kissed her. ​Arthur’s fist had clenched around the handle of his sidearm so tightly his knuckles went white. His first instinct was to drag Julian out into the hall and break his jaw. His second was to run to you. But looking at your gentle, trusting face right now... he couldn't do it. Telling you tonight would shatter your world, and he couldn't bear to be the one to break your heart.

So, he made a silent choice. He would keep the poison to himself—for now. ​Instead of stepping back to his usual post by the door, Arthur did something he had never done before. He slowly sank down onto one knee right beside your armchair, bringing himself eye-level with you. ​"Mr. Julian is... still detained with work, Miss," Arthur murmured, his voice low, thick with suppressed rage toward Julian and absolute, aching tenderness for you. ​He reached out, his broad hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently cupping the back of your hand. He didn't tell you the truth. Not yet. But the way he held your hand was tighter, more possessive, and far more devoted than a guard's ever should be. ​"Forget about him for tonight," Arthur whispered softly, his breath brushing against your skin. "I am right here. I'm not going anywhere."