When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2062

Inside a suite lit by one lone lamp, Nicholas lounged half upright on the edge of the mattress, shirt open at the collar, eyes cold as winter glass.

A woman knelt on the carpet, mascara running through fresh bruises. She hugged her torn coat to her trembling shoulders.

"M-Mr. Nicholas... please, just let me go," she sobbed.

He regarded her with bored detachment, as though she were part of the décor.

"Everything that happened tonight stays buried," he said, voice flat, almost sleepy.

The woman blinked, then bobbed her head so fast it blurred. "Yes."

"You may leave."

She scrambled up, snatched her purse, and fled toward the hallway light that promised escape.

Out in the corridor, she pressed against the wall, heart in her throat. She had walked in dreaming of a golden future, only to discover the fabled heir was as unreachable as a statue and twice as cold.

Fear crawled over greed. Earlier she had paid a photographer to catch them together once alcohol had softened his guard.

She dialed frantically. "Delete the shots. Do not upload anything—ever!"

"Too late. I already blasted them to every outlet," the voice replied.

Ice slid through her veins. "You're going to ruin me."

She hung up, opened a news app, and saw her own face beside Nicholas' in blazing headline font.

Panic eclipsed thought. She hailed the first taxi that screeched by and barked for the airport, certain only that Tudela was now a city she could never again enter.

Back in the dim hotel room, Nicholas remained where she had left him, eyes aimed at nothing, as if the night itself had already drained him of everything worth feeling.

He unlocked his phone, the screen still bright from an earlier call. A new banner slid across the top—his father's name.

"Nicholas, what's all this on the news? And who is that woman?"

A faint crease cut across Nicholas' brow. What news?

His knuckles whitened around the phone. That woman—she's going to regret this.

Wren's sigh rumbled through the line. "What on earth happened, Nicholas? You were always the sensible one. Who is this woman? If she's suitable, bring her home. You're not getting any younger."

Nicholas felt his jaw set. "Dad, this is my life. Please stay out of it."

He ended the call before another word could travel either way.

Wren stared at the silent screen, a heaviness settling over his chest. How did the son who once listened to every word become so impossible to reason with?

Across the sitting room, Elena lounged on a velvet chair, watching as though it were a stage play. "So, how'd that go?"

She had spotted the scandal first. In the past, she would have taken charge, but the ink on their divorce papers was long dry. Tonight she'd decided the mess belonged to the boy's father, not her.

Wren's face tightened. "I'll speak to him first thing tomorrow."

Elena lifted one eyebrow. "Don't bother. He won't listen."

Wren shot back, "And how would you know that?"