The atmosphere inside the room was cold and silent, despite the pleasant weather outside. Birds chirped and flowers bloomed, but the air in the room was heavy with tension.
Beatrice and Arthur sat in awkward silence, the weight of betrayal hanging in the air.
As a caring brother, Arthur longed to comfort Beatrice, but her anger and gloominess made him hesitant. He knew this wasn't the first time she had been cheated on, but witnessing her pain was still heart-wrenching.
Adding to the pain was the realization that Beatrice was not Gilbert's true lover but merely his paramour. It intensified her sense of pathos, making her feel even more pitiable than ever before.
Confusion consumed her. How should she react? Should she laugh at the irony of playing a role all this time? Should she cry over the betrayal? Should she channel her anger at being deceived and manipulated? She was lost, unsure of what path to take.
