Chapter 122: The Real Reason

Cecilia

"You're going to stay away from her," Max said to Rex, his voice hard. "From now on, if you see Alice at an event, you turn around and walk the other way. Understood?"

"Understood," Rex said, and this time he actually sounded like he meant it.

Carter stepped forward then, placing himself between the two brothers with practiced ease. "Alright," he said, his voice carrying that particular blend of authority and charm that made people listen.

"I think we've all had enough excitement for one evening. Rex, I suggest you take your companion and go home. Get some ice for that nose, maybe reconsider your life choices."

Rex nodded, his wolf pressing close to his side as he turned to leave without another word.

"Let's go home," Arthur murmured into my hair. "You've had enough for one night."

"We all have," Max agreed, still holding Alice close. "Carter, you good here?"

"I'm good," Carter confirmed. "I'll smooth things over with the gala organizers, make sure this doesn't turn into some kind of scandal. You all just go home and rest."

As we made our way back through the ballroom, I was vaguely aware of people staring at us as we passed—whispers following in our wake about the altercation by the pool, about Rex Reynolds and his wolf, about Daniel Brahmore being escorted out by security.

But I kept my head up, my hand firmly in Arthur's, and refused to let their stares affect me.

When we finally got back to Black Peak Estate, I was so exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open. Arthur helped me out of my dress, ran me a quick bath, and tucked me into bed with a tenderness that made my chest ache.

I fell asleep almost immediately, wrapped in his arms, thinking the whole mess of the evening was finally over.

I was wrong.

The morning sun was barely up when Mrs. Chen knocked softly on the bedroom door, her voice careful and apologetic through the wood.

"Miss Locke? I'm so sorry to disturb you, but there's a young man here to see you. Mr. Daniel Brahmore. He says it's urgent."

I sat up slowly, careful not to wake Arthur, who was still sleeping beside me with one arm draped across my waist.

He's probably here to thank me, I thought, sliding carefully out of bed and reaching for my robe. Or maybe to apologize for causing such a scene.

But something about the way Mrs. Chen had said "urgent" made my stomach tighten with unease.

I pulled on the robe and padded quietly out of the bedroom, leaving Arthur to sleep. He'd been up late dealing with the fallout from the gala, making calls to ensure the incident wouldn't blow up into some kind of media circus.

When I reached the entrance hall, Daniel was standing near the windows, his back to me as he looked out at the ocean. Even from behind, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were shoved deep in his pockets like he was trying to keep them from shaking.

He turned when he heard my footsteps, and I got a good look at his face in the morning light. His nose was swollen and purple, a cut on his lip held together with butterfly bandages, and one eye was ringed with a bruise that would probably get worse before it got better.

"Daniel," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "This is a surprise."

"Miss Locke." He took a step forward, then seemed to think better of it and stayed where he was. "I'm sorry to show up unannounced like this. I know it's early, and after everything that happened last night, you probably don't want to see me. But I needed to talk to you. It's important."

I studied him for a moment, trying to read his expression. He looked nervous, yes, but also determined in a way that made me think this wasn't just about thanking me for intervening with Rex.

"Alright," I said finally, gesturing to the sitting area near the windows. "Let's talk."

We sat down across from each other, and for a moment neither of us spoke. Daniel kept glancing at the doorway like he was worried someone might walk in, and I found myself doing the same, half-expecting Arthur to appear and demand to know what was going on.

"First," Daniel said, breaking the silence, "I want to thank you. For last night. For stepping in when Rex was—" He touched his swollen nose gingerly. "If you hadn't been there, I think he might have actually killed me."

"You don't need to thank me," I said. "You're Arthur's cousin. Of course I was going to help."

"Still." His voice was quiet, sincere. "Thank you."

I nodded, waiting for him to get to the real reason he was here. Because I was pretty sure this wasn't just a thank-you visit.

Daniel took a breath, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. "The thing is, Miss Locke—Cecilia—I need to explain something about last night. About why I was taking photos."

My stomach tightened. "Okay."

"I wasn't just randomly photographing people," he said, the words coming out in a rush like he'd been holding them in too long. "I was there specifically to photograph someone. My aunt. Irene Winston."

I felt my whole body go still. "Arthur's mother?"

"Yes." Daniel leaned forward, his eyes intense. "I received intel that she was going to be at the gala. I thought if I could get photos of her, document her movements, maybe catch her meeting with someone suspicious—"

He stopped, seeming to realize he was getting ahead of himself. "But she never showed up. So I started taking pictures of the venue instead, just to have something to show for the evening. And then that guy with the wolf walked into frame, and—well, you know the rest."

"Why?" The question came out sharper than I intended. "Why were you trying to photograph Arthur's mother?"

Daniel's expression shifted into something darker, more serious. "Because I think she's involved in your mother's death."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and impossible.

I forced my face to stay neutral, forced my voice to come out steady despite the way my heart was suddenly pounding. "My mother committed suicide. That's what the police said."

"I know what the police said." Daniel's voice was quiet but firm. "And I don't believe it."

I stared at him, my mind racing. This was dangerous territory—not just because of what he was implying about Irene, but because if I showed too much interest, too much knowledge, it might reveal that I knew more than I should about what had really happened that night.

"Daniel," I said carefully, "I appreciate your concern, but I don't understand why you think there's anything suspicious about my mother's death. The police investigated. They said it was suicide. Why would you doubt that?"

He looked at me for a long moment, and I could see him weighing something, trying to decide how much to tell me.

"Because I'm good at this," he said finally. "At investigating, at seeing patterns that other people miss. And everything about your mother's death—the timing, the circumstances—it doesn't add up."

"What do you mean?" I kept my voice neutral, curious but not too curious.