The rain in Westminster might have stopped, but the atmosphere inside Arthur's black Jaguar was still heavy with the damp residue of the emotions that had exploded in the shed. Elena sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the wet London streets reflecting the city's lights like a shattered mirror. She could still feel the warmth of Arthur's embrace on her shoulders—a sensation she tried to shake off, only to fail miserably.
Arthur drove in silence. His rigid jaw was beginning to relax, though his hands still gripped the steering wheel with a firm intensity. He didn't take her to a flashy restaurant in Mayfair or a five-star hotel; instead, he parked the car in a narrow alley in Soho, an area crowded with flickering neon signs.
"We're here," Arthur said shortly.
Elena frowned as she looked at a small eatery with steam-fogged glass windows. The sign read: 'The Dragon's Breath: Authentic Sichuan Noodles'. The place was a far cry from grand, but the aroma—the scent of chili oil, garlic, and sharp spices—wafted all the way to the parking lot.
"Are you seriously taking your lead architect to a place like this?" Elena asked, trying to hide her enthusiasm. She missed spicy food more than anything else in London.
Arthur turned off the engine and looked at her. "You said you wanted spicy, didn't you? I've done my research. This place has a spice level that can make even the locals in China cry. And... it's the only place that reminds me of the meatball stall behind our old school."
Elena froze. He remembered.
They walked into the crowded shop. A wave of hot steam greeted them instantly, fogging up the sunglasses perched on Elena's head. They sat at a small wooden table in a corner that was secluded enough for privacy.
Arthur didn't even look at the menu. "Two portions of Dan Dan Noodles. Maximum level for me, and the level below that for the lady," he ordered in surprisingly fluent Mandarin.
Elena arched an eyebrow. "Wait, you're ordering the max level for yourself? Arthur, do you remember the last time you tried my mother's chili sauce? You drank a gallon of iced tea."
Arthur loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt—a sight that made Elena look away quickly so she wouldn't get caught staring at his neck.
"That was seven years ago, El. I've learned many things in London. Including how to conquer pain," Arthur said with his signature arrogance, though this time there was a playful glint in his eyes.
When the food arrived, the smell of the chili was so pungent that Elena sneezed reflexively. The bowl in front of Arthur looked blood-red, covered in a thick layer of chili oil and an abundance of dried bird's-eye chilies.
"Enjoy your meal, Mr. Montgomery. I hope your soul finds peace on the other side," Elena teased before diving into her own noodles.
First bite: Elena let out a satisfied sigh. The heat burned her tongue, but there was a depth of savory spice and herbs. It was the taste of "home" she had been searching for.
However, Elena's attention was quickly diverted to the man across from her.
Arthur Montgomery, the titan of London real estate, had just swallowed his second large mouthful. Within seconds, his pale, aristocratic face turned a bright crimson. Beads of sweat began to break out on his forehead. He tried to remain calm, but the hand holding his chopsticks began to tremble slightly.
"How is it, Arthur? Still feel like you can 'conquer pain'?" Elena stifled a laugh, purposefully moving the glass of water out of Arthur's reach.
"It's... it's not bad," Arthur said, his voice an octave higher. He let out a small cough, his eyes beginning to water. "Just... a bit warmer than I imagined."
Elena finally burst out laughing. A genuine, bright laugh that crumbled the cold walls between them. Seeing the arrogant Arthur being tortured by spicy noodles was far more satisfying than winning any project tender.
Arthur stared at her through the haze of the heat burning his mouth. He stopped eating for a moment, letting his face stay red, just to soak in the sound of her laughter.
"It's been a long time since I heard that sound," Arthur whispered, his voice hoarse from the chili but laced with a raw tenderness.
Elena's laughter faded, replaced by a sweet awkwardness. Under the dim lights of the shop, amidst the sharp scent of chili, they seemed to forget they were in London. For a moment, they were just two people who wanted to share the same bowl of noodles.
The steam from the Sichuan bowls billowed between them, creating a transparent veil that made Arthur's face look like a shadow from the past. He had just swallowed his third bite of the maximum level, and though he was fighting to keep his CEO poker face, Elena could see sweat the size of corn kernels flooding his temples.
