Chapter 174 Be Married

Chapter 174 Be Married
Arthur

The reminder hit like a punch to the gut, and suddenly I was moving toward the ring again, my hands already wrapping fresh tape. "Get in here, Reynolds. Let's go."

Max held up his hands in surrender, backing away with exaggerated alarm. "Oh hell no. I'm getting married next week. I can't show up to my own wedding looking like I went ten rounds with a professional boxer."

The words penetrated slowly, and I stopped mid-wrap to stare at him. "What?"

"Next Sunday," Max said, his grin returning full force. "Alice and I are getting married. You're all invited, obviously. Formal invitations are being sent out tomorrow."

Silence fell over the gym as Carter and I both processed this information.

"You're getting married," Carter said slowly, looking between Max and Alice. "Next week. And you didn't tell us?"

"I'm telling you now!" Max spread his arms wide, completely unbothered by our collective shock. "What, you want a six-month engagement with fancy parties and a million decisions? Nah. We love each other, we want to be married, so we're doing it. Simple."

"Nothing about you is simple," I muttered, but I couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Congratulations. Both of you."

Alice beamed, practically glowing with happiness as she held up her left hand to show off the ring I hadn't noticed before.

"Thank you," she said warmly. "And Ceci will be there too—I already checked with her."

Something in my chest loosened at that news, relief flooding through me. "She's coming home?"

"Just for the wedding," Alice clarified. "She's going back to England on Monday to wrap up the case."

Right. Of course. She wasn't coming home to me—she was coming home for her best friend's wedding, and then she'd be gone again, off to chase criminals and solve mysteries while I sat here like some kind of pathetic housewife waiting for her to remember I existed.

The thought made me wanted to hit something—preferably Daniel Brahmore's face.

I thought about that night—the way Cecilia had murmured about not wanting a baby until we were married, the certainty in her voice even through the alcohol haze.



After we tried a few other activities, the three of us went our separate ways and headed home.

The drive back to Black Peak Estate felt longer than usual.

I'd told her I supported her career. Had promised to trust her, to let her make her own choices, to be the kind of partner who didn't try to control her life.

And I'd meant it. Still meant it, even now when every instinct I had was screaming at me to get on a plane to London and drag her back home to marry me.

The gates of Black Peak swung open automatically, and I pulled into the garage with more force than necessary, killing the engine and just sitting there for a moment in the sudden silence.

The house would be empty. Mrs. Chen would have dinner ready, would ask politely how my day was, would pretend not to notice that I'd been sleeping in the study more often than not because our bedroom felt too big and too cold without Cecilia in it.

I pulled out my phone, opening our text thread and staring at the last message she'd sent—a simple smiley face emoji, sent six hours ago in response to my "How's the case going?"

Six hours. She'd been too busy for six hours to send more than an emoji.

I started to type something—maybe "I miss you" or "When are you coming home" or "Please call me"—but deleted it before hitting send.

She was working. Doing important work, making a real difference in people's lives. I had no right to distract her with my neediness.

I shoved the phone back in my pocket and headed inside, already bracing myself for the emptiness.

Mrs. Chen met me in the entrance hall, and something about her expression made me pause—a barely suppressed smile, eyes bright with what looked like excitement.

"Welcome home, Mr. Winston," she said, her voice carrying that particular warmth she usually reserved for special occasions. "I have something for you."

She held out a box—medium-sized, wrapped in plain brown paper, with international shipping labels covering one side.

My heart jumped into my throat as I recognized Cecilia's handwriting on the address label.

"It arrived this afternoon," Mrs. Chen continued, her smile widening. "Express delivery from London. Miss Locke said it was meant to be a surprise."

I took the box. "Thank you, Mrs. Chen."

"Of course, sir. Miss Locke asked me to tell you that she has been up to a few other things in England. She wanted me to let you know now as a surprise."

She stepped back with that knowing look that suggested she understood exactly what this meant to me. "And I'll have dinner ready in an hour. Will you be eating in the dining room or—"

"The study," I said, already heading for the stairs. "Thank you."

I set the box down on my desk and just stared at it for a long moment, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I opened it carefully, my hands still trembling slightly, and found—

Letters.

Dozens of them, maybe more, all handwritten on various types of paper—lined notebook pages, construction paper, even napkins. The handwriting varied wildly—some neat and careful, some barely legible scrawls, some just crude drawings with stick figures and hearts.

I picked up the first one, my eyes scanning the childish script:

Dear Miss Cecilia,

Thank you for helping me find my sister. The police said she was gone forever but you found her. You are the best detective in the whole world.

Love, Tommy

My throat went tight as I set that one aside and picked up another:

Miss Locke,

I don't know how to say this proper but you saved my life. When you came to the home and said you were looking for kids from the Bad Place, I was scared to talk. But you were so nice and you promised I'd be safe. Thank you for keeping your promise.

Luna

Another:

To the Angel Lady,

Mama says you helped find the people who hurt us. I drew you a picture. It's you with wings because you're an angel. Thank you for making the bad men go away.

[A crayon drawing of a figure with enormous wings and a smiling sun]

Jamie

I went through them one by one, my vision blurring as I read testimonials from children whose lives Cecilia had touched—kids who'd been rescued from trafficking rings, who'd been reunited with families, who'd been given safety and hope because of her work.

At the bottom of the box, carefully wrapped in tissue paper, was a medal—a simple bronze disc on a ribbon, engraved with:

British Child Welfare Association

Presented to Cecilia Locke

In Recognition of Outstanding Service to Child Protection and Welfare

London, 2026

I set the medal down carefully, my hands trembling, and picked up the last item in the box—a note in Cecilia's own handwriting: