When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2175

Cecilia never blamed Charlotte, not for a single heartbeat.

"Don't ever say that," she answered softly. "If I'd been there, Felix would have tasted the same lesson. You weren't wrong."

The real wrong lay in a world that let money masquerade as justice.

Charlotte nodded, holding that truth like a fragile promise between them.

She fell quiet, but the silence did nothing to settle the knot of guilt twisting inside her chest. Every breath felt like penance.

At last, the car rolled to a stop at the curb—home, though the word had never sounded so fragile.

Charlotte and Cecilia sank into opposite ends of the living room couch, shoulders brushing the cushions as they waited for Nathaniel to return, the grandfather clock filling the room with slow, agonizing ticks.

***

Meanwhile, at Rainsworth Manor, Nathaniel stepped through the heavy oak doors and, without pausing to loosen his tie, strode straight toward the wing where Felix lived.

Miranda had just descended the staircase. Spotting him, she frowned in surprise. "Nathaniel? What brings you here? Who are you looking for?"

Nathaniel's gaze did not waver. He cut to the point, voice low enough to chill the air.

"Where is Felix?"

Upon hearing that, Miranda realized he must have heard about the incident earlier that day.

Planting herself in front of him, she lifted her chin. "Nathaniel, honestly, you need to control Cecilia. She spoils her employees to the point they have the guts to bully your nephew."

Nathaniel ignored the complaint. A glance up the banister told him exactly which door belonged to the boy.

He sidestepped Miranda and headed upstairs without breaking stride.

"Nathaniel, wait!" She hurried after him, silk slippers skidding on polished wood.

"What are you planning to do? D-Don't you dare blame my son. He's only a child. What could he possibly know?"

Panic tinged her voice as she chased him down the corridor, convinced he meant to harm the boy.

Nathaniel stopped outside a door and shoved it open. The latch clicked; it had never been locked.

Nathaniel eased the door inward with a quiet push.

Miranda's arms tightened around her son, as though her embrace alone could shield him from every accusation swirling in the room.

"Nathaniel, what exactly do you intend to do?" Miranda asked, forcing her voice to stay even though her heart thundered against Felix's cheek.

Color drained from Miranda's face so quickly it was as though someone had yanked a plug from her veins, leaving her skin pale and translucent.

"Absolutely not! You are not taking my son anywhere!" she snapped, every consonant sharp enough to cut.

"And why not?" Nathaniel asked, tilting his head with cold curiosity. "Or are you suggesting Felix was never injured at all?"

Yet even as she spoke, a tremor of doubt flickered in her eyes—proof she was lying to herself as much as to him.

Nathaniel let the silence stretch, then delivered his verdict. "I'm giving you guys one last chance. Either we do another examination, or you confess—right now—whether he was hurt at all."

Felix lifted his tear-glossed eyes toward Miranda. His voice, small and wavering, slipped out. "Mom, maybe we should—"