The fire had burned low in the hearth, casting only faint shadows against the velvet curtains. Aria sat across from Henry, his hand still covering hers, the silence between them fragile but warm.
For a long moment, neither moved. The world beyond the room seemed to fade, leaving only the steady beat of her heart and the weight of his gaze.
"You mean it?" she whispered at last, her voice unsteady. "That you want to start again?"
Henry's lips curved, not into the polished smile society knew, but something softer, something real. "Yes. No masks, no walls. Just us."
Her throat tightened. "I don't know who 'us' even is."
"Then let's find out." He rose slowly, pulling her gently to her feet. She hesitated, but when his arms came around her, she didn't resist. The warmth of him enveloped her, and for the first time in years, she didn't feel like she was bracing herself for rejection.
Aria closed her eyes, her cheek pressed against his chest. "It feels strange… being held like this."
Henry's chin brushed her hair. "Strange in a good way?"
She let out a shaky laugh. "Yes. Like maybe… I'm not invisible after all."
His hand tightened at her waist. "You were never invisible, Aria. I was blind."
For a moment, they simply stood there, wrapped in a silence that was no longer empty. The distance between them had shifted—slightly, tentatively, but enough.
The next morning shattered the fragile peace.
Darcy burst into the sitting room with a pale face and a folded newspaper clutched in her hands. "My lord, my lady—" she stopped, uncertain if she should continue.
Henry frowned. "What is it?"
Darcy hesitated, then offered the paper. "It's… everywhere."
Aria's eyes fell on the bold headline:
"Lady Aria Seeks Divorce? Turmoil in the Lannister Household!"
Her stomach dropped.
Beneath the headline, paragraphs swirled with speculation—rumors of late-night arguments, Aria's supposed unhappiness, Henry's coldness, even whispers of her fainting at the gala. Names of sources were conveniently omitted, but the tone was merciless.
Aria pressed the paper to her chest. "Oh no…"
Henry's jaw tightened as he skimmed the article. "So they know." His voice was sharp, controlled. "And they'll twist every truth into scandal."
Aria's hands shook. "What do we do?"
Henry looked at her, his expression hardening into resolve. "We deny it. Together. No matter what they ask, we stand as one."
Aria blinked, surprised. "Together?"
"Yes." His hand brushed hers, briefly but firmly. "If we falter, they'll tear us apart. I won't let them."
Later that afternoon, Aria sat across from Lila in a quiet tearoom tucked away from the bustling streets. The chatter of other patrons was a faint hum, but Lila leaned forward, her eyes wide with concern.
"Aria, tell me it isn't true," Lila whispered. "The papers, the whispers—I couldn't believe it when I read it this morning."
Aria's teacup trembled slightly in her hand. "It's… complicated."
"Complicated?" Lila pressed. "Aria, you've been through so much. If he's hurting you—"
"No," Aria interrupted quickly, shaking her head. "Lila, it's not what they're saying. Not anymore." She set her cup down, exhaling slowly. "Yes, I wanted to leave. I thought it was the only way. But Henry…" She hesitated, then gave a small, almost disbelieving smile. "He's changed."
Lila arched a brow. "Changed? Men like him don't just change overnight."
Aria's eyes softened. "He told me things he's never told anyone. Why he was cold. Why he pushed me away. He thought I was like the others—that I wanted his money, his name. But now… he sees me. Really sees me."
Lila leaned back, studying her friend. "And do you believe him?"
Aria hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. I have to. Because if I don't… then what do I have left?"
For a moment, Lila said nothing, her gaze steady. Then she reached across the table, squeezing Aria's hand. "If he truly means it, if he truly gives you what you deserve… then hold onto it. But if he doesn't—you know I'll always be here."
Aria's throat tightened. "Thank you, Lila. You're the only real friend I've ever had."
---
The evening brought more whispers. At the opera house, acquaintances greeted them with thin smiles and sharper questions.
"Lady Aria, such troubling news in the papers. Surely it isn't true?" one lady prodded, her fan fluttering like a bird's wing.
Aria forced a calm smile, her arm looped through Henry's. "Of course not. My husband and I are very much together."
Henry added smoothly, "The papers thrive on gossip. We thought better of our society than to take them seriously." His tone was cutting enough that the woman flushed and looked away.
Another gentleman leaned closer, voice hushed. "But rumors often have roots. Was there truly talk of separation?"
Henry's grip on Aria's arm tightened, steadying her. "If there was, it ended at our doorstep. My wife and I stand united. That is all that matters."
Aria caught his gaze then, the faintest trace of warmth in his eyes meant only for her.
For the first time, she felt the scandal did not belong to her alone—it was theirs to face, together.
Later that night, back at the mansion, Aria curled up by the fire again, her body weary from smiling and denying. Henry entered the room.
"You handled yourself well," he said quietly.
Aria gave a small laugh. "I learned from you. The calm lies of high society."
His expression softened. "Not lies. Just… defenses."
She looked up at him, her eyes searching. "Do you really mean it, Henry? That we stand together?"
He sat beside her, his hand brushing against hers. "Yes. Whatever storm comes, we face it side by side. No more distance. No more silence."
Her breath hitched, her eyes shimmering. "Then maybe I can believe in us again."
He leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Believe in me, Aria. And I'll spend the rest of my life proving you're right to."
And when she let her head rest against his shoulder, Henry didn't move away. For once, the silence between them was not cold—it was a promise.
After a warm hug, Aria said she wanted to rest, and he returned to his room.