✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 ˚｡⋆ ༘˚✧
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𝐱𝐢𝐢𝐢.

𝐈𝐓 had been several hours since Benedict first became aware of his presence within Athena's chamber. Having succumbed to the gentle embrace of slumber, he remained in a state of profound repose upon her bed. The hour was drawing near to nine o'clock, and the sun, too, had begun its descent, casting the soft hues of twilight across the evening sky.

All was quiet, and if one listened intently, the soft rustle of the curtains could be heard as they stirred in the breeze drifting through the open window.

Beyond the room, Athena sat in the drawing room with Lord Beaumont, her parents, and her brother. They were all engaged in conversation, but her thoughts were consumed with the moment she might escape this dreadful room. It was bad enough that she had to leave Benedict, but the notion that he might believe she still favored Lord Beaumont pained her deeply. Yet after their conversation, he surely must have understood that he was the only one she cared for. She had nearly laid bare her heart before him, so how could he be uncertain?

"Athena, are you listening?" her mother's voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. She glanced up, only to find several pairs of eyes fixed upon her.

She looked puzzled as to why everyone was staring at her. "My apologies, I was lost in thought. What were you saying?"

They all let out small laughs, exchanging glances as though she had said something amusing. "We were discussing the engagement and asked if you had any wishes."

Wishes? Did he not simply have to announce it, or had she misunderstood? "Forgive my confusion, but what is there really to discuss?" she replied, her brow furrowing slightly.

They laughed again. "Have you even been listening?" Archibald asked, a smirk playing on his lips. He knew her mind had been elsewhere, and she was certain he understood exactly what had been troubling her. "They wish to host an engagement party on Friday, to celebrate after the announcement at the Somerset Gallery."

Athena nodded in acknowledgment. "A splendid idea. I'm sure I shall be content with whatever decision is made. Though I would love to hear more, I'm feeling rather faint and think it best to excuse myself for the evening."

Her parents exchanged a glance, clearly taken aback by her words, but soon turned to her with gentle, reassuring smiles.

"Of course, my dear," her mother replied with a tone of understanding. "Rest well, and we shall discuss the details further when you are feeling more yourself."

Lord Beaumont rose from his seat, concern flickering in his eyes. "I do hope you are not unwell, Lady Athena. It would be most unfortunate for you to be indisposed during such a momentous occasion."

Athena offered a faint smile, masking the turmoil within her. "Thank you for your concern, my lord, but it is nothing of consequence—merely the weight of the day, I suppose."

With that, she rose gracefully, her heart heavy as she excused herself from the room. As soon as she stepped into the hallway, she made her way swiftly to her bedchamber. The moment she slipped inside and closed the door behind her, the weight of her emotions became unbearable. She sank to the floor, folding her legs beneath her as she buried her face in her hands. A flood of tears burst forth, and she cried out loud, her sobs echoing through the quiet room.

All the composure she had maintained in the drawing room crumbled away, leaving her feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable. The confusion, the fear of losing Benedict, and the pressure of the engagement overwhelmed her in that moment. She wished for nothing more than to be in Benedict's arms, to feel his reassurance and to know that everything would be alright. But instead, she was alone, her tears the only witness to the turmoil raging within her.

It was as if he could hear someone weeping. Though his mind remained shrouded in darkness, a woman's sobs resonated faintly in the recesses of his consciousness. Slowly, he lifted a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes, pushing himself up to his elbows. As his eyes opened a crack, the reality of the situation began to crystallize.

It was not a dream but an unsettling reality. To his right, the sound of a woman crying loudly against the door reached his ears. He glanced around, and the familiar sights of Athena's room came into focus—her delicate furnishings, the soft glow of candlelight, and the subtle traces of her presence everywhere.

The realization struck him like a bolt. Athena was in distress, and he was here, in her private sanctuary. With growing concern, he pushed himself fully upright and moved cautiously toward the source of the sorrowful sound. His heart ached as he saw Athena, her form crumpled on the floor, her tears staining the fabric of her gown.

He lowered himself to the floor beside her and placed a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. In a moment of fright, she glanced up, her face stricken with terror, and let out a loud scream. Benedict, reacting swiftly, raised a hand to her mouth, his gesture a silent plea for her to be still.

