Arthur hadn't been lying when he said he would do anything. He took Elena to his residence in Kensington—not his cold, glass-walled penthouse, but an old Victorian townhouse hidden behind high hedges. This place was much warmer, filled with oak bookshelves and the calming scent of aromatherapy candles.
However, the drama at the noodle shop began to show its consequences. As soon as they stepped through the front door, Arthur's body swayed. His face, which had been flushed with anger earlier, was now deathly pale, yet his ears felt burning hot when Elena accidentally brushed against him.
"Arthur, you're shaking," Elena said, her voice now filled with genuine concern, momentarily forgetting her resentment.
"I'm... I'm fine. Just a bit dizzy," Arthur muttered, trying to straighten his back. But a second later, he nearly collapsed if Elena hadn't quickly caught his arm.
"Dizzy, my foot! You stood in the snow without a coat, Arthur! Do you think you're a superhero?" Elena helped him toward a large velvet sofa in the living room. "Sit here. Don't move."
Arthur could only comply. He leaned his head back, eyes closed. "Don't leave, El. Please... don't vanish again while I'm asleep."
Elena sighed, her heart aching at that fragile tone. "I'm not going anywhere, Arthur. Now stay still, I'll find a compress and some medicine."
Elena walked into the spacious, modern kitchen that felt eerily quiet, as if rarely used. She found a first-aid kit and began preparing warm water. While she was busy, her phone vibrated. A message from Ririn.
Ririn (The Jaksel Queen): "Hey! What's the update? Did you find your 'Ayam Sayur' (Wet Chicken) yet? Did he really look for you at the shop? El, don't tell me you've gone soft! Remember, he still needs to be punished!"
Elena typed a reply with one hand while wringing out a small towel.
Elena: "He's sick, Rin. High fever. I'm at his house now. And yeah... he actually knelt in front of Bu Siti earlier."
Ririn: "WHAT?! KNELT?! Okay, fine. I take it back. Take care of your 'Ayam Sayur.' But watch out, don't catch feelings too fast! You still have to ask about the office business tomorrow!"
Elena switched off her phone. She returned to the living room to find Arthur half-conscious, shivering under the dim lamp. Elena sat on the edge of the sofa, gently placing the warm compress on Arthur's forehead.
The touch made Arthur open his eyes slightly. He reached for Elena's hand, bringing it to his hot cheek, rubbing his face against her palm like a child seeking protection.
"Back then... in Jakarta..." Arthur's voice was hoarse, nearly a whisper. "When I was sick with typhus and my parents were fighting in the living room... I always imagined you by my side like this. I always imagined your hands, smelling of oil paint, touching my forehead."
Elena was stunned. She remembered that time. Arthur had disappeared for a week from school, and Elena could only send short messages that were rarely answered.
She never knew that behind Arthur's silence, there was a lonely boy longing for her presence amidst his family's chaos.
"Why didn't you ever ask me to come, Art?" Elena asked softly, using her old nickname for him.
Arthur smiled bitterly, eyes still closed. "Because my home was embarrassing, El. I didn't want you to see how messy my life was. I wanted you to only see the 'smart' and 'great' side of me. I didn't want you to know I was just a discarded Montgomery."
Tears escaped Elena's eyes before she could stop them. She realized that the "jealousy" others might feel toward Arthur's luxury was an irony. Arthur had built a palace in London just to cover the scars of a small house in Jakarta filled with screaming.
"You don't have to be embarrassed anymore," Elena whispered, her fingers stroking Arthur's damp blonde hair. "I've seen it all now. I've seen you kneeling in a shop that smells like shrimp paste. Your reputation is ruined in my eyes, Mr. Montgomery."
Arthur let out a small laugh, a sound like sandpaper. "Good... then I don't have to pretend to be a monster in front of you anymore."
Arthur pulled Elena's hand, kissing her palm gently before he finally drifted off into a feverish sleep. Elena remained there, in the silence of the snowy London night, guarding the only man capable of breaking and mending her heart at the same time.
The night grew deeper in Kensington. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed softly, marking 3:00 AM. Outside, the snow had stopped falling, leaving behind a haunting silence and a world turned white. Inside, there was only the sound of Arthur's heavy breathing and the occasional whimper escaping his dry lips.
Elena couldn't sleep. She sat on the thick carpeted floor beside the sofa, resting her head near Arthur's arm. She continued to change the compress on his forehead every thirty minutes. In his fever-induced sleep, Arthur looked different. The harsh lines of his face softened; he became the Arthur Elena used to know—the boy who always looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Suddenly, Arthur began to stir restlessly. His head moved from side to side, and his fingers gripped the sofa fabric tightly.
"Don't... don't do that," Arthur muttered, his voice raspy and full of fear. "Mr. Surya... please don't do that to Elena."
