When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2065

"Could I at least see you now?" Charlotte asked shyly. "Just a glimpse."

Sven scanned the ward—white walls, IV stand, the faint odor of antiseptic—and decided she must never know he was still here.

"I'm quite busy. Can we video chat tonight instead?" he asked, gentling his voice.

"Of course. I'm heading to work anyway, and I'll tell Boss you're safe so she stops worrying, too."

Sven nodded even though she couldn't see it. "All right."

Neither wanted to end the call, yet they did. Moments later, Charlotte told Cecilia about what had happened to Sven.

Cecilia's first reaction was shock; once the facts settled, she said, "So you can finally breathe again, right?"

Charlotte answered with a relieved nod. "Yes. I'm done worrying."

Lately, Charlotte had been drifting through her nights in a haze—sleep never stayed long enough to settle, and when dawn finally nudged the curtains she felt more tired than before. The weight of it showed in the bruised half-moons under her eyes and the way her shoulders curled inward, as if she were trying to hold the world in place by sheer will.

"Still, I'm honestly scared, Boss. What if I'm simply not good enough for him?"

There had been a time when she thought she and Sven were equally matched in status

But that illusion had cracked. Sven's family now lived in a different sphere entirely, wrapped in ease and influence, while she remained the daughter of very ordinary parents, her pockets stitched with frayed thread and simple dreams.

Cecilia answered without hesitation, gentle yet firm. "Lottie, whether two people match isn't measured by family ledgers. If you truly care for each other, the rest of it—status, money, pedigree—becomes background noise."

Charlotte nodded hard enough to make her ponytail sway. "Mm."

"Enough fretting," Cecilia added, soft but decisive. "Let the doubts go."

Charlotte pressed her palms together, embarrassed by how sentimental she had grown lately—so tangled in worries that even the smallest task slipped through her fingers.

"Thank you, Boss." The words came out small yet sincere.

"You're welcome," Cecilia replied, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

Magnus shot her a look. "That's your idea of not cold? If you catch the flu, medicine costs more than a few kilowatts. And I already prepaid the electric bill. I get cold; I'm keeping the heater."

Denise's smile was resigned yet tender.

"All right."

He waved her toward the table. "Up you get. Eat first—then you can crawl back under blankets."

Winter had strangled nighttime business; yesterday's sudden rush of customers kept Denise on her feet until after six in the morning.

"Okay."

She pushed herself upright, shrugged into a coat, and joined Magnus for the simple meal, steam clouding their faces and the frosted window alike.

Yet, for reasons she couldn't name, her appetite stayed distant, fluttering away with every bite.

Magnus bought her favorite food, but she couldn't seem to eat much.