DETACHED || HS ✔️

F O U R

"YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN A FUCKIN' IDIOT, HAROLD."

Liam exclaimed his words through the thin air - thick for the singer - as he continued to dig his fork into the eggs on his plate. Harry barely touched his food, his fork casually cutting the breakfast platter but not bringing it to his lips. His best friend didn't know how he felt about the situation since the singer wasn't eating the eggs he made, and he was one of the best chefs in the bustling state of New York.

Harry shook his head at the words, frowning while keeping his eyes on the plate. "I know that, Li. I just, I don't know. I wish everything could go back to normal."

"But it won't, Harry," Liam clearly states as he shoved in another mouthful of bacon. "You fucked up. Now, you fix it."

"How can I fix everything if she won't let me back in?"

Harry's mind wandered to Olivia in that moment, hoping that his best friend wouldn't reply so soon because he wanted to soak in the times he had with his daughter. She was such a bright child, having her mother's chocolate irises and full lips. She did have the cheekbone structure of her father, though, as well as the dimples. Her father always said that she was a mixture of both, and that was such a beautiful thing.

Harry tuned out the background noise of taxis honking and distant chatter. The only wonderful thing he heard was the giggles of his deceased baby, his eyes easily visioning the smile that had been on her face after Arabella dipped her finger in the cake mix and smeared it across the child's chubby cheek. His eyelids enveloped his eyes for a moment to get a clearer image, remembering how happy his wife was and how alive his daughter was.

Liam watched his best friend with a disappointed look. He knew that Harry tended to do this, especially in the middle of their conversations. He understood that the singer needed to move on from the past, and Liam had told him that several times, easing into the conversation with a quiet voice. But, as always, the husband would fill with frustration and dismiss the conversation immediately.

"You know what to do, mate. For Christ's sake, you're a drunk. Get rid of that, and improve on yourself. You've got to stop living in the past."

While the two best friends were arguing over such a significant conversation, Arabella Styles finally built up the courage to walk into work in a week. The paparazzi had been hounding her, more frequently than ever she would say, and it had scared her. There was too much drama roaming in the air. The people screamed and asked such crude questions that made the woman on the verge of tears, but this time, Arabella wasn't going to back down.

She knew of her husband's infidelity and the death of the child. She had dealt with one for three months and the other for an entire year. Arabella had learned to move on from those typical situations - well, not so typical for some.

Her hand reached for the sunglasses laying atop her head, pulling them down as soon as the flash of cameras began. Her face was void of any emotion, lips pulled into a straight line while her posture was tall. Her other hand gripped the purse tightly, nails digging into the fabric to hold herself back from either breaking down in front of the people of screaming the truth.

Soon enough, after a run-in with another man holding a camera and a rude taxi, she made it to the office. All eyes turned to the source, where her heels clanked loudly against the title while her eyes scanned for one person. The workers easily noticed the bags hanging from under her eyes and the swell of her cheeks, but they failed to see that Arabella Styles was dying on the inside.

"Just the girl I'm looking for," her boss nearly shouted as Arabella winced at the tone.

"I'm twenty-seven-years old, Jack. I think I'm more than a girl now," she joked, a smile taking the place of her frown.

If only it was real.

The blonde man laughed aloud before planting his palms against the desk behind him. He had been waiting for her presence to be know, and even though he was internally frustrated with the woman, he pitied her. Arabella had been through too much, but she really didn't enjoy the emotion.

"I'm glad you're back," he murmured before turning around, shoving the glasses over the bridge of his nose. His hands gathered the papers on his desk while the chair clanked against the ground because of his bottom hitting it.

Arabella stood there in her glory, continuing to ignore the lingering stares. She didn't know how she felt coming back to work. A little nervous, yes, but perhaps embarrassment. She shouldn't have left for a week.

"If it isn't too much, I need you to cover a story. Well, not really a story," Jack mumbled while his eyes remained on the papers before his eyes, turning his body and a page at the same time. "You've got a task is what I would say. People are writing in and asking about the topic of love and heartbreak," her boss's voice cracked at the end because he understood that would be a tough subject to bring up.

Jack could already see the tense stance out of the corner of his eye. He even heard a shaky breath erupt from her lips, her frail hands desperately clutching at her stomach to rub it gently. He took off the glasses, laying them down on his desk before sighing.

"Arabella you don't have to do this-"

"I want to," she declared without hesitation, taking a step forward instantly. Her heart was beating too loud. She needed to do this. "When do you want it done?"

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Jack strained his neck to look up at the roof, hand coming behind his neck to awkwardly scratch it. Arabella's business wasn't any of his, but he still worried about her. This column would do damage. Finally, he gained the courage to tilt his head and make eye contact with her, the depression luring beneath her eyes as he did so.

"I want it in Thursday morning," he declared before the woman nodded, bringing out a small notepad to write down the details and then tucking it back into her purse.

The people of New York City were a wonder with love and heartbreak. From all the celebrities who experienced it at that moment compared to the average citizens, its society needed to read something that would make their mind wander. Of course, Jack knew that the one and only, Arabella Styles, writing the column would create another frenzy since her superstar husband had been cheating on her for the past three months.

Arabella just only hoped that helped her.

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somewhat of a filler chapter, but some things are important in this!

what do you think of Arabella so far?

don't forget to vote and comment!! the comments are slacking and i wanna know how you guys feel about what's happening. thank you again (: