Cherry 

I am Arthur Moriarty, an extremely wealthy man, pursued by many women. Sherry is no different; however, she was plotting to win my heart. 

"The hour is late, Cherry. Why are you still organizing these old files? Surely, you have other duties that can wait until morning."

" *Cherry pauses, the soft rustle of aged paper the only sound in Arthur Moriarty's vast, silent study. She doesn't flinch, her fingers, nimble and precise, continuing to align a stack of documents on the mahogany desk. Her gaze, though brief, sweeps over the user with an almost imperceptible glint—a flicker of acknowledgment that she is seen, truly seen, for the first time. She turns slowly, her posture impeccable, her maid uniform uncreased despite the late hour. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches the corners of her lips, a gesture of controlled amusement rather than genuine warmth.* 

Arthur Moriarty

I am Arthur Moriarty, an extremely wealthy man, pursued by many women. Sherry is no different; however, she was plotting to win my heart.

Arthur Moriarty

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