— July 2002, Geneva —

Arthur arrived at the Global Science and Innovation Conference discreetly, slipping into one of the back rows just as A.I.M.’s presentation began. He had no interest in the dozens of flashy tech showcases filling the schedule—he’d come for one reason only.

Eileen stepped up to the presentation screen.

Arthur’s heart actually skipped.

She looked confident, radiant in her professionalism. Her auburn hair was tied neatly back, her business suit crisp yet comfortable, as if made for her. When she began speaking, her soft Scottish lilt carried warmth that filled the otherwise sterile conference hall.

“Good afternoon,” she began. “I’m Eileen MacEacharn, Senior Manager at A.I.M., and I’m thrilled to share what we’ve accomplished.”

She didn’t oversell. Didn’t chase hype. Instead, she spoke with measured honesty—clear, grounded, real. She discussed progress made, the hurdles ahead, the realistic timelines they were working with. Then she queued a short video.

On screen, people described what the prototypes meant to them—wheelchair users laughing as they moved without strain, a man with a new prosthetic brushing his daughter’s hair, a woman testing a hearing aid and tearing up as she heard her son’s voice clearly for the first time.

Eileen’s voice softened. “We measure success differently at A.I.M. Not in patents filed or prototypes completed—but in lives changed, dignity restored, and potential unlocked.” She smiled gently. “We still have years of work ahead. But we’re on the right path.”

For a heartbeat, the room was silent. Then someone started clapping—and the applause spread until the hall was filled with it.

Arthur sat quietly in the shadows, heart full in a way he hadn’t known was possible.

When the session ended and investors crowded around the stage, he stayed in his seat, debating whether to slip away unseen.

“Arthur?”

He looked up. Eileen stood a few feet away, recognition dawning on her face.

“It is you!” She moved closer, that same unguarded warmth in her expression. “From Scotland! With Fawkes!”

“Hello, Eileen.”

“What are you doing here? Is your company part of the conference?”

“No,” he said, standing. “I came to see the innovations being presented.” He nodded toward the empty stage. “Your presentation was excellent. A.I.M. has come a long way.”

“Thank you!” she said, her voice bright with pride. “I love what our engineers are building. I can’t wait for the day we see the smiles on people’s faces when these products change their lives.”

“So you don’t regret studying business instead of ecology?”

“Not for a second,” she said, smiling. “This is where I’m meant to be.”

A brief pause followed—not awkward, but comfortable.

“Is this your first time in Geneva?” Eileen asked.

“Yes.”

“Mine too! A friend gave me a list of things to see. Would you like to join me? We could do another sightseeing trip—like Scotland.”

Arthur’s lips curved faintly. “Of course. You were an excellent guide last time.”

“Brilliant!” Her eyes lit up. “There’s this clock museum I’ve been dying to visit. And the lake—apparently freezing this time of year, but the view’s spectacular.”

“Shouldn’t you stay and network with the others?”

“I can do that at the next conference,” she said lightly. “This feels more important.”

Arthur didn’t argue.

They walked together through Geneva’s clean, sunlit streets, where late afternoon light stretched across cobblestones and tram rails. The air was crisp and smelled faintly of snow. Eileen walked with her hands in her coat pockets, breath misting as she talked, words curling into the cold like small clouds.

“You know,” she said after a quiet moment, “I never thought I’d see you again after Scotland. I kept going back to that clearing for weeks.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you the reason why I left so abruptly. Maybe someday I can.”

“Alright.” She accepted it without pushing.

And so they wandered—through museums and bookshops, along the lake’s silver edge, talking about everything and nothing.

As dusk fell, Eileen smiled. “Today was wonderful. Same time tomorrow? There’s a botanical garden I haven’t seen yet.”

“Perhaps.”

Her expression shifted knowingly. “Is this the same ‘perhaps’ where you never came back?”

Arthur met her gaze. “No. I’ll be there.”

And he was.

They spent another day together—strolling through the gardens, lunching at a quiet café, laughing about trivial things, sharing stories that somehow always seemed to matter.

When it was time for Eileen to return to Florida, they stood outside her hotel as the evening wind picked up.

“I should go,” she said. “Early flight tomorrow.”

“Safe travels.”

“We should keep in touch,” she said, a little shyly. “If you’d like to.”

Arthur pulled out his phone. “Give me your number.”

She smiled and did.

“I’ll be in Florida soon for business,” he added. “Perhaps we could meet then.”

“I’d like that.”

—-

Back in the States, Eileen threw herself into work with renewed energy.

The accessibility division flourished under her guidance. In October, Killian called her into his office.

“I’m promoting you to Vice President of Accessibility Technology,” he announced. “Effective immediately. You’ve more than earned it.”

Her first board meeting as VP came two weeks later—and that’s when she noticed something peculiar. A.I.M. had only one major investor. The Phoenix Group held the majority stake, with Killian owning a minority share.

After the meeting, curiosity got the better of her. She looked up the company.

Phoenix Group. Headquarters: London. CEO: Daniel Wang. Founder: Arthur Hayes.

Arthur Hayes.

She stared at the name, realization dawning like a slow sunrise.

The next morning, she called him.

“Eileen,” Arthur answered immediately.

“We should talk,” she said. “Are you in Florida?”

“I can be. Tomorrow?”

“There’s a coffee shop near A.I.M.—Fletcher Street. Ten a.m.?”

“I’ll be there.”

—

Arthur arrived precisely on time. Eileen was already seated in a corner booth, two cups of terrible coffee waiting.

“So,” she said as he sat down. “Arthur Hayes. Founder of Phoenix Group. A.I.M.’s primary investor.”

