Arthur sat beside Rosie on the couch, quietly running his hand through her hair. His touch was soft, rhythmic—calming. She had cried herself out, the pain still lingering in her chest but slowly softening under the weight of his presence.
"You okay now?" he asked gently.
Rosie didn't answer right away. Instead, she leaned into his palm, letting her head rest against his shoulder. It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no either.
Arthur leaned in, brushing a soft kiss on her forehead. Then another one, just at the hairline as he parted her hair to the side. She closed her eyes—it felt warm, familiar, almost like the kind of comfort she'd once gotten from her father. A kind of safety she hadn't felt in years.
Rosie looked up, her eyes still slightly swollen. Then, without warning, she pressed her lips against his—soft, hesitant.
"Thank you," she whispered against his mouth, "for being here."
Arthur took a slow breath. "Thank you… for letting me."
That kiss turned into another. Then another—no longer soft or hesitant. It grew desperate. Messy. Heavy with everything they hadn't said, everything they had buried beneath anger, revenge, confusion, and longing.
Arthur's hands ran along her waist, then up her back, gripping her tightly. Rosie kissed his neck, sucking gently at the skin, and he groaned low.
Without a word, Arthur stood, lifting her in one smooth motion. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as he carried her to his room. He kicked the door shut, locked it, and set her down against the wall.
Rosie gasped softly. "You locked it?"
Arthur looked at her with that low, half-smirk. "I'm not letting anything interrupt this."
He tugged at her top, pulling it off slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. She let him. Her breath hitched as he reached behind her, unclipping her bra with one hand.
"You've done that before," she murmured.
Arthur chuckled, low and close to her ear. "Maybe. But never like this."
He kissed down her collarbone, lips tracing each curve. He licked around her aureola, teasingly slow. Rosie arched her back, her fingers sliding into his hair.
"Oh god…" she gasped as her nipples hardened against his tongue.
They were sweating already—the AC had been forgotten. Skin slick, breaths short, hands greedy.
Arthur knelt in front of her, trailing kisses down her stomach. He licked her navel before going lower. Rosie clutched the edge of the dresser behind her for balance, her thighs trembling.
"You're beautiful," Arthur said, looking up at her before he dipped his head between her legs.
She let out a broken moan. "Arthur…"
It wasn't long before they collapsed on the bed, tangled, urgent. Rosie dragged her nails down his back as he moved inside her. Her body rocked with his rhythm, her mouth opening in soft, shuddering cries.
Arthur grunted, pressing his forehead to hers. "You feel so fucking good."
They kissed hard, leaving bruises. He bit her shoulder. She bit back. There were scratches, claw marks, dark love bites—neither of them held back.
And when they finally reached the edge and crashed over it together, Rosie clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to earth.
The Next Morning
Arthur was already up, out on the lawn in sweats, doing stretches and push-ups. The morning sun lit his damp skin as Charles stepped out with his coffee, eyebrows raising.
"Since when do you wake up before noon?" Charles teased.
Arthur smirked. "Trying to get my shit together."
From the gallery above, Rosie leaned on the railing, watching quietly with a small smile.
Later, the family gathered for a big weekend breakfast. Everyone was cheerful, laughter bouncing across the table.
Jane paused, narrowing her eyes at Rosie.
"Sweetheart… what's that on your neck?" she asked, gesturing to the dark mark low on her throat.
Rosie blinked. "Oh—uh… must be a bug bite."
Jane frowned. "It looks swollen. You should see the doctor."
"I'll take her," Arthur jumped in quickly.
Charles nodded. "Yeah, good. Head out after breakfast."
At the Café, Not a Clinic
They didn't go to the doctor.
Instead, Arthur and Rosie ended up in a quiet corner booth of a sunlit café, tucked away from the buzz of the city. The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, and soft acoustic music played in the background. Both were dressed casually — Arthur in a loose grey tee and joggers, Rosie in a summer dress that swayed lightly when she walked. They ordered iced coffees, a plate of fries, and something sweet to share.
"You were so damn dramatic last week," Arthur teased, popping a fry into his mouth and sipping his drink.
Rosie raised a brow. "Me? Dramatic? Says the guy who locked his door like we were in a damn movie scene. You even paused… like you knew it would do something."
He smirked. "Did it?"
She blushed, biting her straw. "Shut up."
Their laughter lingered between sips. The awkwardness from the morning had melted away under caffeine and comfort.
Arthur leaned back in the booth, his hand resting beside hers. "You know, I didn't sleep much last night."
"Why?" Rosie asked, raising an eyebrow.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Because I was busy memorizing your face."
She looked away, cheeks burning. "God, that's so corny."
"True though," he muttered under his breath, voice suddenly soft.
There was a pause — not uncomfortable, but heavy with meaning. Rosie reached for her cold coffee again, trying to calm her racing heart. Arthur's hand grazed hers slightly. She didn't move away.
"So," he said finally, "do you… regret it?"
Rosie looked up at him, surprised. "No. Do you?"
He shook his head slowly. "Not even a little."
They sat there in silence for a moment, only the clink of spoons and café chatter around them. Arthur traced the rim of his glass absentmindedly. "I just… I didn't think I'd feel this way."
Rosie tilted her head. "This way?"
Arthur hesitated. "Like… something's finally making sense."
She looked down, the corners of her lips twitching into a faint smile. "Yeah. Same."
They didn't say the word for it — whatever this was — but it lingered there between them, unspoken but understood. Some feelings don't need names when you're already living them.
"Should we… go back before someone actually does drag us to a clinic?" Rosie asked with a playful smirk.
Arthur laughed. "I'll take the café over a hospital any day."
They stood, brushing hands unintentionally again. Rosie looked up at him, her expression softer than before. "Thanks," she said.
"For what?"
"For not making it weird."
Arthur shrugged with a grin. "Not yet, anyway."
They both laughed again, walking out into the high afternoon sun, sharing a final sip from the same straw like it was the most normal thing in the world. The air outside was hot, but neither of them seemed to notice.
Back at the Mansion, Evening
After lunch and a long nap, Arthur's friends—Millie, Harrison, and Lucian—showed up. They laughed over cards, some whiskey, and cheap jokes. This time, Rosie joined them from the start.
There was no Emily. No weird tension. Just genuine ease.
"You're actually fun when you're not pretending to hate us," Lucian told Rosie.
"I'm full of surprises," she replied, grinning.
Dinner came, and the family sat together once again.
But as dessert ended and Arthur's friends left, Charles cleared his throat.
"Rosie. Arthur. Before you both head off anywhere tonight, there's something your mother and I want to discuss with you."
Arthur and Rosie exchanged a quick glance.
"Everything alright?" Arthur asked.
Charles didn't answer immediately.
"We'll talk in the study," he said with a firm tone.