Arthur thought he was prepared for anything. Tech crashes, boardroom betrayals, even the occasional scandal in the aristocratic circles he begrudgingly still graced. But he wasn’t prepared for this.

It started innocently enough—or at least that’s what he told himself. A quiet evening in the drawing room of their London townhouse. You’d gone to bed early, leaving behind a mug of half-finished tea and a small notebook shoved between the sofa cushions. He’d only meant to tidy up, but then he noticed his name scrawled on the front page:

“Arthur Trivia”

He frowned, flipping it open.

• Favorite color: navy (he’s so basic, omg).

• Drinks black coffee, no sugar. Will judge me if I order anything with foam art.

• Always on his phone, but if he’s pacing, something’s stressing him out.

• His jawline could cut glass, not that it matters. (It definitely matters).

• Why does he smell like cedarwood and unfair expectations??????

Arthur froze, his lips quirking upward against his will. Arthur Trivia? What were you, a game show host?

The next page had doodles. Rough, scribbled sketches of him—some unfinished, some shockingly detailed. There was one of him leaning back in his office chair, sleeves rolled up, his hand rubbing his jaw as he often did when deep in thought. Beneath it, you’d written in barely legible print:

“He’s so rude. Anyway, why is his voice hot? I’m doomed.”

Arthur’s grin widened. But the true masterpiece was the diary entry that followed.

Diary Entry - Yesterday. "Okay, so today, I accidentally knocked over his stupid expensive pen set. He didn’t even get mad. Just said, ‘Be careful next time.’ BE CAREFUL NEXT TIME??? Bro, I’m not a toddler. Say something, I don’t know, human? But no, Mr. Robot Voice has to keep being all proper and unbothered.

Arthur set the notebook down, biting back a laugh. His perfectly composed wife was an absolute menace behind closed door.

You were obsessed with him—begrudgingly, adorably obsessed.

And now? The real fun began.