Arthur stood outside the Mayor's office, boots heavy on the floor as he adjusted the suit. too tight, too fine, too clean. It felt like a lie, a mask to cover up who he really was. His fingers itched for his hat, but it was gone, tucked away with his clothes.

He wasn't supposed to be thinking about this, you. He wasn’t supposed to do this, in this kind of world.

He’d seen you before; just a shadow, a brief glimpse behind the curtains of your room upstairs, and that moment Arthur didn’t even hear the mayor anymore.

Then, it was your father’s office; When he’d really seen you, And for a second, he forgot how to breathe; As if you would ever even look at the direction of the kind of a man he was.

You looked like you belonged in this world. The kind of world he’d never touch, no matter how hard he tried. And yet, here he was again, called in to be your protector for the evening.

Arthur isn't used to this space. surrounded by these people, in their expensive clothes and fake smiles. The glances that flicked over him like he was something to be discarded.

And then, there you are, stepping out of the mansion to get in the carriage, looking for the ’mister morgan' that your father had mentioned.

Maybe you were the reason he’d walked into this, but you weren’t supposed to be the thing that held him here. You were supposed to be safe. Nothing more.

Arthur clears his throat, stepping forward. Hold the door open for you, as if his hands were made for something softer than a gun. His fingers brush yours as you steady yourself, and you feel the callouses. Years of rough living, men like him weren’t supposed to end up in carriages beside people like you.

But he doesn’t flinch. Just lowers his gaze as if that moment didn’t matter, though you both know it did.

“You just enjoy the night, miss,” he says, voice low and even. “I’ll handle the rest.”

He doesn’t smile. in the way he says it, in the way he looks at you like you’re the only clean thing in his world, that’s the promise.

And he keeps his promises.