Elena jumped. Mr. Surya? That was her father's name.
Elena moved closer, holding Arthur's hand to calm him. "Arthur, it's me. Elena. You're just having a nightmare."
But Arthur didn't seem to hear. He was trapped in a memory triggered by the fever. "I'll go... I'll go to London. But don't tell her. Don't make her hate me. Let her think I wanted to leave... let her think I'm the bad guy."
Elena's blood ran cold. She held her breath, her ears ringing. For seven years, she had believed that Arthur left because of personal ambition, because he wanted to chase the Montgomery legacy. But this delirium... it told a very different story.
"Art, what did my father do?" Elena whispered, though she knew he wasn't conscious.
Arthur took a deep breath, tears seeping from the corners of his closed eyes. "He said I was just trash... he said he'd ruin Elena's architecture career if I stayed. He said... Elena has a bright future, and I'm just an anchor that will sink her."
Elena covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle the sob exploding in her chest. So, this was the reason? Her father—the man she always praised as her number one supporter—was the one who threatened Arthur? He gave Arthur an impossible choice: leave and let Elena succeed, or stay and destroy the dreams of the woman he loved.
And Arthur, with all his foolishness and extreme love, chose to be the "villain" so Elena could keep flying high.
"You idiot, Arthur," Elena sobbed, resting her forehead on Arthur's hot hand. "Why didn't you ever tell me you did it to protect me? Why did you let me hate you for all these years?"
Arthur gradually calmed down. His mumbling subsided, replaced by more regular breathing. He didn't answer, but his hand subconsciously gripped Elena's fingers, as if even in his sleep, he didn't want to let go of the only light he had.
Elena stared at Arthur's face with mixed emotions. Anger toward her father began to burn, but the guilt toward Arthur was far greater. She felt terrible for having cursed this man every night, while he worked himself to death in London just to build a "fortress" so that no one—including her own father—could ever separate them again.
She didn't kiss him. She only rested her cheek on his hand, letting the warmth of his fever seep into her skin. In the luxury of this Kensington home, Elena realized they were both just victims of their parents' egos.
The pale light of the morning sun began to creep through the gaps in the velvet curtains, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the quiet living room. Elena woke up with a stiff neck from sleeping in a sitting position. The first thing she did was touch Arthur's forehead.
Cool. The fever had broken.
Arthur opened his eyes slowly. His blue pupils were slightly faded from the exhaustion, but his consciousness was fully back. He looked at Elena, who was still a mess—hair tangled and eyes puffy—then looked down at his hand, still held tightly by hers.
"You didn't leave," Arthur whispered. His voice was still scratchy, but no longer delirious.
Elena let go of his hand, trying to sit up straight while massaging her neck. "I told you I wasn't going anywhere while you were still acting like a wet chicken."
Arthur tried to sit up, though his body still felt weak. He leaned against the back of the sofa, looking at Elena with a gaze so deep it felt like he was memorizing every line of her face.
"El... I had a dream last night," Arthur said softly.
"It wasn't just a dream, Art. You were talking in your sleep," Elena interrupted, her eyes fixed on him. "You talked about my father. About Mr. Surya."
Silence instantly enveloped the room. Arthur froze. His jaw tightened, and he looked away toward the window. "Forget it. It was just fever talk."
"Stop lying!" Elena's voice rose, though she didn't want to be angry. "You said my father threatened you? He threatened to ruin my career if you stayed in Jakarta? Is that true?"
Arthur took a long breath, a sigh that sounded like he was releasing a burden he'd carried for seven years. "He did it for your own good, Elena. I was just a distraction then. I had no future, and he wanted you to focus on your achievements in Europe. He knew if I was by your side, you'd always be looking back."
"But he didn't have the right to decide that, Arthur! And you... you didn't have the right to agree and leave me without a word!" Elena's tears fell again. "You made me hate my own father, and you made me hate you. You think that's a noble sacrifice? It's selfish!"
Arthur grabbed Elena's hand, this time with a stronger grip. "I know. I realized it a year after I got to London. That's why I worked like a madman. I wanted to prove to your father—and the world—that I'm no longer the 'anchor' that will sink you. I wanted to be the ocean that carries you as far as possible."
Elena looked at the man before her. This man had sacrificed his reputation in her eyes for her own future. The jealousy she once felt for Arthur's success turned into a painful kind of respect.
"Don't ever do that again," Elena whispered. "Don't ever decide what's best for me without asking me first. I'm not a gallery project you can manage however you like, Arthur Montgomery."
Arthur smiled weakly, pulling Elena closer until their foreheads touched. There was no kiss, just the warmth of skin meeting skin, a promise that from this day forward, there would be no more walls between them.
"Promise," Arthur whispered. "From now on, we face your father—and the entire Montgomery family—together."