Chapter 154: The Boss

Cecilia

Before Carter could respond, the door swung open with enough force to make all three of us jump, and a voice I absolutely did not expect cut through the tension like a knife through butter.

"Oh, my sweetheart’s got a lover now, and my even cuter sweetheart is leaving? How tragic!"

I spun around, struggling to process what I saw. Standing at the door was the gang leader, dressed in a cleaner's uniform. He wore a smirk as if the whole world amused him, utterly out of place in the cold hospital room.

The man who'd helped us infiltrate Grey Manor, who'd provided the fake identities and the information we'd needed to save Daniel, who'd looked at Sophia with that strange mix of possessiveness and genuine affection that had made me deeply uncomfortable even as I'd been grateful for his help.

Carter and Arthur—who must have been somewhere nearby because he appeared in the doorway seconds later—immediately moved to position themselves between us and the boss, their bodies going rigid with protective tension, hands moving toward weapons I knew they were carrying despite the hospital's no-firearms policy.

"Easy, gentlemen," the boss said, holding up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, though his smile never wavered. "I'm not here to cause trouble. Just wanted to say goodbye to my favorite girl before she disappeared back across the pond."

"How did you even get in here?" Arthur's voice was cold and dangerous, his hand finding my shoulder and pulling me slightly behind him. "This floor is supposed to be secured."

The boss's smile widened. "Can't you tell from my outfit? Relax, sweet Ceci, I didn't harm the cleaner. And before you get all territorial and alpha male about it, Winston, I really am just here to deliver a parting gift."

He pulled out a large wrapped box from behind his back—where he'd been hiding it I had no idea—and held it out toward Sophia.

Sophia stared at it like it might explode, her whole body going tense. "What is that?"

"A gift," the boss said simply. "For your mother. Tell Audrey that an old friend sends his regards and hopes she's finally found some peace."

The name hit like a physical blow, and I saw Sophia go white, her hand coming up to grip Carter's arm for support. "How do you—what do you know about my mother?"

The boss's expression shifted into something that might have been genuine sympathy, though it was hard to tell with him. "More than you'd probably like me to know, sweetheart. But that's a conversation for another time." He set the box down on the nearby table, his movements careful and deliberate.

"Though my sweetheart won't leave for now, I fear I might lose sight of you later," he glanced sideways at Carter.

"And just make sure she gets this, yeah? And tell her—" He paused, something complicated flickering across his face. "Tell her I'm glad she made it out. That she deserves whatever happiness she's managed to find."

Then he turned and walked out, leaving us all staring after him in stunned silence, the wrapped box sitting on the table like a bomb waiting to detonate.

Before boarding, Sophia handed me that box and asked me to deliver it to her mother. She said she didn't want to face her mother. Odd as it seemed, I agreed.

But the box is no big deal now. I still have the biggest problem unsolved.

The private jet boasted sterile luxury that should have felt comforting, yet it only made my skin crawl.

Deep charcoal carpeting muffled every sound. Cream leather seats were arranged in intimate clusters—Arthur had clearly designed this space for private talks that could never take place elsewhere.

I sat across from him in one of those oversized captain's chairs, hands clasped tight in my lap, watching him gaze out the window as London faded away beneath us.

I'd tried to bring it up before we left, had cornered Carter in the hallway and demanded to know what Arthur had wanted me to explain.

But Carter had just given me this look—sympathetic and slightly uncomfortable—and said, "That's between you and Arthur, Ceci. I'm not getting in the middle of it."

Which was helpful. Really fucking helpful.

So here we were, thirty thousand feet in the air, with nothing but ocean between us and home, and Arthur still hadn't said a word beyond the bare minimum required for boarding and takeoff.

I cleared my throat, the sound too loud in the quiet cabin. "Arthur, we need to talk about—"

"Not now." His voice came out flat.

"When, then?" I heard the frustration bleeding into my voice despite my best efforts to stay calm. "Aside from protecting me and tending my injuries, you never had in-depth conversations with me."

That got his attention. "You don't understand what you did wrong."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement, delivered with such careful control that I could hear all the emotion he was suppressing underneath it.

"No," I said, forcing myself to hold his gaze. "I know. Is it because I want to become a detective that..."

Arthur's hands clenched on the armrests, his knuckles going white.

Then he closed his eyes, took a breath, and when he opened them again his expression had smoothed into something neutral and distant. "That's not the priority. What matters is you're safe. We're heading home now."

"Bullshit." The word came out sharper than I intended, but I was past caring about being polite. "Arthur, you're shutting me out. You've been shutting me out since I woke up, and I need to know why. What did you mean when you asked why I didn't tell you? Tell you what?"

His jaw clenched, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. "Ceci—"

"No." I stood up. "No more deflecting, no more 'it doesn't matter,' no more treating me like I'm too fragile to handle whatever's going on in your head. Just tell me."

The silence stretched out between us, taut as a wire, and I watched emotions flicker across his face too fast to name—anger, hurt, something that looked almost like betrayal before he could hide it.

"Arthur—"

He turned to face me, and there was something raw in his expression now, something that made my chest ache. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you went behind my back to look into your mother’s death. Like you didn't trust me enough to tell me what you were doing, what you'd found."