You analyse emotions, I understand it

~* At Benedict's Private Villa *~

~In the Guest room~

A haunting silence envelops the atmosphere.

".... .... ...."

"Mom, please, pick up the phone," Peony mumbles, her voice trembling in the eerie stillness.

Benedict's stern gaze meets Peony's desperate eyes. "Calm down. At this rate, you'll end up in the hospital."

"I can't! Unless I see my mom safe with my own two eyes, I can't rest," Peony pleads, her words hanging in the tense air.

"You should prioritise your safety," Benedict insists, his concern etched across his face.

"I'm already here, breathing. I don't care what happens to me, but my mom needs to be safe. I have only my mom left. I can't lose her," Peony confesses, her voice breaking with grief and worry.

Benedict leans in, his voice low and intense, "Did someone threaten you, leveraging Mrs. Hart?"

Peony remains silent, her thoughts swirling, "Why am I depending on Benedict so much? Why am I allowing him to interfere in my life again?"

Benedict persists, "The key to successful cooperation is when you're true to your partner. You don't have to be afraid of telling me anything. I won't use you like some cheapskate."

"Who said I'm afraid of you? Didn't you mention just a few minutes ago in the living room that you're helping me just to use me? You should jog that memory of yours," Peony retorts, her words laced with defiance.

Benedict contemplates, "This is what I desire. Your spirited words, my muse, fuel my resolve. However, I must locate her mother. I'll enlist Mr. Smith to trace her number." His thoughts echo with determination.

Benedict continues, "I was simply stating the reality. You stand to lose if you don't share everything with me."

Peony frantically dials her mother's number repeatedly, softly mumbling the same words, "Mom, please pick up the call. Please, Mom." The desperation in her voice resonates with the gravity of the situation.

Benedict holds her shoulders, "Peony, you should tell me everything. It's straightforward – were you threatened?" His touch carries both reassurance and insistence, urging Peony to confide in him.

Peony, trying to calm her nerves, continues with a shriek in an outburst, "I was indeed threatened. Threatened to live with that man, to please his family, to disown my feelings and my entity. I hated myself for being in that miserable position. I'm scared that..."

Peony, her voice wavers, laden with the weight of suppressed emotions, attempts to explain, but Benedict interjects with a biting tone, "Wow, and you accepted that for yourself, committing to stay with that man for eternity? Just because of some rubbish threat. Couldn't you call for help? You could have asked me; I would have stepped in."

His words land heavily, a mix of frustration and genuine worry evident in his eyes. "This is the problem with women—they go back and stay with unfaithful partners, pretending it's entirely their fault. You know he cheated, and that's already breaking the deal."

Benedict continues, his voice rising, "Those grand vows you uttered on your wedding day, 'Till the day I breathe and bla bla bla,' were those just for show? Why did you go back with him that day?" The room simmers with emotions as he struggles to comprehend Peony's choices.

Peony, now composed, says coldly as she sets her phone aside, "You don't understand emotions, do you, Benedict? To you, it's just a wedding day, he cheated on me, and that's the end of the chapter. To you, it's like a drama, the beginning scene where the cheating partner is caught, and she leaves him for him to fend for himself."

Her voice takes on a bitter edge, "To me, it is 8 years of togetherness, a memorable journey, all shattering in a single day. Even though I regret and hate myself for trusting him, I gave him my whole heart. Those small memories I shared with him, those little moments I created with him aren't going to wash away with just a click."

Benedict's tone remains heavy as he presses on, "So you believe you can endure staying with him, holding onto those memories? You think there's some redeeming quality in him, a chance for change? Do those 8 years outweigh the entirety of your future? That's a foolish thought process, Peony! You're allowing emotions to cloud your judgement, Miss Drama Queen. Be practical." His words carry a blend of frustration and an unfiltered truth.

"I can't find anything good in him to justify his actions. Those thoughts are behind me now. It's easy for you to talk, thinking logically instead of feeling. You break down feelings like scenes in a play, but grasping the depths of true emotions seems to elude you," Peony declares, her words etched with a sense of closure and a touch of melancholy.

"If those emotions are as idiotic as yours, then screw them! I'd rather not feel a thing," Benedict comments.

