Chapter 25

Irene

The phone call came at 3 AM.

"Mrs. Winston." The voice was clipped, professional. "This is Hank, board member. I'm calling to inform you of today's emergency meeting results."

I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. "And?"

"Miss Locke presented her father's will. She owns all the patents outright. The board voted unanimously to accept her licensing terms."

"How much?"

A pause. "The details are confidential, but... the company is stable. Miss Locke has a board seat."

I closed my eyes. Of course she did.

"Thank you for informing me, Hank."

I hung up and stared at the ceiling, rage building in my chest like pressure in a sealed container.

Cecilia Locke had won. Again.

She'd destroyed my husband. Stolen my son. And now she'd positioned herself as the savior of the company, ensuring that everyone would see her as a hero instead of the manipulative little—

No.

I took a breath, forced myself to think clearly.

I reached for my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found the number I needed.

My mother answered on the second ring. "Irene? Darling, it's three in the morning—"

"Mother." I let my voice crack, just enough. "I need your help."

Cecilia

I woke up to sunlight streaming through my bedroom window and the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped across my waist.

For a second, I panicked—then I remembered.

Arthur. My apartment. Live-in boyfriend.

I turned carefully, not wanting to wake him, and found myself face-to-face with a sight I'd never seen before: Arthur Winston, completely relaxed in sleep.

His face was soft, peaceful, all the usual tension gone from his jaw and forehead.

His dark hair was messy, falling across his eyes in a way that made him look younger, almost boyish.

One hand was tucked under his pillow, the other still resting possessively on my hip even in sleep.

He looked... happy.

My chest did something complicated and warm.

I reached up slowly, brushing the hair back from his forehead, and his eyes fluttered open.

"Morning," I whispered.

"Morning." His voice was rough with sleep, and holy shit, that was hot. He pulled me closer, burying his face in my neck. "What time is it?"

I glanced at my phone on the nightstand. "Nine-thirty."

He groaned. "I haven't slept past seven in years."

"Well, you were exhausted." I ran my fingers through his hair, and he made a sound that was almost a purr. "How do you feel?"

"Like I could stay in this bed forever." He pressed a kiss to my collarbone. "With you. Just like this."

"That sounds amazing, but I'm starving." My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, and Arthur laughed against my skin.

"Alright, alright. Breakfast first."

"Deal."

Arthur insisted on making breakfast, which would have been sweet except for one problem: my kitchen was basically empty.

"Ceci." He stared into my fridge with an expression of genuine horror. "You have three condiments, half a bottle of wine, and what I think used to be lettuce."

"I eat out a lot," I said defensively.

"Clearly." He closed the fridge and turned to me. "Okay, new plan. We're going grocery shopping."

"Now?"

"Yes, now. I can't live somewhere with no food." He paused. "Wait, did I just say 'live somewhere'?"

I grinned. "You totally did."

"Shut up." But he was smiling as he pulled me in for a kiss. "Go get dressed."

The grocery store was weirdly intimate.

Not in a sexy way—in a "this is what actual couples do" way that made my chest feel tight and warm.

Arthur pushed the cart while I grabbed things at random, and he kept putting them back and replacing them with "better versions."

"What's wrong with this pasta?" I demanded, holding up a box.

"Nothing, if you want to eat cardboard." He swapped it for a different brand. "Trust me."

"You're such a snob."

"I prefer 'person with standards.'" He dropped a package of fancy cheese into the cart. "You'll thank me when you taste the difference."

We bickered our way through produce:

him: "These tomatoes are perfect."

Me: "They're tomatoes, Arthur."

Argued about coffee brands.

I won that one.

And had a full debate about whether we needed three types of olive oil.

His position: yes, obviously; my position: that's insane.

By the time we got to checkout, the cart was overflowing, and I was laughing so hard my sides hurt.

"I can't believe we just spent forty-five minutes arguing about groceries," I said as we loaded bags into my car.

"Welcome to domestic life." Arthur kissed my temple. "It's all downhill from here."

Back at the apartment, Arthur immediately took over my kitchen like he owned it.

He unpacked groceries with military precision, reorganizing my cabinets:Why is the sugar next to the dish soap?

And then started cooking while I sat on the counter and watched.

"What are you making?"

"Eggs Benedict." He was whisking hollandaise sauce like it was the most natural thing in the world. "With smoked salmon and asparagus."

"That's fancy."

"It's breakfast." He shot me a look. "And you need to eat more than coffee and whatever sad takeout you've been surviving on."

I glanced at the clock and said, "Maybe it’s time for lunch already. And I'm fine—"

"Ceci." He set down the whisk and moved to stand between my legs, his hands settling on my thighs.

"I'm serious." His thumbs traced slow circles on my thighs. "I want to take care of you. Let me."

Oh.

"Okay," I said softly. "But I'm taking care of you too. That's how this works."

"Deal." He kissed me, soft and sweet, then returned to his sauce. "Now sit there and look pretty while I work."

"So bossy."

"You love it."

He wasn't wrong.

This meal was absolutely delicious, was incredible—like, restaurant-quality incredible—and I told him so between bites.

"Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"My grandfather." Arthur's expression softened. "Said a man should know how to feed himself and the people he loves."

I reached across the table and took his hand. "He sounds amazing."

"He was." Arthur squeezed my fingers. "He would have loved you, you know. Would have said you were too good for me."

"Smart man."

"Brat." But he was smiling.

We finished eating, and I started to clear the plates, but Arthur stopped me.

"Leave them. I'll do dishes later."

"We should do them now—"

"Ceci." He pulled me into his lap. "We have all day. The dishes can wait."

I settled against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around me, and for a moment, everything was perfect.

"I could get used to this," I admitted quietly.

"Good." He pressed a kiss to my hair. "Because I'm not going anywhere."