As the Southern Wind Moves On

Chapter 4---A Home Taken Over

The hallway was narrow. We met unexpectedly, and he paused briefly, adjusted his jacket, and said, "Ms. Marston, I'm here to check on Ariana."

Elias Montgomery was Maxwell Harrington's closest friend. They say you can tell how much a man values you by how his friends treat you.

I didn't need to gauge their attitude—his address said it all. To Elias, I would always be "Ms. Marston."

What a courteous yet distant title!

One mustn't obsess over small details, or it would only bring sorrow. I offered a faint smile and stepped aside. "Yes, please go in."

At times, I deeply envied Ariana Whitmore. With just a few tears, she could claim the warmth I had spent half my life striving to earn.

Back in the bedroom, I selected a set of clothes Maxwell had never worn, gathered them in my arms, and carried them downstairs to the living room.

Elias's visit was brief—temperature taken, fever medication prescribed—and then he prepared to leave.

Coming downstairs and seeing me in the living room, he gave a polite, distant smile. "It's getting late, Ms. Marston. Aren't you heading to bed?"

"Hmm, soon," I replied, handing him the clothes. "You're soaked. It's still raining. Change into something dry before leaving, or you'll catch a chill."

He seemed taken aback that I'd brought him clothes. He hesitated, then offered a faint smile. "No need. I'm strong—I'll manage."

I placed the clothes in his hands. "Maxwell hasn't worn these. The tags are still on. You two are similar in build. Just use them."

With that, I turned and went back upstairs.

I wasn't being kind. Years ago, when Grandmother was hospitalized, Elias had been her chief surgeon. As an internationally acclaimed physician, he wouldn't have operated without the Harrington family's influence. This was merely my way of repaying that favor.

The next day.

After a night of heavy rain, the morning sun carried the scent of damp earth. I was accustomed to rising early. When I finished washing up and came downstairs, Maxwell and Ariana were already in the kitchen.

Maxwell wore a black apron, his tall frame standing by the stove as he fried eggs. The usual sharp, cold aura around him had softened, replaced by a quiet domestic warmth.

Ariana's dark, glistening eyes followed him closely. Her delicate face still held a faint flush from her fever, making her look both sweet and enchanting.

"Maxwell, I like my eggs a bit crispy," she said, slipping a strawberry into his mouth. "But not too much—otherwise they'll taste bitter."

Maxwell chewed, then glanced at her with dark eyes—no words, but that single look overflowed with indulgence.

A handsome man and a beautiful woman—truly a perfect match.

"What a warm, romantic scene," a voice said behind me. I turned and saw Elias. I'd forgotten—he must have stayed the night due to the storm and Ariana's fever.

"Morning," I said, offering a faint smile. My gaze lingered on the clothes he wore—those I'd given him the night before.

Noticing my look, he raised an eyebrow and smiled. "These fit well. Thank you."

I shook my head. "It's nothing." These clothes had been bought for Maxwell, but he'd never deigned to wear them.

Hearing us, Ariana called out, "Elara, Elias, you're up! Maxwell made eggs—come eat with us!"

Her tone was unmistakably that of the lady of the house.

I gave a soft smile. "No, thank you. I bought bread and milk yesterday—I'll have those. You just recovered; drink more." After all, this was still the home I'd lived in for two years, and the deed bore both my name and Maxwell's.

Even if I were the weakest person alive, I wouldn't allow someone else to occupy my rightful place.