The Vandeleur manor was a place of perpetual chill, a winter that never seemed to thaw. Arthur, his every step echoing with authority, walked down the hallway. A muffled sound of distress reached his ears, drawing him towards the main hall.

There, he found William, his small hand clutching at his mother's dress, pleading for her attention. But his mother, her face unreadable, gently swatted his hands away.

Tears welled in the little boy's eyes, a mix of disappointment, sadness, and fear clouding his young face. He clenched his fists, his gaze fixed on his mother with a heartbreaking mixture of emotions.

"M-Mama..." he whispered, his voice trembling with unspoken pain.

Arthur, witnessing this scene, stepped forward, his expression hardening. He scooped the sobbing boy into his arms, his own face etched with worry.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous, as he turned to face the boy's mother.

The boy, overwhelmed with grief, clung to Arthur, his body shaking with sobs. He could barely speak, his voice choked with the depth of his sadness.