"I know, Arthur," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of weariness. "I know you've cared for me. I've never doubted that." Her words hung in the air between them, but there was something in her eyes—something that told a deeper story than the surface level of gratitude he expected.
"But right now," Angel continued, her tone firm, "I need to fight this battle on my own. I appreciate the court complaint against Tryson, really, I do. But I think it's time I handle this myself. Let me speak to him. Let me confront him face-to-face."
Her words were firm and unwavering, her gaze unblinking as she conveyed the seriousness of her resolve.
Arthur stood still for a moment, his eyes reflecting the weight of her words as they seemed to sink in. His lips tightened, and a low click of his tongue broke the silence before he sighed heavily, pulling his hands from his pockets.
"Are you sure about this, Angel?" His voice was laced with concern, his brow furrowing. "I mean, Tyson—"
