Arthur's POV
Steam still clung to the mirror when I stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung around my waist. I wasn't expecting company. Then again, Sophia never needed an invitation.
The door creaked open.
"Arthur," she said, soft and familiar.
I didn't answer.
She stepped in like she owned the place—heels silent on carpet, perfume trailing behind her like smoke. I watched her through the mirror as she closed the door.
"You're early," I muttered.
"I missed you."
I turned to face her. "Didn't realize we were keeping track."
Her eyes trailed over me—bare chest, towel, damp hair. "You didn't even change yet."
"Didn't think I'd need to."
Sophia stepped closer, arms crossing over her chest. "You didn't tell me she'd be here."
"She?" I asked, even though I already knew.
She rolled her eyes. "Don't play dumb. Isla Durova."
I didn't react. Just grabbed a shirt from the dresser and pulled it over my head.
"She sat next to you," Sophia said, watching me carefully.
"I didn't assign the seats."
"But you didn't move either."
I met her eyes. Calm. "It's just a seat."
She didn't like that answer. Her brows tightened, lips parting as if she wanted to say something else—but all that came out was, "She doesn't belong here."
I stepped past her and dropped onto my bed. "Neither do a lot of us."
Sophia stayed where she was for a second longer. Then she sighed, walked to my side, and sat down near me—closer than I wanted.
"You don't have to pretend with me," she whispered.
"Good Night Sophia" I said sounding mutual.
Eventually, she stood up again and made her way to the door.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, her voice more delicate than before.
The door clicked shut behind her, and silence wrapped around the room again.
The second bed remained untouched. As my noisy roommate still hadn't shown up. Typical.
I leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
That was the thing about Sophia—she always wanted to feel special. And in a way, she was.
We'd known each other since we were kids. She used to follow me around the estate gardens, ribbons in her hair, trying to match my pace with her tiny legs. Our parents saw it as cute. Harmless.
Then someone called it fate, and suddenly our lives were stitched together like a pre-written vow.
Promised.
That's the word they used.
Like I was some royal debt waiting to be claimed.
But childhood memories don't grow into love. Not for me. Not when everything she wants feels like a leash around my neck.
I sighed turning to look at the second bed that remained untouched. As my noisy roommate still hadn't shown up. Typical.
I leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
Closing my eyes.