The silence in the garden was so thick you could have cut it with a designer steak knife.
Arthur was still blinking at Seraphina, his hand awkwardly patting Daisy's shoulder as if he'd forgotten she was there.
Daisy, sensing the spotlight shifting away from her damp hair, let out a soft, rhythmic cough that sounded suspiciously like a desperate plea for attention.
"Arthur..." Daisy whimpered, her voice a fragile reed in the wind. "I think... I think I'm catching a chill. My lungs were always so delicate after that childhood fever..."
Clara, now fully inhabiting Seraphina's elegant body, didn't even turn around. She just sighed, a sound of profound, weary sympathy.
"Oh, Daisy. Only you could catch pneumonia from a heated, pH-balanced decorative fountain in mid-July," Clara said, finally looking over her shoulder with a gaze full of fake concern. "It truly is a tragedy. Some women are born with spines of steel, and others are born with the immune system of a Victorian orphan."
Arthur's lips twitched. It wasn't a laugh—he was far too "Golden" for that—but it was a definite flicker of amusement.
"Seraphina!" Julian barked, finally regaining his speech. He stepped toward her, his dark brows knitted together in a permanent scowl. "Your words are as sharp as your shoes. Have you no heart? Look at her!"
Clara slowly turned to face Julian. She took a slow sip of the champagne she'd snatched from a passing waiter's tray.
"I am looking, Julian. She's damp. It's a garden party, not a funeral," Clara said, her eyes tracing the "Dark CEO's" furious expression.
"And really, if you're so worried about her 'delicate lungs,' why are you standing here yelling at me instead of wrapped in a blanket with her? Are you a CEO or a weather reporter?"
Julian choked on his own indignation. "I—"
"Actually, don't answer that," Clara interrupted, turning back to Arthur with a dazzling smile.
"Arthur, dear, about that tech acquisition. I heard you're looking into AI integration. I happen to have some... very forward-thinking ideas on how a script—I mean, a system—should run. Why don't we find somewhere with less 'damp' energy to talk?"
Arthur looked at Julian's red face, then at Daisy's trembling lip, and finally at the radiant, sharp-witted woman in front of him.
For the first time in the history of The Fragile Lily, the Golden Boy made a choice that wasn't in the margins.
"I think a change of scenery would be excellent," Arthur said, offering his arm to Clara.
As they began to walk away, Daisy let out a slightly louder sob. "But... the fountain... the cold..."
Clara stopped for a brief second, looking back at the "White Lotus" one last time.
"Don't worry, Daisy! I'll tell the caterers to bring you some hot soup. Something light—I wouldn't want the salt to overwhelm your delicate constitution," Clara chirped, before leaning closer to Arthur and whispering loud enough for Julian to hear: "Honestly, Arthur, it's a miracle she hasn't dissolved into a puddle yet. Is she a lead character or a sugar cube?"
As Clara and Arthur disappeared into the estate, Julian stood paralyzed. His "Villainess" was gone. His "Golden Rival" was laughing.
And for some reason, the damp, shivering girl on his arm suddenly felt... incredibly annoying.