Elena sipped her cold chrysanthemum tea slowly, enjoying the sight. There was a particular satisfaction in seeing the man who had been so haughty at the construction site now fighting for his life against a peppercorn.
"You know, Arthur," Elena began, her voice calm but sharp. "Back in Jakarta, you always said pain was just a matter of perception. You said if we can control our minds, we can control the pain. It seems your perception is being tested."
Arthur reached for his water glass with a hurried motion, draining it in one go. He took a deep breath, his lips appearing slightly swollen and red—giving him a rare, human vulnerability.
"The mind can be controlled, El," Arthur replied, his voice raspy. "But the body's metabolism has its own logic. And unfortunately, these noodles have a very aggressive logic."
Elena chuckled softly. She leaned back against the hard wooden chair, looking at him with a deeper intensity. "Why are you doing this, Art? Not just the noodles. All of this. Bringing me to London, giving me the biggest gallery project in our firm, bringing me to this shop... What are you trying to prove?"
Arthur set his chopsticks down. His playful expression faded, replaced by a seriousness that made the atmosphere at the small table suddenly feel heavy. He stared at Elena, ignoring the heat still scorching his tongue.
"I'm not trying to prove anything to the world, Elena. I did it for you," Arthur said. "When I left Jakarta, I had nothing but a Montgomery name that wasn't even recognized by my extended family in England. I was an illegitimate child from a forgotten branch of the family. Your father was right back then—I was nobody."
Elena flinched. She had never known the details of Arthur's family status. Back then, he had only said his father was a British man working in Jakarta.
"I spent my first three years in London working three different jobs while studying," Arthur continued, his eyes drifting toward the fogged-up window. "I washed dishes in a grimy restaurant in the East End, I worked as a laborer at the docks during the winter, and I slept in the campus library because I couldn't afford heating in my tiny flat. Every time my hands went numb from the cold, I pictured your face. I pictured the promise I made on our school rooftop."
Elena felt her throat tighten. She remembered how much she had hated him, thinking he was living it up at Oxford while she cried in Jakarta.
"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Elena's voice trembled. "Why did you let me think you had forgotten me and were living in luxury with your inheritance?"
"Because I didn't want you to love me out of pity, El," Arthur snapped softly. "I wanted to come back to you as a winner. I wanted to build Montgomery Corp not for wealth, but to be a fortress. A fortress strong enough to protect you from people like your father, or people like my family who are suddenly claiming me now that I'm successful."
Arthur reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small object wrapped in a faded black velvet cloth. He placed it on the table, beside the steaming bowl of noodles. When Elena opened it, her heart skipped a beat.
It was the silver sketching pencil she had given him on his seventeenth birthday. It was scuffed here and there, but clearly well-maintained.
"I carried it every day," Arthur whispered. "Even when I didn't have money for paper, I held this pencil in my pocket. It was the only part of you I had left. So, don't tell me I changed because I became rich. I changed because I had to become a 'monster' to have you back."
Elena stared at the pencil, then at the man. The anger she had nursed for years began to thaw, replaced by a profound sadness. She realized that for seven years, they had both been suffering, just in different ways. Arthur built walls of concrete around himself, while Elena built walls of bitterness in her heart.
"You're still a bule brengsek, Arthur," Elena said, tears welling in her eyes. "You decided everything on your own. You never gave me the choice to fight beside you. You thought being rich would make everything easy? Look at us. Sitting in a cheap noodle shop in London, hurting each other with memories."
Arthur reached his hand across the table, palm open, waiting for her to take it. "I made a massive mistake, I know that. And the spice in my mouth right now is nothing compared to the pain of seeing you look at me with hatred for the past two days."
Elena looked at Arthur's hand. It looked stronger now, with veins marking years of hard work and responsibility. Slowly, she placed her hand over his palm.
The touch felt like coming home. Warm, familiar, and desperately missed.
"These noodles are making me a crybaby," Elena murmured, wiping her eyes with her free hand.
Arthur smiled—a genuine smile that reached his eyes, crinkling the corners. "It's not the noodles, El. It's the truth finally coming out. And for the record... I need a glass of milk now. Immediately."
Elena laughed through her tears. She called the waiter and ordered two large glasses of milk. Amidst the hustle and bustle of a Sichuan shop in Soho, between the smell of chili and the rising steam, the wall between them finally began to show massive cracks.