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When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2173

Summary for Chapter 2173: When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel)

Chapter summary of Chapter 2173 – When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) by Chloe Lucas

In Chapter 2173, a key chapter of the acclaimed Novel novel When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) by Chloe Lucas, readers are drawn deeper into a story filled with emotion, conflict, and transformation. This chapter brings crucial developments and plot twists that make it essential reading. Whether you’re new to the book or a loyal fan, this section delivers unforgettable moments that define the essence of When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel).

Cecilia learned of the arrest from Norman, the news hitting her like a splash of ice water.

For now, posting bail would be impossible.

"Mr. Jenkins, please investigate this," Cecilia said, steady but strained. "Charlotte really never hurt Felix."

Norman eased the briefcase against his side, straightened the knot of his tie, and met Cecilia's eyes with a measured calm. "Ceci, rest easy. I'll dig until every shred of evidence is laid bare—count on it."

Cecilia lowered her head in quiet gratitude. "Mm."

Even after giving that small nod, unease still pressed against her ribs.

Cecilia knew exactly how relentless Miranda could be. Given an opening, the woman would hound Charlotte without mercy.

Soon, Cecilia went to see Charlotte personally.

Charlotte, on the other hand, seemed rather unconcerned. "Boss, don't worry about me. Two days in here is nothing. I'm tougher than I look."

Cecilia bit back the truth she carried.

According to the medical report Miranda had commissioned, Charlotte faced at least six months behind bars.

"Mm. In any case, I'll do everything I can to get you out," Cecilia said, words clipped with resolve.

Charlotte nodded, then hesitated. "Oh, one more thing—please don't mention any of this to Sven, Boss."

"Why not?"

Charlotte shook her head. "He's already very busy. I don't want him to worry about me and add to his stress. Promise me, Boss."

Cecilia exhaled, surrendering to the plea. "All right. I won't breathe a word."

Charlotte's smile softened. "Thank you, Boss. I keep giving you so much trouble."

Cecilia rested a hand against the glass partition, willing her own smile to form. "You silly thing. After everything we've been through, you're hardly a burden."

When a guard announced the end of visiting hours, Cecilia's gaze lingered on Charlotte, reluctant to turn away.

"Wait for me," she whispered through the phone receiver.

Charlotte nodded once more. There was no fear in her eyes—only unwavering faith in Cecilia.

Cecilia's pulse quickened. Why are they both here?

His voice cut through the air—low, brisk, and edged with a determination that dared anyone to argue. "I'll bail her out."

Cecilia wanted to tell him Norman had already tried and failed, yet the warning never found air. Ernest's long legs devoured the ground, and in two swift strides, he vanished beyond the security doors.

Cecilia stepped aside, offering no resistance. She prayed Ernest might find a way to pull Charlotte from the jaws of jail.

When his silhouette disappeared, the woman turned to Nathaniel, worry tightening her brow. "Why has he come back all of a sudden?" she asked.

A raw winter gust howled along the concrete facade. Nathaniel caught her fingers, slipped them into the warmth of his overcoat pocket, and shielded them as though they were the only flame left in the wind.

"His wife, Jennifer Hughes, has passed away. That's why he returned," Nathaniel said, each word falling like frost.

Needless to say, Cecilia was shocked. "Passed away? How could that happen?"

"Jennifer was already gravely ill," Nathaniel explained, voice low with regret. "She ignored every doctor's plea just to carry their baby to term. The child was born healthy, but she hemorrhaged afterward. They couldn't save her."

Cecilia listened, emotion swirling until no single feeling could settle long enough to name itself.

Oh dear... No wonder Ernest looked like a man carved from grief, hollow and hauntingly alone.

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