Sweet Love 2x: Miss Ruthless CEO for our Superstar Uncle-Chapter 167: That Much I Noticed

Arianne sat alone in the sitting room, the standing lamp pooling light around her. A tablet rested on the table in front of her, its screen dark. She had picked it up once or twice since returning from the mall, but each time her attention drifted before she managed to read anything.

The house had settled after the twins went to sleep.

Lily had gone down fast after dinner, the day wearing her out before she even finished describing the sweaters she had seen at the mall. Leo had taken longer. He had stayed close beside Arianne while Franz was away, following her from the kitchen to the sitting room and then upstairs again before finally settling beneath his blankets.

Even after he fell asleep, his small hand had remained curled around the sleeve of her sweater for several minutes.

Arianne leaned back against the couch.

Outside the tall windows, snow continued falling across the estate grounds. The branches of the garden trees had begun gathering a thin white coating that caught the distant lights near the gate.

She had not realized how long she had been sitting there.

The front door opened sometime later.

The sound barely carried into the sitting room, but it was enough. Footsteps crossed the marble foyer before pausing near the coat stand.

Franz stepped inside a moment later.

He had returned later than usual. The filming schedule and promotional commitments for his new series had begun overlapping more frequently, leaving him with longer periods away from home. His coat was dusted with snow when he removed it and placed it over the back of the chair near the entrance.

The house felt unusually calm.

Franz loosened the knot of his scarf as he moved toward the sitting room, his attention moving toward the low light that remained on.

That was when he saw her.

Arianne sat in the armchair near the window, her posture relaxed but uncommonly motionless. Her attention seemed fixed somewhere beyond the glass, though the darkness outside revealed little beyond the dim reflection of the room itself.

Franz paused.

She hadn’t noticed him.

That, more than anything, caught his attention. Arianne rarely allowed her surroundings to fade from her awareness so completely. Even when she appeared deep in thought, she usually noticed the quietest movement nearby.

Tonight she hadn’t.

Franz stepped into the room.

"Aria."

The sound of his voice broke the silence.

She turned, as if returning from somewhere far away.

"You’re back."

Franz moved closer, stopping beside the chair. He rested one hand against the back of it, studying her expression.

"You didn’t hear me come in."

"I was thinking."

"That much I noticed."

His tone carried a dry edge, though his attention stayed on her.

"What happened?"

Arianne looked back toward the window before answering.

"We ran into Diana today."

Franz’s hand went motionless against the chair.

He felt the muscles along his jaw tighten before he could stop them. Five years since that woman had helped tear Arianne’s life apart, and the name landed like a physical weight in his chest. He forced his hand to relax against the chair, deliberately, so she wouldn’t see it.

"At the mall," she added. "Their son was with her."

He exhaled. "I suppose Montclair isn’t large enough for permanent avoidance."

"No."

Franz sat next to her on the couch.

"How did it go?"

"About as expected."

Arianne’s gaze dropped to the table before returning to him.

"She greeted me first. It would have looked strange if she hadn’t."

"And the twins?"

"They behaved exactly like themselves."

Something close to amusement moved through Franz’s expression.

"I assume Lily had something to say."

"She called me Mommy."

Franz blinked once.

"In front of Diana?"

"Yes."

He leaned back, the corner of his mouth lifting almost imperceptibly. Lily was too perceptive for her age. She was becoming more like Alex in that department—the kind of instinct that didn’t announce itself, just acted.

"That must have been an interesting moment," he said.

"It was."

Arianne’s voice remained calm, though the memory of the encounter sat beneath the words.

Franz watched her for a moment before speaking again.

"What did you feel when you saw her?"

The question came without pressure.

Arianne didn’t answer immediately.

Her gaze moved toward the window. Snow continued falling beyond the glass, the flakes catching the light of the room before disappearing into the dark.

"For a moment," she said, "I remembered how much I used to hate her."

Franz remained silent. Arianne rarely spoke this way—not out of reserve, but because she had long ago learned to carry most things without narrating them.

"The first year after I left Montclair was the worst. I thought about Dominic and Diana more often than I wanted to admit. Every time the memory surfaced, it felt like reopening something that hadn’t healed yet."

Her fingers rested against the arm of the couch.

