Chapter 21

Cecilia

My hand shook. I knew he was right—the fallout would be catastrophic.

Arthur would face interrogation, formal investigation, and risk being charged as an accessory after the fact. His reputation would be dragged into the same mud that had buried his father’s.

“Ceci.” Arthur’s voice was soft. “Look at me.”

I lifted my gaze and met his eyes. He was smiling gently, steady as ever.

“Remember the ring?”

Arthur reached for the ring I’d returned to him days earlier, his movements slow and deliberate.

He slipped it gently onto my finger.

“I’ll always be by your side.”

Always.

“Whatever you decide,” he said, “I’m with you. If the company falls, we’ll rebuild it. If the world turns on us, we face it together. But if you hold back—if you let William walk free just to spare me the cost—I’ll never forgive myself.”

0:23 remaining.

“You’d really throw everything away?” My voice cracked. “Your company, your family name, all of it?”

“I’m not throwing anything away. I’m choosing what matters most.” He cupped my face lightly. “I’m choosing you. Choosing justice. Choosing to be the man my father should’ve been, not a coward hiding from the truth.”

0:10 remaining.

I looked at William. I could read the quiet calculation in his expression—the quiet certainty that I’d cave, that love would weaken my resolve.

My mind drifted to my father. To his quiet words etched in my memory: True power isn't money or status, Ceci. It's knowing what you stand for and never backing down.

0:05.

I pressed send.

Files cascaded upward in a rush of data, replicating and spreading across servers in three separate states—irreversible, untouchable, beyond any attempt to delete or corrupt.

I heard William make a harsh, punched sound. For the first time since I’d known him, his polished mask of cold control shattered completely.

“You…” He could barely form the words.

“I’m going to watch you face the consequences of what you’ve done.” I stood slowly. “After that, I’ll use my father’s technology to build something meaningful. Something real. With Arthur. As equals.”

I glanced over and saw Arthur already on a call, his tone calm and measured.

“Yes, this is Arthur Winston. I need to report a murder. William Winston. My father.”

His tone remained steady, almost clinical, "The victim is Robert Locke. I have conclusive evidence. I’ll wait here for federal agents to arrive."

He hung up the phone, then looked toward his father. “They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

I watched William slump into a chair. He was not broken—men like him did not break so easily—but he was diminished, laid bare for everyone to see.

Cecilia

The FBI field office smelled like stale coffee and fluorescent lights.

We'd been there for hours—statements, evidence logging, endless questions asked three different ways by three different agents.

Arthur answered everything with that same clinical precision he used in board meetings, his voice never wavering, his hands perfectly still except for the occasional adjustment of his cufflinks.

It was past two in the morning when they finally let us go. The parking lot was empty except for Arthur's car and a few unmarked sedans.

The night air hit my face like a slap, sharp and cold, and suddenly everything I'd been holding back came crashing down.

I made it three steps before my knees gave out.

"Ceci—" Arthur caught me before I hit the ground, his arms wrapping around me as I collapsed against his chest.

And then I was crying. Really crying, not the controlled tears I'd allowed myself over the years but deep, wrenching sobs that tore through my whole body.

"He's gone. I finally got my revenge, but my dad is still truly gone. Nothing I do can ever bring him back—not the blood I’ve spilled, not the justice I’ve served, none of it."

"I know." Arthur's hand moved in my back. "I know, sweetheart. I'm so sorry."

"I thought—I thought if I could just prove what happened, if I could make William pay, then maybe I'd feel... I don't know. Better? Whole again?" I laughed bitterly through my tears. "But I don't. I just feel empty."

"That's grief," Arthur said quietly. "It doesn't go away just because you get justice. It just... becomes something you learn to carry."

I pulled back to look at him, and that's when I heard it. The slight roughness in his voice, like he was fighting to keep it steady. His eyes were dry, but there was something raw and broken in them that made my chest ache.

"Arthur." I reached up to cup his face. "You don't have to hold it together for me. Not right now."

"I'm fine." But his voice cracked on the word, betraying him.

"No, you're not." I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone. "And that's okay. What you did tonight—turning in your own father, watching him get arrested—that's not something you just shake off."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything. Just stood there with my hands on his face, his eyes closed, breathing like each inhale hurt.

"I did the right thing," he said finally. "I know I did. He killed your father. He deserved to face consequences. I don't regret calling the FBI."

"But?"

"But he's still my dad." His voice broke completely.

"And I just—I can't stop thinking about when I was eight and he taught me how to tie a tie. Or when I was twelve and he came to my debate tournament even though he had a board meeting. Or—fuck, Ceci, I know who he really is now. I know what he's capable of. But part of me still loves him, and I hate myself for that."

"Oh, Arthur." I pulled him close, and this time he let himself lean into me, his forehead resting against mine. "You don't have to hate yourself for loving your father. Loving someone doesn't mean you condone what they've done. It just means you're human."

"He murdered your father," Arthur said, his voice thick. "And I spent many years working for him, helping him build his empire, never questioning where the money came from or how he got ahead. How am I supposed to live with that?"

"The same way I'm living with the fact that I spent many years planning revenge instead of actually grieving." I lifted my left hand, the ring he'd given me catching the parking lot lights. "Remember what you said when you put this back on my finger?"

"I'll always be by your side."

"And I meant what I said back to you, even if I didn't say it out loud." I pressed my palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

"Your joy is my joy. Your pain is my pain. We carry this together, Arthur. All of it—the guilt, the grief, the weight of doing the right thing even when it destroys you. You don't have to bear it alone."

Something in him broke then. Not dramatically, not with tears or shouting, just a quiet exhale that seemed to release all the tension he'd been holding. He wrapped his arms around me and held on like I was the only thing keeping him anchored.

"I love you," he whispered against my hair. "God, Ceci, I love you so much."

"I love you too." I held him tighter. "And we're gonna be okay. I don't know how, and I don't know when, but we will be."

We stood like that for a while, two broken people holding each other together in an empty parking lot, until Arthur's phone rang.

He pulled back reluctantly, checking the screen, and I saw his whole body tense.

"It's my mother."