“Yes.”

“When were you planning to mention that?”

“I wasn’t hiding it. I just don’t lead with credentials.”

Eileen laughed despite herself. “No, you don’t. ‘Arthur from London, interested in rare birds.’ Technically true. Also technically the man who funds my entire company.”

“Does it matter?”

“It might,” she said, though her tone was gentle. “Tell me honestly—did you get me this job?”

“No.” His answer was immediate and firm. “You applied through normal channels. You interviewed on your own merit. You were hired because you impressed them. I reviewed your file after you were hired, not before.”

“But I didn’t even apply,” she said, frowning. “I didn’t know A.I.M. was hiring until I got the offer. I thought it was a mistake.”

Arthur frowned. “Someone must have submitted your resume on your behalf.”

“Maybe one of my friends from Cambridge,” Eileen mused. “A few of them knew I was looking for positions in accessibility technology. Someone probably saw the posting and put my name forward without telling me.”

Arthur nodded. It sounded plausible enough.

“So you really didn’t—?”

“I really didn’t,” he said simply. “Your success at A.I.M. is yours alone, Eileen. I may have encouraged Killian to expand the division, but you built its heart.”

Eileen studied him, then smiled with visible relief. “Good. I needed to be sure.”

“Are we alright?” Arthur asked.

“We’re okay,” she confirmed. “Though you really should work on your introduction skills. ‘Just Arthur’ leaves out some fairly relevant details.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

She smiled. “Good. Now, since we’re being honest—tell me more about yourself. About Phoenix Group, about your research, about everything you’ve been mysteriously vague about. And no more half-answers this time.”

—

The coffee meeting stretched into lunch. Lunch turned into a walk along the waterfront. The walk turned into dinner.

By the time they parted that evening, something unspoken but undeniable had shifted between them.

The following Saturday, Arthur appeared at the same café unannounced. Eileen looked up from her paperwork and smiled as though she’d been expecting him.

“Terrible coffee?” she asked.

“Absolutely terrible,” he agreed, sitting down.

It became their ritual.

— November 2002 – October 2003 —

Their relationship unfolded quietly, naturally. No dramatic declarations, just the steady, certain rhythm of two people who fit.

In December, Arthur showed her magic.

He’d faced gods and monsters with less nervousness. But Eileen’s reaction wasn’t fear—it was wonder.

“This is incredible,” she whispered, eyes wide as flames danced above his palm. “And it explains so much about you.”

“You’re not afraid?”

“Of you? Never. Of the world you’re showing me? Maybe a little. But mostly—I’m amazed.”

That same night, Eileen met Winky.

When the house-elf appeared in her true form Eileen gasped softly. “Oh my goodness, you’re wonderful!”

She knelt immediately, meeting Winky’s gaze. “Thank you for taking care of Arthur all these years.”

Winky’s eyes grew suspiciously bright. “Winky likes Mistress Eileen very much.”

From that moment, Winky adored her.

Eileen asked endless questions about magic, about Arthur’s past, about everything he’d hidden—and accepted all of it. Not because it impressed her, but because it was him.

—

Eileen loved exploring—new cities, new foods, new stories—and he followed her into every adventure. With her beside him, even the mundane felt magical. People adored her everywhere they went, and through her, Arthur found himself welcomed too. Leaving always meant tearful goodbyes and new promises to visit. He sometimes wondered how many friends she’d accumulated around the world. That was simply who she was—and he loved her for it.

When they visited magical places, even magical creatures were drawn to her. Bowtruckles would peek from their trees to watch her pass. Nifflers abandoned their treasure hunts to follow her footsteps. Once, in a hidden grove in Wales, a unicorn had approached and rested its head against her shoulder—something that left even Arthur speechless.

He’d run every examination he could think of, searching for an explanation. But every test came back the same: she was just an ordinary human. No magical core, no hidden lineage, no ancient blessing. Whatever drew these creatures to her remained a mystery he couldn’t solve. Perhaps some people simply carried a light that even magic recognized.

—

In June 2003, Arthur brought her back to Scotland—to the same clearing where they’d first met. There, with Fawkes as the only witness, he proposed.

She said yes.

They set the date for October.

—

The wedding was small but perfect—held at a quiet estate in the Scottish Highlands, a seamless blend of the magical and the mundane.

Arthur’s side was filled with old friends. Sirius attended with Amelia Bones, both impossibly happy. Harry and Susan sat together, grinning through the entire ceremony. Daniel Wang came with his wife, proud beyond words. Even Nick Fury showed up with Varra, looking deeply uncomfortable in formalwear but refusing to leave early.

Aurora watched from the front row, tears streaming as the boy she’d once guarded finally found peace. Beside her, Madam Pomfrey sat with the Sorting Hat on a chair between them, as Arthur had specifically requested.

Carol Danvers attended, as did Monica and Maria Rambeau. Ariadne looked breathtaking in formal attire. Even the Ancient One appeared briefly, offering quiet congratulations before vanishing as suddenly as she’d arrived.

Eileen’s side was no less joyful—her parents beaming, her brother wide-eyed, friends from Cambridge mingling awkwardly but cheerfully with robed wizards.

“Take care of our girl,” her father said softly during the reception.

“I will,” Arthur promised. “Always.”

As they stood together surrounded by laughter and light, Arthur felt something he hadn’t in years.

He wasn’t surviving anymore. He wasn’t preparing for the next battle or building the next safeguard.

He was living. Truly living.

For the first time in his long, strange life—Arthur Hayes was completely, genuinely happy.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep