Chapter 17

Cecilia

Sunlight woke me. I blinked groggily, disoriented by the unfamiliar room, the weight of an arm around my waist, the steady breathing against my hair—

Oh. Right.

I'd fallen asleep in Arthur's arms. And apparently stayed that way for the last four hours.

I shifted experimentally. His hold tightened instinctively.

Arthur's voice was sleep-rough and unfairly attractive. His eyes opened, immediately finding mine. "Morning."

"Morning." I tried to shift away, suddenly self-conscious. His arm didn't budge.

"Don't." His hand splayed across my back, keeping me in place. "Not yet. Let me have this for five more minutes."

"Have what?"

"You. Here. Not hating me."

The raw honesty in his voice made my throat tighten. "I told you last night—I'm still mad."

"I know, but you're also still here. That's more than I deserve."

We lay in silence for a moment, complicated feelings. Then Arthur's expression shifted, became more alert. "How are you feeling? About today?"

Right. Today. The Winston estate. Confronting William.

My stomach churned. "Angry."

"Good." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Use that. We're going to need it."

A knock on the main door made us both freeze.

"I'm assuming you're both decent," Carter called, voice amused. "Because I'm coming in with coffee in exactly three seconds."

"Carter, I swear to God—" Arthur started.

The door opened. Carter stood there, holding a tray with three steaming mugs. His eyebrows rose as he took in the scene—Arthur and me, fully clothed but definitely tangled together in bed.

"Well." His smile was shit-eating. "Good morning to the lovebirds."

"Fuck off," Arthur said without heat.

Carter set the tray on the desk. "I figured you'd need fuel before whatever fresh hell you're about to walk into. Also, just so you know, Max is downstairs and very curious about why I told him not to come up yet."

I groaned. "Carter—"

"Relax, Little Locke. I didn't tell him anything. Just that Arthur was dealing with a situation and needed the guest wing." He picked up a mug, studying us over the rim. "Though I'm guessing the situation is less 'dealing with' and more 'finally getting his head out of his ass about.'"

Arthur sat up, keeping one arm around me. "We're going to the estate. This morning. To confront my father about Robert Locke's death."

Carter's smile vanished. "Shit."

"Yeah."

"Does William know you suspect him?"

"Not yet." I pushed myself upright, accepting the coffee Carter offered. "But he knows someone accessed those files last night."

Carter seems very worried. "You need backup?"

"No." Arthur's voice was firm. "This is between me, Cecilia, and my father. Bringing outsiders would only complicate things."

"I'm not an outsider, asshole. I'm your best friend." Carter's tone sharpened. "And if William did what you think he did, he's dangerous. You really want to walk into that situation with just—" He gestured at me. "—someone he'll view as an enemy?"

"I can handle myself," I said evenly.

"I don't doubt that. But—"

"Carter." Arthur stood, moving to face him. "I appreciate the concern. But this is my family. My mess. If it goes south—"

"When it goes south," Carter corrected.

"—then I need to be the one to handle it. Alone."

The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Carter sighed. "Fine. But you call me the second things get out of hand. And Arthur—"

His expression turned serious. "Your father built an empire on ruthlessness. Don't underestimate what he'll do to protect it."

"I won't."

Carter nodded, then turned to me. "Cecilia. If you're going in there looking for murder evidence, be prepared for what you might actually find."

I met his eyes. "I am."

"Are you?" He set down his mug.

"Because once you go down this road, there's no coming back. You'll destroy the Winston family. You'll make enemies of some of the most powerful people in the country. "

I stood, squaring my shoulders. "My father died humiliated, Carter. And no one gave him justice. So yeah—I'm prepared to burn it all down. Even if I burn with it."

Carter studied me for a long momen. "You know what? I believe you." He picked up his coffee. "I'll be downstairs. If you need anything—legal support, technical backup, a place to hide bodies—you know how to reach me."

"Thank you," I said quietly.

He paused at the door. "Ceci? For what it's worth—I'm glad you came back. Arthur's been half-dead for 4 years. It's good to see him alive again."

He left before either of us could respond.

Arthur and I looked at each other.

"Ready?" he asked.

I thought about my father. About William's cold, clinical email—regrettable but it won't affect the timeline. About two years of grief and rage and unanswered questions.

"No." I picked up my coffee, letting the bitter warmth ground me. "But let's do it anyway."

Arthur's Bugatti ate up the miles between Carter's estate and the Winston family compound.

"He's going to deny everything," I said abruptly. "You know that, right? Even with the files, even with proof of the theft—he'll find a way to justify it. To make your father look like the victim."

"Probably." Arthur's jaw was tight. "But he won't be able to explain away the timeline. The threats, then the accident, then the patent ruling—it's too convenient."

"Convenient isn't proof."

"No. But it's enough to start asking the right questions." He glanced at me. "And if he did something to your father's car—if there's any evidence—it would be in his private server. The one in his study."

"You think he'd keep proof of murder just sitting there?"

"My father is arrogant. And meticulous. If he arranged something, he'd document it. Not out of guilt—out of habit. He records everything."

I chewed my lip. "We do this directly. We tell him we know about the theft. We demand to see any files related to my father's accident. And we watch how he reacts."

Arthur's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Ceci—"

"He killed my father, Arthur." The words came out flat, certain. "Maybe not directly. Maybe he hired someone, or sabotaged the car himself, or just arranged for the brakes to fail. But he killed him. And I need to see his face when I say it out loud."

Silence. Then: "Okay."

I turned to stare at him. "Okay?"

"You're right. If we sneak around, he'll lawyer up. But if we confront him directly—if I'm standing there, making it clear I'm on your side—maybe he'll slip. Show us something he doesn't mean to."

Arthur's expression was grim. "Either way, this ends today. One way or another."

The estate gates came into view.I touched the USB drive at my neck—my father's final gift. I'm here, Dad. I'm going to make this right.

Arthur's hand found mine, squeezing once. "Whatever happens in there—"

"I know." I squeezed back. "Together."

The gates opened. Arthur drove through.

And we went to war.