Chapter 30

Cecilia

Saturday morning sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment, catching on the navy dress hanging on my closet door.

I'd been staring at it for the past ten minutes, trying to convince myself this was just another social event.

It wasn't.

My phone buzzed with a text from Arthur: Helicopter's ready. Are you?

I typed back: As ready as I'll ever be.

Ready to walk into a garden party filled with people who'd spent the last week hearing about how I'd destroyed William Winston.

Ready to stand beside Arthur while his mother's friends dissected every aspect of my background, my clothes, my right to exist in their world.

I pulled on the dress, the fabric settling against my skin like armor. That's what Arthur had called it last night—armor.

My phone rang. Arthur.

"Hey," I answered, slipping into flats that I could actually walk in.

"Ethan just pulled up," he said.

"I'm coming down."

The ride to Black Peak Estate was quiet. Ethan drove with his usual professional efficiency while I watched the city give way to coastline. Arthur had texted that he was already at the helipad.

When we arrived, I saw the helicopter—sleek and black with the Winston Corporation logo gleaming in the morning sun. Arthur stood beside it, and my breath caught the way it always did when I saw him.

He was wearing a three-piece charcoal suit, but it was the way he looked at me that made my heart stutter. Like I was the only thing in his world that mattered.

"You look—" He stopped, seeming to lose words.

"Terrified?" I offered.

"Perfect." He closed the distance between us, his hand finding the small of my back. "And for the record, you don't have to do this. We can turn around right now."

"We've been over this."

"I know. But I needed to say it again." His eyes searched mine. "The second you want to leave, we leave. No questions, no explanations."

I placed my hand over his. "I'm not running, Arthur."

"I know you're not. That's what scares me."

Ethan cleared his throat politely. "Mr. Winston, we should depart soon to make the arrival window."

Arthur nodded, then helped me into the helicopter. The interior was all leather and polished chrome, the kind of casual luxury that probably cost a fortune but was designed to look effortless.

As we lifted off, I watched the estate shrink below us, then disappear entirely as we headed toward the Hamptons. Arthur sat beside me, our hands linked.

"Tell me about Carter," I said, needing to focus on something other than the knot in my stomach.

Arthur's expression softened slightly. "His family and mine... there's history there. Good history, mostly."

"Mostly?"

"His mother, Catherine, is old money Boston. She has opinions about everything." He paused. "But she called you, which means something."

I remembered that phone call. Catherine Ashford's cultured voice, polite but testing, warning me about the gossip while simultaneously seeming to respect my directness. "She told me not to let them see me sweat."

"That's Catherine. She values strength." His jaw tightened. "Unlike my mother, who values compliance."

"Arthur—"

"I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I shouldn't have brought her up."

"It's okay." I squeezed his hand. "We both know she'll probably be there."

"Probably." His voice went flat. "Ethan confirmed she's been making calls all week. 'Concerned conversations' about her son's poor judgment."

The way he said it—so bitter, so resigned—made my chest ache. "Hey," I said softly, waiting until he looked at me. "Whatever happens today, we face it together. Right?"

Something in his expression shifted. The tension eased, replaced by a determination that reminded me why I'd fallen for him in the first place. "Together," he agreed.

The rest of the flight passed in comfortable silence. I watched the coastline unfold beneath us, estates and beaches giving way to the manicured lawns and grand homes of the Hamptons.

"There," Arthur said, pointing. "That's the Ashford Estate."

Even from the air, it looked like something out of a period drama—old money and older traditions, the kind of place where people like me didn't belong.

Except I did belong. Because Arthur had chosen me, and I'd chosen him, and that was enough.

It had to be.

The helicopter began its descent, and I felt my stomach drop with it. The landing pad was visible now, along with several other helicopters and luxury cars scattered across the grounds.

People dotted the lawn in clusters—everyone holding champagne flutes and wearing smiles that probably hid a thousand judgments.

"Ceci," Arthur said quietly. "Breathe."

I realized I'd been holding my breath. I exhaled slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax. "I'm fine."

"You're gripping my hand like you're about to fall off a cliff."

"Maybe I am."

His expression turned fierce. "Then I'm falling with you."

The helicopter touched down with barely a bump. Through the windows, I could see people turning to look, conversations pausing as they registered the Winston Corporation logo. The whispers would start any second now.

That's Arthur Winston's helicopter. Is that... is that her? The girl who destroyed his father?

Ethan opened the door, and the sound of the rotors mixed with distant music and laughter.

Arthur stepped out first, then turned to help me down. His hand was steady, warm, and when my feet touched the ground, he didn't let go.

Instead, he pulled me close, his hand settling possessively on my waist as we started toward the main house. Every eye was on us now. I could feel the weight of their stares, hear the buzz of speculation even over the helicopter's fading noise.

But Arthur walked like he owned the place—confident, unhurried, completely unbothered by the attention. And somehow, with his hand on my waist and his body aligned with mine, I found myself matching his stride.

Let them look, I thought. Let them judge. I'm here, and I'm not apologizing for it.

We were halfway to the house when a familiar figure emerged from the front entrance.

"Arthur!" He pulled Arthur into a brief hug, clapping him on the back. "About damn time. I was starting to think you'd bail on me."

"And miss your big day?" Arthur's voice warmed in a way I rarely heard. "Never."

Carter turned to me, and his smile didn't falter. "Hi, Ceci."

I smiled warmly and said, "Hey Carter, you look wonderful."

Carter laughed, then gestured toward the house. "Come on, let me take you to meet Sophia. She's been waiting for you. Fair warning—my mother's been holding court in the garden, and she's been asking about you, Cecilia."

"Asking what?" I said, trying to keep my voice light.

"Whether you're real or if Arthur finally snapped and invented a girlfriend." Carter's grin widened. "I told her you're very real and probably too good for him."

"Definitely too good for him," I agreed, and Arthur's hand tightened on my waist in a way that felt both possessive and protective.

As we walked toward the house, I caught fragments of conversation from the clusters of guests:

"—heard she's the one who exposed William—"

"—board seat at twenty-two, can you imagine—"

"—looks younger than I expected—"

"—Arthur's never brought anyone to one of these before—"

The whispers followed us like a wake, but Carter kept up an easy stream of conversation, pointing out various guests and making jokes that helped ease the knot in my stomach. By the time we reached the main hall, I felt almost steady.