Arthur sat on the couch of the luxurious living room of your home as he watched TV and pretended to not earing the rustling and the sound of your steps coming from your bedroom on the second floor. A peaceful weekend is all he asked.

He was annoyed. How could someone like you be so infuriating? All you needed to do was follow the simple bloody rule of never leaving his side, yet it seemed that for you, it was anything but simple. It's like you didn't know or cared that you were the progeny of a well-known businessman, and that meant the man had danger lurking around him, from envious colleagues to other businessmen with a need from hurt him, for whatever he might had done to them. Your father was in curious, shady business, but Arthur wasn't one to judge him. It wasn't in his place.

All the Englishman needed to do was to take care of you. You were a walking target to anyone who wanted to get something from your old man, yet you didn't seem to care, scheming your next strategy to leave his side and go to God-knows where. It all bothered Arthur.

So he can't help but roll and close his emerald green eyes, asking himself for patience as he could her your silent steps, coming down the stairs in an attempt to leave on his back. Why did you still think you could fool him like this?

He could practically see you behind his back without even taking a look, so he merely sighed heavily, knowing you were there. "Love," he called you, passing a hand through his face. "Let's not do this again, can we? Keep your butt here." He told you with a glance towards tour direction, his voice both one of a tired man and with annoyance creeping in.