Be her Support System

~* Benedict's Private Villa *~

~ In the Living Room ~

Amaya, her voice filled with warmth, beckons, "Peony, please come to my son's birthday party."

"I will try to," Peony attempts to smile, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and weariness.

"She will definitely come. I will bring her. Now, come with me; I will walk you out," Benedict asserts with a reassuring air. He turns to the butler, a tall figure in a perfectly tailored suit, and instructs, "Inform the maids to prepare nutritious chicken soup for her."

Amaya, standing in the opulent living room, stares at Benedict with a grin. In her mind, she thinks, "What a scene! My cousin, taking care of Peony."

Feeling indebted, Peony says, "I can prepare it for myself and everyone. Let me help."

Benedict thinks, "This girl, is she out of her mind now! She clearly needs rest."

He smirks, "I won't have soup. Soup is for patients like you."

Peony persists, "Then tell me what you will eat, and I will help."

"It's not easy to deal with me, Miss Drama Queen. If you think simple food can clear all your debts, then you're wrong. I'm only helping you to use you," Benedict looks sharply.

Amaya hits Benedict's arm, and Benedict acts, "Ouch!"

She complains, "This bad boy will never learn. Peony, call me if he ever irritates you; I'll show him who is the boss."

Peony chuckles.

"Mother Universe, please step outside. The door is open," Benedict gestures toward the doorway.

"You both are still the same. Never change," Amaya says, her voice filled with nostalgic warmth.

Peony adds, "It's nice that you think that way. Goodbye, senior." Her words carry a poignant weight.

After bidding their farewells, Peony returns to the guest room.

Benedict leads Amaya to the private parking lot.

Amaya, lost in deep thought.

Benedict asks, "What's on your mind?"

Amaya replies, "I'm worried about her. I didn't mention it earlier because she was already overwhelmed, but I noticed blue finger marks on her wrist. Benedict, don't dismiss everything as drama. She needs you, even if she doesn't explicitly ask for it."

Benedict thinks, "Did that scoundrel abuse her yesterday?" His anger simmers at the thought.

"Amaya, don't worry about her. Leave it to me. I will guide her back to her life," Benedict assures.

Amaya thinks, "When will this foolish cousin realise his feelings towards her? These two are still the same."

She says, "And don't forget to bring her. It's your responsibility."

"I know. Now go; your husband and son are waiting for you."

"I'm aware." Amaya elegantly glides into the luxurious car waiting for her.

The sleek vehicle departs smoothly as the driver, dressed in uniform, skillfully navigates through the villa's entrance, leaving behind a trail of subtle elegance in its wake.

Benedict ponders, "Peony, why do you love such a man? You're my muse; you should have that pride in you. Why do you belittle yourself?"

As he looks up, the moon remains hidden behind the clouds, a soft wind accompanying the shift in weather to monsoon.

"The season is changing," Benedict mumbles as he walks along the garden, the air carrying the scent of impending raindrops.

~~~~~~

Benedict makes his way to the guest room, a small jar of ointment clasped in his hand.

"Peony, may I come in?" he softly inquires.

Peony, seated in silence, replies, "Yes, come in."

With a gentle push, Benedict enters the room, his presence a mixture of concern and an unspoken understanding.

Benedict gazes into her soulless eyes, the weight of unspoken pain lingering between them. Softly, he reaches for her bruised wrist, a silent request in his touch.

"Ouch!", Peony quivers at the slightest touch.

"Sorry," he whispers, and gently asks, "May I?"

Peony refuses, "No, give it to me. I will apply it on my wrist."

"With your left hand?", Benedict smirks.

"I can do it on my own. It's just a normal bruise; I'm not impaired," Peony asserts.

While applying the ointment on her own she continues, "Senior must have told you about this bruise right?"

Benedict remains quiet.

Peony reflects, "It's amusing, isn't it? The one you pour your heart into can strip everything away, while the one you barely stay in touch with ends up being your support."

Benedict inquires, "What do you wish for? I can be your support."

Peony asserts, "At this point, I simply want to live a peaceful life with my mom and continue my job, completely detached from that hellish past."

Benedict thinks, "What happened to your ambitions? Why does it seem like you have nothing left? I'm here, my muse; you are not weak. I won't let you succumb. I crave more drama, your brave speeches, those bickering moments."

Benedict probes, "Only that?"

Peony meets his gaze, pondering, "Yes. But what cost must I bear to secure that support? I've lived long enough to understand that nothing comes without a price."

"You need to come with me to Ryan's birthday party," he insists.

"If it's as simple as that, I'm ready. I'd be a fool to turn down such an invitation," she responds.

Benedict smiles, his face boasts a strong, defined jawline and extends his hand, saying, "To successful cooperation."

Peony reciprocates, grasping Benedict's hand firmly. "To successful cooperation."

Benedict, while gently clasping her hand, felt an unexpected reluctance to let go, savouring the delicate touch of her soft, frail hand.

"Benedict, release your hand. I need to call my mom," Peony interjects.

"Oh, right," Benedict replies, letting go with a reluctant but understanding smile, realising the priorities beyond their grasp.

The relentless rain started pouring outside, and with it, the monsoon brought a cascade of memories, each raindrop echoing the pangs of past pain.