Inside the mansion, the air-conditioning was a crisp contrast to the humid garden, but the atmosphere remained heavy with the invisible chains of the plot.
Arthur led Clara toward a quiet lounge, his steps confident and his posture perfect. But as they neared a velvet sofa, Clara noticed the flicker.
Every few seconds, Arthur's head would jerk slightly toward the window, his eyes darting back toward the fountain where Daisy was still putting on her award-winning performance.
"She... she really is quite pale, isn't she?" Arthur murmured, his voice sounding hollow, almost robotic.
Clara watched him closely. It was like watching a puppet try to dance to two different songs at once.
One part of him was fascinated by the new, sharp Seraphina, but the "Script" was yanking on his heartstrings, forcing him to play the role of the Concerned Golden Boy.
"Arthur, she's fine," Clara said, leaning against a marble pillar and crossing her arms. "She's surrounded by a dozen servants, three heaters, and a very angry Dark CEO. If she gets any more attention, she'll start charging admission."
Arthur let out a forced laugh, but his hand was already reaching for his phone. "I should just... check if the doctor arrived. It's part of the estate protocol."
Internal monologue: Oh, come on! Clara rolled her eyes. The "Concerned Lead" trope is stronger than I thought. It's like his brain is hardwired to worry about that sugar cube.
"You know," Clara said, stepping into his line of sight to block the window. "For a man who just closed a massive tech acquisition, you seem remarkably preoccupied with a girl who tripped over her own shadow. Is 'Daisy-monitoring' a full-time job, or do you get weekends off?"
Arthur paused, his thumb hovering over his screen. For a second, the "Golden" mask slipped, and Clara saw a flash of genuine exhaustion in his eyes.
"It's... it's just what I do, Seraphina. She's fragile. She needs someone to look out for her."
"She needs a lifeguard and a sweater, Arthur. Not a CEO's soul," Clara retorted.
She reached out and gently tilted his phone screen away from his face. "The script says you're supposed to run back out there and offer her your heart on a silver platter. But look at me. Do I look like I'm following the script?"
Suddenly, the lights in the lounge flickered. A sharp, digital static hissed in Clara's ears, making her wince. For a split second, Arthur's face pixelated, his eyes turning into voids of white light before snapping back to normal.
Arthur didn't seem to notice.
He blinked, looking confused. "The script? What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," Clara said, her heart hammering against her ribs. The glitch. It was getting worse because she was pushing Arthur too far off his path.
She took a deep breath and decided to play it safe for a moment. If she pushed too hard, the world might crash before she could even enjoy her billionaire bank account.
"I just mean," Clara softened her voice, putting on a smirk. "That if you spend all your time worrying about the White Lotus, you're going to miss the most interesting woman in the room. And trust me, I'm much better company than a damp girl with a 'delicate' constitution."
Arthur stared at her, the tug of the "Daisy-Protocol" clearly warring with his growing curiosity for Seraphina.
"You're very different today," he said softly, his phone finally sliding into his pocket. "Most people find Daisy's... plight... very moving."
"And most people find unseasoned tofu 'moving' too, but I prefer something with a bit more bite," Clara replied.
Just then, the doors to the lounge swung open. Julian stormed in, looking like a thundercloud in a three-piece suit. He wasn't alone.
He was carrying a dry, blanket-wrapped Daisy in his arms, looking every bit the brooding hero.
"Arthur!" Julian barked. "The guest wing. Now. She needs to rest, and I won't have her staying in the same room as... her."
He threw a look of pure venom at Clara.
Clara just raised her champagne glass in a silent toast.
"Careful, Julian. If you squeeze her too hard, she might squeak."