"At the time I believed the anger would disappear eventually. But anger has a habit of staying longer than expected."

Franz listened without interrupting.

"I imagined confronting them more than once. Not publicly. Just enough to remind them what they had done."

Her voice remained steady.

"But the anger eventually changed shape."

"How?" Franz asked.

"It became distant."

Arianne turned toward him.

"I resent them. That part hasn’t vanished. Some things leave marks whether we want them to or not."

Franz nodded once.

"But resentment is different from revenge."

"You have no interest in retaliation."

"None."

Her gaze returned to him.

"Unless they force the issue."

Franz studied her for a moment before replying.

"I doubt Diana expected to see you today."

"She didn’t."

"And yet she approached anyway."

"She had to. Walking away would have been more noticeable."

Franz leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees.

"Did seeing Nicholas bother you?"

Arianne considered the question.

"For a second. He has Dominic’s eyes. Not sentiment—just observation."

Franz didn’t respond immediately.

"But he’s a child. And the child has done nothing wrong," Arianne added.

"No."

The room went unspoken between them for a moment.

Franz reached across the small space between them and rested his hand over hers.

"You handled it well."

Arianne looked down at their hands.

"I stood there and said very little," she admitted.

"Sometimes that’s the most effective approach."

"She expected a reaction. You gave her none."

Arianne leaned back. "She looked frightened for a moment."

"I’m not surprised."

Franz’s fingers pressed around her hand.

"Diana Reid spent years hearing comparisons between you. Seeing you again probably reminded her that those comparisons never completely disappeared."

Arianne said nothing.

Outside the window the snowfall had grown heavier. White shapes drifted through the air before settling along the dark branches of the garden trees.

"Come here."

Arianne moved closer. Franz’s arm settled around her waist and drew her against his side. She leaned into him without resistance, her head tilting until it rested against his shoulder. He smelled like cold air and whatever he had worn for the interview—something clean, already half-faded. She could feel his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt, steady and unhurried.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Then Franz lowered his head until his lips touched the crown of her hair. Not a question. Not pressure. Just contact—the kind that asked nothing back.

Arianne didn’t move away.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Let the warmth of him settle around her. Then she opened them again, her gaze returning to the window and the snow beyond it, and the particular calm that came after a day that had taken more than she’d expected to give.

She stayed there beside him, her shoulder against his chest.

Franz’s gaze drifted over the dark garden beyond the glass, though his thoughts had already moved elsewhere.

Five years.

The number had settled into him without announcement.

Five years ago, he had received an invitation to the engagement of Arianne and Dominic. At the time, he had been moving constantly between film projects and promotional commitments, one city into the next, the schedule tightly packed. The invitation had arrived during one of those trips.

He had declined.

The decision had seemed reasonable at the time. The event had nothing to do with him. He had sent his apologies and continued with the schedule, telling himself it was distance and logistics, not the thing he didn’t allow himself to name.

He looked down at Arianne beside him.

If he had accepted that invitation, he might have seen her that night. He might have been there when everything fell apart.

Perhaps the evening would have unfolded differently. Perhaps she would not have left Montclair alone.

Perhaps those years of silence and distance would never have happened at all.

He didn’t know. He had learned not to hold that kind of thinking too long—the accounting of things undone, the versions of events that played out only in retrospect. It wasn’t useful, and it wasn’t the version of the past he could change.

What he had now was what he had been patient enough to reach.

Her weight against his shoulder. Her hand beneath his. The particular way she had leaned into him without announcement, without making it a moment—just settled there, as if his side were a place she had always known the coordinates to.

The house was around them. The twins were asleep upstairs. The snow was falling outside and the night had closed in and none of it required anything from either of them except to remain.

He would not waste it on what he should have done.

Franz rested his hand against Arianne’s shoulder, his thumb moving against the fabric of her sleeve.

Arianne felt the change in him. His breathing altered. His hand tightened on her shoulder, just for a moment. She didn’t ask what he was thinking. She pressed closer, her shoulder against his chest, and let him feel her there.

Outside, the snow continued falling over the Rochefort estate.

Inside the house, the lights stayed low while the twins slept upstairs and the night settled deeper around them.

Franz leaned his forehead against the top of Arianne’s head.

Neither of them spoke.