She regarded him with a mixture of surprise and fear, her eyes wide and trembling. Slowly, she raised her hand and gently removed his from her mouth. Athena parted her lips, as though she wished to speak, but instead she licked them slowly, her gaze darting about as if searching for words.

"I know you must be frightened," Benedict whispered, his voice low and soothing. "I fell asleep here after you left... with Lord Beaumont." He cast a glance towards the door handle, moving to lock it with a deliberate and careful motion.

He knew, with a certainty he could not explain, that he ought not to have uttered his name. It was not for any particular reason that he could discern, yet something within him whispered it was a grievous error. "Mrs. Huxley, I implore you, tell me what troubles you."

Athena lifted her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes, awash with tears, spilled over in a torrent, the droplets pooling upon her skirt in sorrowful abundance. Her cheeks were flushed, and her nose bore the delicate tint of a rose in early bloom.

She shook her head mournfully. "I could not tell you. You would not understand."

"I do not require understanding," Benedict replied gently, striving to offer solace where he might. "Yet, oftentimes, the mere act of voicing one's burdens lends a certain ease to their weight. You are not alone in your struggles; of that, I assure you. I have known many a worry in my life, and never did I find peace until I shared them with my brothers."

Her face remained concealed behind her hands, but he sensed a shift in her demeanor. He noted her eyes, now open, and the cessation of her tears. "What is it that you contend with?" she inquired, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

"I feared," he began, his voice low and earnest, "that I was destined to live out my days in solitude, incapable of love. For many years, I have moved within society, and with each passing year, my disappointment grew. The elusive 'one' never appeared, and it haunted me like a specter. As a child, I witnessed the profound love my parents shared, so much so that when my father passed, I believed my mother would follow, for true love, it seemed, could not endure separation. I have long been tormented by the thought that I might never experience such love myself. I laid the blame upon my own heart, believing it lacking in some essential part. But then, I met you."

He paused, his voice softening as he spoke the truth that had taken root in his heart. "This year has altered me in ways I could not have imagined. I never knew it was possible to long for another so deeply, to dream of someone with such fervor, to love a person with the same intensity with which one loves their family. You are my person, Athena. I believe now that the love I feared I would never find was merely awaiting the moment I would meet you."

The words echoed in her head. It softened her and made her comfortable. She lifted up her head and wiped a running tear away from her cheek. "I am not perfect, but i have lived high expectations my entire life. Never have I ever thought it would a problem, before i found myself in a situation where I wanted the opposite of what my parents wished for me. I know it sounds wrong, but I was born to marry in high status." She paused. Her breathing quickened and she felt as if she hurt Benedict telling this. For the first time in a long time she looked him in the eyes, with loving eyes, and smiled. She had since meeting him smiled friendly, but now she wouldn't let anyone tell her what to do, it was her life.

"Don't stop there. Tell me everything," Benedict expressed. He placed his left palm on her cheek and brushed a tear away. His hand glided down her neck and followed down her sleeve. Movements in a soft motion merely touching her, he reached her gloves and kept his hand there.

Athena drew a trembling breath, her voice faltering as she attempted to speak. "It feels as though a mountain of expectations has been placed upon my shoulders, each one heavier than the last, and none of them align with the desires of my heart. I... I want—" Her voice wavered, and for a moment, the words failed her.

Benedict gently cupped her cheeks in his hands, his touch both steadying and tender. "Athena," he said softly, "I am no one of consequence. Speak to me as you would to a silent observer, a painting in your chamber that bears witness but makes no judgment. Do not stop now."

She hesitated, then raised her hands to meet his, finding comfort in the warmth and softness of his touch against her skin. "I do not wish to marry him, Benedict," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No one has decreed that you must," he replied, his voice just as soft, as if sharing a secret meant only for the two of them. Their faces were close now, so close that only the faintest breath separated them. Their eyes locked, and in that gaze, there was an understanding that transcended words. "Everyone may expect it, but expectations are not commands. You must never bind yourself to the will of others at the expense of your own happiness, for that would be to live a life of quiet misery." He placed a gentle finger against her chest, just over her heart. "It is this that should guide your choices."

Athena nodded, her eyes glistening with newfound clarity. "My heart tells me that I want you," she whispered, her words carrying the weight of a truth long suppressed.

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