Chapter 149: Become A Detective

Cecilia

Harold had barely left when there was another knock at the door. I thought to myself, I'm sick and need rest!

Still, I called out, "Come in." And the door opened to reveal Daniel.

He looked terrible. His face was a patchwork of bruises and stitches, one eye still swollen nearly shut, and he moved with the careful, shuffling gait of someone whose entire body was one massive bruise.

"Cecilia," he said, his voice rough and slightly slurred from the swelling in his jaw. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault—I should never have—"

"Don't," I interrupted, holding up a hand to stop him. "Daniel, you were trying to help me. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I did though," he insisted, moving closer to the bed with obvious effort. His good eye was bright with unshed tears, his voice cracking with emotion.

"After I dropped you off at Black Peak that day, I couldn't stop thinking about the case. About your mother, about all the unanswered questions. So I went back to that old house."

He let out a bitter laugh that turned into a wince of pain. "Instead I got caught, then—" He stopped, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "Then they took my phone and found you."

"Daniel," I said gently, seeing the way his hands were shaking, the way his breathing had gone shallow and rapid. "You don't have to talk about it. Not now. Maybe not ever if you don't want to."

"But because I was stupid and reckless, you ended up in danger," he continued, the words tumbling out like he'd been holding them in and couldn't contain them anymore. "You had to risk your life to save me, had to walk into that nightmare place and—god, Cecilia, you could have died. You almost did die. And it would have been my fault."

Beside me, I heard Arthur make a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a growl, his voice dripping with barely concealed disdain. "Well, at least you're self-aware enough to recognize your own stupidity. That's something, I suppose."

"Arthur," I said sharply, shooting him a warning look that he completely ignored.

"What?" Arthur's tone was pure acid, his dark eyes fixed on Daniel with an intensity that made the younger man take an instinctive step backward.

"He just admitted he went back to investigate on his own, got himself captured, and put you in a position where you felt obligated to mount a rescue operation that nearly got you killed. Sounds pretty stupid to me."

"Stop it," I said firmly, squeezing Arthur's hand hard enough that he had to look at me instead of continuing to glare daggers at Daniel. "He's apologizing."

Arthur's jaw clenched, but he fell silent.

I turned back to Daniel, softening my voice. "I accept your apology. And I'm glad you're okay. But right now, you need to go rest. Let your body heal. We can talk about everything else later."

Daniel nodded, looking relieved and guilty in equal measure. "Thank you. For saving my life. For—for everything." He paused at the door, his good eye finding Arthur.

"And Mr. Winston? I know you probably want to kill me right now, but—thank you too. For sending your people to extract us. For the helicopter. For—"

"Get out," Arthur said flatly, though there was fractionally less hostility in his voice than there had been a moment ago. "And Daniel? You'd better quit being a detective."

Daniel's face flushed with embarrassment, but he nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

The moment we were alone again, I turned to Arthur with my best attempt at a casual, conversational tone. "Speaking of detectives. You know, Daniel said I have the makings of a detective. After witnessing the dark secrets of Grey Manor, I want to expose all evils to the light. I want to see if I can become a detective."

Arthur's head swiveled toward me so fast I heard his neck crack, his expression shifting from residual annoyance at Daniel to something that looked almost like horror. "What?"

"A detective," I repeated, warming to the idea even as I watched Arthur's face go through several complicated emotions. "Think about it—I already have the hacking skills, the analytical mind, the ability to piece together clues that other people miss. And it's such a noble profession, Arthur. Helping people find justice, solving mysteries, making sure the bad guys don't get away with their crimes."

I leaned forward slightly. "Plus, don't you think a detective who's also a world-class hacker would be incredibly cool? I could solve cases that would be impossible for regular investigators. I could—"

"No." The word came out flat and final, Arthur's expression closing off completely.

"What?"

"And I'm telling you it's not happening," he said, his voice taking on that inflexible quality that usually meant he'd made up his mind and expected everyone else to fall in line.

"Detective work is dangerous, Ceci. You've seen firsthand what happens when you start investigating powerful people—you get kidnapped, nearly tortured, almost killed. I'm not letting you put yourself in that position again."

I looked at him and said, "Someone has to bear the weight and forge ahead in this world. Why can't it be me?"

"The hell I don't," he shot back, his own voice rising to match mine. "You're my fiancée, which means your safety is my responsibility. And I'm telling you right now—you're not becoming a detective. It's too dangerous, and I won't watch you throw yourself into situations where you could get hurt or killed."

"That's not your decision to make!" I could feel tears of frustration burning behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "I'm a grown woman, Arthur. I get to choose my own career, my own path. You don't have the right to tell me what I can or can't do with my life!"

Arthur stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor with a harsh sound. He paced to the window and back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his whole body radiating tension.

"You want me to not interfere with your choices?" he said, his voice dropping to something low and dangerous. "Don't you want to be my wife? So long as you’re my fiancée and we stay together, your safety will always come first. I won’t let you take up a job investigating dangerous criminals."

The words hit like a slap, and before I could think better of it, I heard myself say, "Then maybe I won't—"

I stopped, my mouth snapping shut as I realized what I'd been about to say.

The silence that followed was deafening, heavy with implications and hurt and things we couldn't take back.