Chapter 13

Cecilia

"I want YOU. Exactly as you are. The woman who hacks my company, who wears a gun to social events, who looks at me like she wants to either kill me or kiss me."

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it. "Then why—"

"Because I'm a coward." The admission seemed to cost him. His hand dropped away, and he stepped back. "Because 4 years ago, I convinced myself that being your guardian meant I had no right to want you the way I do."

"You sent me away." The words tasted bitter. "You called it a mistake."

"I lied." He pulled out his phone with shaking hands, swiping through screens until he found what he was looking for. "Look."

He handed me the phone. The screen showed a news article from 4 years ago: Winston Heir's Ward in Scandalous Affair? Sources Claim Inappropriate Relationship.

Below it were screenshots of forum posts, social media threads, all vicious: Gold-digging orphan seduces guardian... She's been planning this since she was a teenager... Winston family should've left her in foster care...

There were photos too—blurry shots of me entering Arthur's bedroom that night I'd been drunk. Someone had been watching. Waiting.

"These showed up everywhere that morning," Arthur said quietly. "Someone was watching you, Cecilia. Watching us. They timed it perfectly—right after we... crossed the line."

I stared at the phone, my stomach churning. "You never told me."

"Because I sent you away before you could see them." His voice was rough. "I spent a year tracking down every source, every server, every bastard who spread those lies. I burned through favors, hired teams, even..."

He paused. "Did things I'm not proud of."

"But you never brought me back." I looked up at him. "You cleaned it up and still left me."

"Because I'm a fucking coward," he repeated, and the self-loathing in his voice was palpable.

"I told myself you deserved better. Someone who didn't... violate your father's trust. Someone who didn't see you on my desk and want to—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "I convinced myself that wanting you made me dirty."

Something cracked in my chest. "Arthur—"

"I thought distance would kill it," he continued, the words pouring out now like a dam had broken.

"That two years would be enough to make me stop... stop dreaming about you. Stop reaching for my phone at three AM just to see if you'd called. Stop—" His voice broke. "Stop feeling like I couldn't fucking breathe without you."

Tears burned my eyes. "You don’t want to marry me."

"I lied." He moved closer again, slowly, like I was a wild animal he might spook.

"You're the ONLY thing I want, Cecilia. I want someone who challenges me, who drives me insane, who makes me lose control. I want a wife who'll whisper code in her sleep. Who looks at me like she owns me."

"You said—"

"I know what I said." His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing away tears I didn't realize were falling.

"And it was bullshit. I was trying to hurt you because you hurt me. Because that morning in my office, you kissed me like you still wanted me, then walked away like I meant nothing."

"You broke my heart," I whispered. "4 years ago, you ripped it out and—"

"I know." His forehead dropped to mine. "I know, baby. And I'd spend every day for the rest of my life making it up to you if you'd let me."

"I'm still so fucking angry at you."

"Good." His thumb traced my lower lip. "Be angry. Hate me. Just don't... don't leave again. I can't—" His voice roughened. "I can't do another 4 years without you."

I should've pushed him away. Should've held onto my anger, my hurt, my carefully constructed walls.

Instead, I grabbed his shirt—that blood-spattered white shirt—and pulled him down to kiss me.

He froze for a heartbeat. Then he groaned into my mouth, hands sliding into my hair as he kissed me back with two years of desperation.

It wasn't gentle. It was raw and messy and tasted like salt and regret and something that felt dangerously like hope.

When we finally broke apart, both gasping, his eyes were dark with want and something softer. Vulnerable.

"I'm still mad at you," I managed.

"I know." He pressed his lips to my forehead. "And I still need to know what you're investigating. About your father."

That brought me back to reality. I pulled away slightly, gesturing to my laptop.

"There's a file. In your company's system. About Dad and your father's 'partnership termination.' I was trying to crack it when—" I glanced at the groaning men on the ground. "When they showed up."

Arthur's expression hardened. "Show me."

I hesitated. "If there's something in there about your father—"

"Then we'll deal with it." His jaw set in that stubborn line I knew too well. "Together. No more secrets."

Something in his voice—the certainty, the solidarity—made the last of my walls crack. I nodded and reopened my laptop.

We were bent over the screen, Arthur's arm around my shoulders as I navigated through encrypted folders, when my Ghost phone—Max's gift—buzzed with an alert.

EMERGENCY: Remote data wipe detected. Origin: Winston Corp server room. Target: All files accessed in last 3 hours.

"Shit." My fingers flew across the keyboard. "Someone knows I was in the system. They're erasing evidence."

Arthur leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Can you stop it?"

"No need." I pulled up a hidden directory "I always keep copies."

His laugh was low and admiring. "That's my girl."

My heart did a stupid little flip at the possessive phrase. "Don't get cocky. We still need to figure out who—"

The Ghost phone buzzed again. This time, the alert made my blood run cold:

WARNING: Active trace on your location. Multiple vehicles approaching. ETA: 4 minutes.

Arthur saw it too. His arm tightened around me. "We need to go. Now."

"But the files—"

"Are worthless if you're dead." He was already packing up my equipment, moving with military precision. "My car's two blocks north. Can you run in those shoes?"

I looked down at my boots—practical, thank God. "Yeah."

"Good." He grabbed my hand, lacing our fingers together in a way that felt both protective and possessive. "Stay close to me."

As we ran through the maze of shipping containers, I couldn't help but think: This is insane. I'm running from whoever wanted Dad dead, with the man who broke my heart, holding hands like we're in some fucked-up action movie.

But when Arthur pulled me against him at a corner, checking for threats before we moved, his body shielding mine from potential danger, I realized something:

For the first time in 4 years, I didn't feel alone.