Chapter 175 A Red Silk Dress

Chapter 175 A Red Silk Dress
Arthur

Arthur,

Remember when I told you I wanted to make sure those children from the Grey family auctions had good lives? I found most of them. They're safe now. Some are back with their families, some are in good foster homes, and I made sure they all have therapy and support.

I know you think I'm just chasing criminals and solving mysteries, but this—helping these kids—this is why I became a detective. This is what matters.

I love you. I'll be home soon. I promise.

C.

Ceci didn’t just go to the UK to investigate the financial case; she did far more.

Pride surged through me, so intense it was almost painful. That's my girl. That's my brilliant, compassionate, impossible girl.

I pulled out my phone and opened the camera app. I took photos of the letters, the medal, Cecilia's note—documentation of her incredible work, proof of the difference she was making.

Then I opened a group chat with Carter and Max and sent the photos without any explanation, just:

This is what my fiancée does when she's "off solving crimes." Eat your hearts out.

Max's response came almost immediately: Holy shit. That's incredible.

Carter: Arthur, this is amazing. Ceci's a hero.

Max again: Okay, I take back everything I said earlier. Your girl is a badass.

I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile, feeling vindicated in my earlier pride.

Then I pulled up my contacts and called Ethan.

"Mr. Winston?"

"Ethan, I need you to set up a charitable foundation," I said. "Pull funds from my personal accounts—let's start with ten million. Establish it in Cecilia Locke's name and direct all donations to British child welfare organizations, specifically those working with trafficking victims."

"Of course, sir." I could hear the smile in Ethan's voice.

I glanced at the photos on my phone again, my chest warm with affection. "And Ethan? Make sure it's anonymous. I don't want her to know it came from me. Just—make sure those kids have everything they need."

"Understood, sir. I'll have the paperwork ready by tomorrow."

I ended the call and sat back in my chair, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.

Cecilia was doing important work. Work that mattered, work that saved lives, work that made the world better in tangible, measurable ways.

And I was going to support her in that, even if it meant sleeping alone for a while longer, even if it meant missing her so much.

Because that's what you did when you loved someone—you let them be who they needed to be, even when it cost you something.

I’ve decided to keep these things safe in the safe in our bedroom.

I pushed open the bedroom door, but froze.

Cecilia stood by the window, backlit by moonlight that turned her into something ethereal and impossible.

She was wearing a red silk dress—halter neck, the fabric clinging to every curve I'd memorized but hadn't touched in a month, her hair loose around her shoulders and her smile bright as the moon itself.

"Arthur," she said, and her voice broke on my name, joy and relief and love all tangled together in two syllables. "I'm home. I missed you so much."



Cecilia

For a heartbeat, he just stared at me—like he couldn't quite believe I was real.

And then he stirred.

Taking long strides across the room, he placed the box on the bed before sweeping me into his arms.

I dangled off the floor while he nuzzled his face against my neck, his embrace so tight it stole my breath away.

"You're here," he said against my skin. "You're really here. I thought—the wedding isn't until next week, you said you weren't coming back until—"

"I lied," I admitted, wrapping my arms around his neck and breathing him in. "I wanted to surprise you. Are you surprised?"

"I got your package," he said, his voice still rough. "Ceci, baby, I'm so proud of you I can barely stand it."

I laughed through the tears, overwhelmed by how much I loved this man, how lucky I was to have found someone who understood that my work mattered, who supported me even when it meant being apart.

"I missed you," I whispered. "Every single day, I missed you so much it hurt."

"Not as much as I missed you." He held me even tighter. "This month has been—Ceci, I've been going crazy without you. The house is too empty, the bed is too cold, and I keep finding myself reaching for you before I remember you're not there."

"I'm here now," I promised, my hands sliding into his hair. "And I'm not going anywhere for at least a week. I'm all yours."

Something shifted in his expression—the vulnerability giving way to something darker, more heated. "All mine?" he repeated, his voice dropping to that low register that always made my stomach flip.

"All yours," I confirmed, and then I was kissing him, pouring a month's worth of longing and love into it, feeling him respond with the same desperate intensity.

His hands slid down my back to my hips, pulling me impossibly closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine with practiced ease. I felt him hard against me already, felt the evidence of exactly how much he'd missed me, and heat flooded through my body in response.

"The dress," he murmured against my lips, his hands finding the zipper at my back. "This dress is incredible, but it needs to come off. Right now."

I laughed breathlessly as he worked the zipper down with fumbling urgency, his usual smooth control apparently abandoned in favor of getting me naked as quickly as possible.

"I wore it for you," I said, helping him push the silk off my shoulders. "Thought you might like it."

"Like it?" The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing but the red lace lingerie I'd bought specifically for this moment. Arthur's eyes went dark as they traveled over me, his hands coming to rest on my waist with possessive heat. "Baby, I love it. But I love what's underneath even more."

He walked me backward toward the bed, his mouth finding my neck, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts above the lace. My knees hit the mattress and I sat down hard, my hands already reaching for his belt.

"Let me," I said, working the leather free with trembling fingers. "Let me take care of you."

But Arthur caught my wrists gently, stopping me. "Not tonight," he said, his voice rough with desire but firm with intention. "Tonight is about me taking care of you. About showing you exactly how much I missed you."

He pushed me back onto the bed, following me down, his body covering mine with welcome weight. His mouth found mine again, kissing me with the kind of slow, thorough intensity that suggested he planned to take his time, to savor every moment.

His hands roamed over me, relearning curves he'd memorized but hadn't touched in too long, and I arched into his touch with embarrassing eagerness.

"Arthur," I breathed, my hands clutching at his shoulders.

"Shh," he murmured against my skin, his mouth trailing down my neck to my chest. "I've got you, baby. Just let me love you."

And he did—with his hands, his mouth, his entire body, showing me without words exactly how much he'd missed me, how much he loved me, how much he needed me.

Time became meaningless, measured only in the rhythm of his movements and the building pleasure that threatened to consume me completely.