When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2043

Stale darkness smothered the private villa; not the faintest shard of light dared intrude.

In the gloom, Nicholas slumped against a bare wall, half-buried in an ocean of empty liquor bottles. Sleep tugged at him like an undertow, yet he clung to consciousness out of sheer habit.

A sudden scrape of hinges shattered the hush. The heavy door swung inward, admitting a narrow blade of daylight

Nicholas flinched and threw up an arm, shielding bloodshot eyes until they adjusted.

When the blur settled, he saw a man backlit by brilliance—polished dress shoes clicking forward with deliberate menace.

Nathaniel stepped fully inside, flipped on the overhead light, and surveyed the wreckage with a muted sigh. Nicholas lay at the epicenter—bearded, unwashed, every inch of him broadcasting defeat.

Nathaniel's brow creased as he picked his way through the glass like a man crossing a battlefield.

"Is this really the life you've chosen for yourself—forever?" Nathaniel asked, voice calm yet cutting.

Nicholas lifted dull eyes. "You came to mock me, is that it?"

Nathaniel dragged a chair into the wreckage, sat, and flicked him a glance brimming with contempt. "Mock you?"

His lips curved in a chilly half-smile. "You'd have to be worth the effort first."

The words lodged in Nicholas' throat; no retort surfaced.

After a bout of harsh coughing, he rasped, "So why are you here? Surely you're not here to visit me."

"I need something from you," Nathaniel said, unapologetic.

"What could that possibly be?"

"Custody of Dahlia." Nathaniel didn't bother with a preamble. "Meredith Seiler can give her the life she deserves."

The child's name clawed across Nicholas's face, dragging shadows in its wake. He stared at the floor, wordless, torn between tenacious love and festering spite.

"Hate me all you want," Nathaniel continued, voice dropping to steel. "If you had real courage, you'd come at me directly instead of using an innocent girl as your pawn."

Silence pooled wide and deep, swallowing the room.

Hearing the brother he once idolized confess love for the woman he himself had coveted left Nicholas hollow, adrift, unsure which hurt more—jealousy or shame.

He scraped together a smile that never reached his eyes. "Good. You love her. Good for you."

Nathaniel rose, palms settling on Nicholas's tense shoulders. "When will you finally see yourself clearly? You call it devotion, but your feelings for Ceci are nothing more than another contest you refuse to lose to me."

Nicholas slapped the hand away, as though it burned.

"Fine. I'll sign the papers. Now get out."

He could not bear another second of Nathaniel's moral lecture.

Some truths cut so cleanly they needed no voice.

Nathaniel offered no further sermon. He stepped through the doorway and, before the latch clicked, called back, "Take care of yourself, Nicholas."

Minutes later, Meredith's phone chimed with Nicholas' terse message. He would relinquish custody of little Dahlia.