The moon turned red above her. Her eyes shone violet in its horribly, sickening light.
A sudden wind screamed down the terrace, tearing rose petals from the bushes. They slashed across his face like razors.
Sophia took one step forward—no longer Sophia, but a skeletal thing draped in silk and memory—and spoke in a voice that made his blood freeze. “She will leave you, Arthur. And you will wake to find yourself isolated and empty. Always. For eternity.”
The image that appeared to be Sophia came a little closer, but he couldn’t bear the proximity of it anymore.
Arthur stumbled backward—
—and fell into darkness.
He jerked awake abruptly, his heart hammering, his breathing ragged. Cold perspiration traced his forehead as he struggled to separate the dream from reality. He lay motionless, staring into the pre-dawn gloom as he struggled to breathe naturally. His skin was soddened, the sheets clinging to his body as he remembered Abigail’s gentle, sad voice lingering softly in his consciousness, in stark contrast to Sophia’s bitter cruelty.
It was just a dream. Not real. Compose yourself.
Arthur sat on the edge of his bed waiting for his breathing to calm, and hoping the horrible images would subside. Eventually, he rose shakily, moving toward the window to pull back heavy curtains. Pale morning light seeped slowly across London, illuminating quiet streets shrouded in early mist. His reflection appeared faintly in the windowpane, pale and troubled, haunted by memories he had long sought to bury.
Why does Sophia still haunt my thoughts? She is long gone. Married. Unavailable. Do I still have feelings for her, or is she merely in my thoughts because of her return?
But Sophia, as she appeared in his dream, was hard to shake from his mind and gave him no feelings of fondness or adoration. If anything, it had brought nothing but fear, and a sense of inadequacy. What if everything she had said in his dream was his brain’s way of highlighting the truth he had always tried to ignore?
He had not even seen her yet and his brain was already playing tricks on him. He could not reconcile the message of his dream with the path he should take in reality. He knew he should ignore it. It was only a dream after all, but it was hard to shake off its vividness.
Frustrated and restless, he summoned his valet, dressing hastily, desperate to escape from his tangled thoughts and seek some semblance of reality to dispel such hideous visions. The quiet solitude of Rotten Row promised clarity, and fresh air—an opportunity to sort through the chaotic whirlwind within his mind.
***
The rhythmic pounding of his stallion’s hooves against the earth brought a fleeting comfort as Arthur rode swiftly through Hyde Park, the cool morning air sharp against his face.
The air was crisp, heavy with the sweet scent of fresh-cut grass mingling with distant blossoms, yet even nature’s tranquility could not fully quieten his restless thoughts.
Arthur’s gaze drifted across Hyde Park’s peaceful scenery—the gently winding paths, vibrant flowerbeds just beginning to bloom, birds singing their joyful songs amidst lush branches overhead. Yet despite this serene backdrop, his heart remained burdened, as though every natural beauty only highlighted his inner disarray.
He noticed a young couple strolling arm in arm beneath a canopy of blossoming cherry trees, their laughter carried gently upon the breeze. The sight stirred painful memories of Sophia—yet more unsettling was the sudden yearning he felt for a similar closeness with Abigail. He was abruptly conscious of a deeper desire, a longing for genuine intimacy, companionship untainted by betrayal.
He pulled the reins gently, his stallion slowing to a contemplative trot as Arthur stared thoughtfully across the placid lake reflecting the clear blue sky. How long had he imprisoned himself in cynicism and bitterness? And at what cost?
Sophia Carter’s return had thrown him back into painful remembrance. He recalled bitterly their final confrontation—her disdainful words, her icy rejection, each phrase etched indelibly upon his memory. He had trusted her completely, had surrendered his heart without reservation, only to discover how cheaply she valued it.
“You’re foolish, Arthur,” she had sneered on their final meeting, her voice dripping with contempt. “Did you truly believe love would triumph over security and wealth? Perhaps someday you’ll understand how the world truly works.”
He had been crushed, his faith in love shattered by her callous betrayal. Afterward, a cold, detached cynicism had become his shield, protecting him from ever feeling such vulnerability again.
Yet now, he found himself again exposed—this time by Abigail Darlington, whose gentle sincerity threatened to dismantle those carefully constructed defenses.
Would he be too late if he didn’t act soon? Was the dream a warning?
He slowed his horse, allowing himself a moment to catch his breath, both physically and emotionally. Abigail’s presence filled his thoughts with alarming frequency. Each interaction lingered in his mind, replayed in painful detail—her quiet wit, intellectual curiosity, the genuine warmth in her gaze. He knew this growing attraction threatened more than just his cynicism; it endangered his heart itself.
Arthur’s fingers tightened on the reins, frustration mounting within him. He was trapped between his bitter past and a potential future that beckoned tentatively. Could he trust himself again, or was he destined to repeat past mistakes?
He sighed deeply, urging his horse into a gentle walk. Sophia’s cruelty had taught him caution, indeed—but Abigail was nothing like Sophia. Abigail’s character, integrity, warmth—everything about her was genuine and sincere. He sensed instinctively that any connection he formed with her would not mirror his bitter past, but there were still persistent, niggling doubts.
His fear lingered stubbornly, whispering uncertainties to him. What if he was wrong? What if his heart betrayed him again?
He shook his head, struggling to silence that persistent voice. He had entered their arrangement precisely because it promised emotional safety—yet, he realised bitterly, Abigail’s authenticity had inadvertently drawn him toward genuine feeling. Their charade had become dangerous—not because it risked public discovery, but because it risked awakening hopes and desires he had buried deeply.
Arthur’s horse paused beside a quiet brook, the water’s gentle babbling offering a momentary respite from his turmoil. He dismounted, leading his horse to the water’s edge and stood quietly, staring thoughtfully into the flowing stream.