"It's like a fever; it sneaks up on you when you least expect it. Much like this monsoon: a sudden downpour, embracing warmth, then the chill sets in, culminating in a storm that sweeps everything away.", Peony tells solemnly.

Benedict listens in silence, absorbing Peony's words. A notification pings on Benedict's device, delivering an update on the location.

"Get ready," he gently tells Peony.

"For what?" she inquires.

"To reunite with your mother," Benedict says with a touch of grace.

A radiant smile graces Peony's lips.

"But meeting her like this isn't ideal. You need to stay concealed; it's not safe yet."

"As long as I can lay eyes on my mom, I'll willingly embrace the 'ugly' attire," Peony asserts with unwavering resolve.

"Very well, I will honour your words," he says, promptly summoning his team of makeup artists.

"What on earth are you doing? This isn't the time for jokes!"

"I'm dead serious! It's a necessity," he asserts.

With that, Benedict exits the room.

Seizing the opportunity, Peony discreetly tries to call her editor, Irina. She notices the missed calls when she turns on her phone but doesn't dare to return the call in front of Benedict.

She decides to call her back.

"The subscriber you have dialled is switched off. Please try again later," a mechanical voice echoes, leaving Peony with a sense of frustration and uncertainty.

"Why did she switch off her phone? Forty-six missed calls. Sigh, I'll ask her later," Peony thinks to herself, a tinge of worry colouring her internal dialogue.

~~~~~

The team of makeup artists arrived, their skilled hands armed with brushes and palettes of colours. Benedict, with a discerning eye, instructs, "Transform her into an A-list celebrity look. Make it so no one can recognize her even with open eyes."

Amid the soft glow of vanity mirrors, Peony protests, "This is too much, Benedict!" The makeup artists, attuned to an unspoken symphony of artistry, continue their dance, weaving a transformation beyond the ordinary.

"You need it, Peony. It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience!" Benedict insists, his eyes speaking of conviction beyond the present predicament.

"I blame myself for trusting you with the process.", Peony retorts.

Benedict responds with a soft smile, an acknowledgment of serendipity.

Benedict patiently awaits her return in the living room as Peony is escorted to the makeup room.

Within this sacred space, brushes waltz in choreographed elegance, creating a visage straddling the line between glamour and anonymity. The room holds whispered secrets and the subtle fragrance of transformation.

Peony's attire is a masterpiece—reflected in a vintage mirror, the stylish hat and sophisticated sunglasses contribute to an aura of mystery.

As the artists refine the last nuances, Peony emerges, a phoenix from the creative crucible. Benedict, waiting outside, is draped in anticipation, his attire harmonising with the unfolding elegance. The door swings open, and Peony steps forth—a living canvas of transformation. Time pauses, captivated by the artistry veiling both face and emotion.

She graces the scene in a purple-black dress, the epitome of sophistication befitting an A-list actress, exuding the elegance of a seasoned business partner. Adorned with a stylish hat and a sunglass, she completes her ensemble with a mature, lovely look.

Benedict, entranced and moved, whispers, "Just like a Peony." She strides towards him, her movement a blend of vulnerability and strength. "Are you satisfied now?" she asks, her voice holding a mixture of defiance and a yearning for approval.

"Yes, you look kind of suspicious though. Let me remove this sunglass," Benedict gently requests, carefully taking them away and placing them in his pocket. "Now you look perfect."

As Peony complies, a cascade of sunlight unveils the intricacies of her eyes, a blend of uncertainty and determination. She can't help but think, "Will this guy ever get tired of elaborate presentations?"

Benedict turns gracefully to the group of makeup artists, his eyes reflecting genuine appreciation. "You have all done a splendid job. Keep up the exceptional work," he commends, acknowledging their artistry with a touch of admiration.

"Yay!" The makeup artists cheer, their faces lighting up with a shared sense of accomplishment and joy.

Benedict extends his hand to Peony, his eyes reflecting a blend of determination and empathy. "Come with me. Let's go meet your mother."

Embracing the role, Peony reaches for his hand. Together, they step into the waiting car, a silent understanding passing between them.

As the engine hums to life, they drive off towards the designated location, the journey filled with both anticipation and a quiet resolve.