Chapter 129: Together?

Cecilia

I felt something heavy settle in my chest. After everything—finding the diary, confronting Irene, piecing together what had really happened—we were right back where we'd started.

"I should go," I said, standing up. "Before Irene wakes up and has another breakdown."

Daniel stood too, his expression troubled. "Ceci, be careful. I mean it. If my aunt really believes Arthur is dangerous, if she's convinced you're both coming for her—"

"I'll be careful," I promised. "And Daniel? Thank you. For everything. For investigating, for believing me, for—" I gestured vaguely. "For taking a beating from Rex Reynolds because you were trying to help."

He touched his still-bruised face with a rueful smile. "Yeah, well. That's what happens when you try to photograph people without permission at charity galas. Lesson learned."

We made our way back downstairs, where Samuel was waiting by the front door with obvious relief that we were leaving.

"Please give Mrs. Winston our regards," Daniel said formally. "And let her know I'll check on her tomorrow."

"Of course, Mr. Brahmore." Charles opened the door for us. "And Miss Locke—" He paused, seeming to struggle with something. "I hope you know that not everyone in this household shares Mrs. Winston's... opinions about you."

It was the closest thing to an apology I was likely to get from the Winston family butler, and I found myself oddly touched by it.

"Thank you, Samuel," I said quietly.

Daniel drove me back to Black Peak Estate in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. When we finally pulled up to the gates, he turned to me with that same troubled expression he'd been wearing since we left his aunt's house.

"I'm going to keep digging," he said. "Into the surveillance cameras, into the Grey family connection, into anything that might give us a lead. I know it seems hopeless right now, but—"

"Thank you," I interrupted. "Really. I know this has been... a lot. And you didn't have to get involved, didn't have to risk pissing off your family by investigating them."

"Justice is justice," Daniel said simply. "Doesn't matter if it's family or strangers. Wrong is wrong."

I watched him drive away, then made my way up to the house, my mind still spinning with everything that had happened.

Arthur was in his study when I found him, bent over some paperwork, but he looked up the moment I walked in, his expression immediately shifting to concern.

"Ceci." He stood, crossing to me in three long strides. "Where have you been? I was getting worried."

"I went to see your mother," I said, and watched his whole body go rigid.

"You what?"

"I went to confront her about—" I stopped, suddenly unsure how much to tell him. About the diary, about my mother's confession, about Irene's breakdown.

About the accusations she'd made about Arthur himself.

"About what?" Arthur's voice had gone very quiet, very controlled in that way that meant he was working hard to keep his emotions in check.

I made a decision.

"About what she did," I said simply. "About how she manipulated my mother, about the engagement party."

"And?" Arthur's hands had come to rest on my shoulders, his grip gentle but firm. "What happened?"

"She had a complete breakdown," I admitted. "Started screaming about demons and destruction and—" I stopped, choosing my words carefully. "She's terrified, Arthur. Genuinely, deeply terrified of something."

I didn't say of you. Didn't voice Irene's accusations about Arthur having my mother killed. Because I didn't believe them, and I wasn't going to let his own mother's paranoid delusions plant seeds of doubt in my mind.

Arthur's expression darkened. "She should be afraid. After what she did to you—"

"I know." I reached up to cup his face. "But Arthur, we still don't have proof. I found a diary at the old family home. The diary—my mother's diary, where she wrote about Irene's plan—it's not enough. It wouldn't hold up in court."

"I don't care about court," Arthur said, his voice dropping to something dangerous. "I care about making sure my mother understands that what she did has consequences. That she can't just—"

"Arthur." I pressed my fingers to his lips, stopping him. "Let it go. For now. Your mother is locked in her room, too scared to even come out. That's punishment enough, at least for the moment."

He looked at me for a long moment, and I could see the war playing out behind his eyes.

"Fine," he said finally. "But if she tries anything else, if she so much as looks at you wrong—"

"Then we'll deal with it," I promised. "Together."

He pulled me against his chest, holding me tight, and I let myself relax into his warmth, feeling some of the tension from the afternoon finally start to drain away.

"Come on," Arthur said finally, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Let's get dinner. You've had a long day."

That night, I fell asleep in Arthur's arms, feeling safe and loved and like maybe, just maybe, we could actually move past all of this. Like maybe Irene's breakdown meant she'd finally back off, finally leave us alone to build our life together.

I should have known better.

I woke to the sensation of lips brushing against mine, soft and warm, trailing deliberate kisses from the corner of my mouth down to the sensitive skin of my jaw.

My eyes fluttered open to find Arthur hovering over me, his hair still slightly damp from the shower, the crisp white dress shirt of his tailored suit already unbuttoned at the collar.

"Arthur," I murmured sweetly, my voice still thick with sleep, a genuine smile tugging at my lips.

He smiled back, a slow, incredibly sexy smirk that instantly sent a rush of heat straight to my core. "Morning, baby," he whispered, his breath ghosting over my skin. "I have some bad news."

Something in his tone made me wake up fully, my brow furrowing as my hand dropped to his chest. "What's wrong?" I asked, feeling a sudden spike of anxiety.

"Ethan just called," he said, pressing another lingering kiss to my forehead while his fingers gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "The new tech facility in California finally got approval, which means construction starts Monday, and I need to fly out today."

My stomach dropped, an immediate wave of reluctance washing over me at the thought of him leaving. "Today? Like, right now?"