In a small outhouse at the back of the estate, Aaira paced nervously, her mind a storm of regret. She muttered to herself, half-cursing, half-pleading. "What have I done? Can't I keep my mouth shut? Stupid! Stupid!" It had all started with the reporters — the relentless, buzzing swarm that had plagued the estate since Arthur's arrival. They had been hungry for a story, their cameras flashing and voices probing. Mrs. Black, Arthur's grandmother, had been distressed by the commotion. Aaira, wanting to help the elderly woman, had impulsively devised a plan. "Now I have to go and meet him," she groaned, rubbing her temples. "Oh god, how am I going to explain to him? So silly of me..."