Chapter 10 Future Wife

Cecilia

"Speaking of which," Sophia continued, seemingly oblivious to the sudden tension, "Arthur, you're thirty-four and still single. I’ve got plenty of high‑quality women around me asking about your relationship status."

She glanced at me.

"Ceci, you know him best. What kind of woman do you think Arthur should marry? You could help him look."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The ring suddenly felt like a shackle in my hand, the inscription mocking me.

I’ll always be by your side

"Yeah, Arthur," I heard myself say, my voice remarkably steady despite the way my heart was shattering. "What kind of woman do you want? I'd be happy to help you find her."

I held up the hand wearing his ring, twisting it. The gesture wasn't lost on anyone—especially not Arthur, whose expression turned thunderous.

"I'm sure someone here knows a suitable candidate," I continued, my smile sharp enough to cut.

"Ceci," Arthur warned.

"Someone who won't challenge you?" I was on a roll now, unable to stop even though I could see I was pushing him too far. "Someone who'll be content to be Mrs. Arthur Winston and won't ask too many questions about where you go at night or—"

"Enough." Arthur's voice cracked like a whip. He drained his whiskey in one gulp, set the glass down with controlled force. "If you'll all excuse us for a moment."

He grabbed my elbow, and practically dragged me toward the French doors leading to the terrace.

"Arthur, what the hell—" I started.

"Not here," he ground out.

The moment we were outside, away from prying eyes, he released me and stalked to the edge of the terrace.

"What the fuck was that?"

"What was what?" I shot back.

"Sophia asked a reasonable question. You're thirty-four, as she so kindly pointed out. Don't you want to settle down?"

He spun around. "You know damn well—"

"I don't know anything!" The words exploded out of me. "It's definitely not me! You don't even love me? You sent me away! You never came to see me for four whole years!"

"Ceci—"

"Shut up! I don’t want to hear any of your excuses about doing it for my own good! I—I've never been okay." I seemed to be crying. I snapped, "I could tell this morning!"

His eyes flashed. "You want to talk about this morning? When you walked into my office dressed like every wet dream I've had for the past four years? When you kissed me—"

"And you kissed me back," I interrupted. "You want to fuck me! But you don't love me at all."

Something in his expression shifted. "Ceci..."

"So yes," I continued, forcing myself to meet his eyes even though it hurt. "I think you should find someone to marry. Someone appropriate. Someone who won't be a scandal or a liability. Someone—"

"Like you?"

The question hit like a physical blow. For a moment, I couldn't process it. Then I laughed—a harsh, broken sound. "Are you serious? We both know I'm the exact opposite of what you need."

"I didn't ask what I need." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I asked if you think I should marry someone like you."

This was dangerous territory. Every instinct screamed at me to retreat, to protect myself. But I was so tired of pretending.

"No," I said finally. "You shouldn't marry someone like me. You should marry someone stable. You ought to marry a lady from a noble or wealthy family—someone elegant and charming."

He was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the dark ocean beyond the estate. When he spoke again, his voice was carefully controlled. "I won't."

"You won't? How ridiculous. Then who do you plan to marry?" I said, hurt and wronged. "It can't be me, can it? You know what they'll say. Oh, look, there's Winston who married his ward."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Well," I finally managed, my voice barely steady. "I should leave. Apologize to Carter for me—tell him I’m unwell and have to go."

I reached up and slowly removed the ring—his ring, with its promise of protection and understanding. It felt like ripping off a piece of my soul, but I managed. I held it out to him.

He stared at the ring like it was a snake. "Ceci..."

"Goodnight, Arthur." I set the ring on the nearby table and walked past him, my head held high.

"Don't you dare—"

But I was already inside, grabbing my clutch, before anyone could stop me, I was out the door.

I'd spent building myself into someone strong enough to face him again.

Four years of telling myself I was over it, that I'd moved on.

Forget it, Cecilia. You came back to investigate your father’s death. Don’t grieve over someone irrelevant.

My phone—my old phone, not Max's gift—buzzed with a text from an unknown number: "Car is waiting at the end of the drive. Ethan Grey."

How gracious of you, Arthur, to bother arranging someone to drive me back.

As we pulled away, I saw a figure standing on the terrace. Even from a distance, I recognized Arthur's stance—rigid, controlled, the posture of a man barely holding himself together.

Good. Let him stand there.

I don't care who he marries. It has nothing to do with me at all.

I pressed my palm against the window, watching the estate disappear behind us. My other hand unconsciously moved to my neck, fingers finding my father's encrypted USB drive.

Focus, I told myself. Remember why you're really here.

My phone buzzed again—my secure one this time. An alert from one of my monitoring programs. Someone had accessed my father's old files on Winston Corp's servers. Not Arthur's account. His father's.

William Winston detected unauthorized access to my father's records.

It was him. He seized my father's position as the person in charge. And he was very likely the one who killed my father.

I remembered revenge was so much simpler than whatever the hell this was with Arthur.

Seek revenge on William, and show Arthur what his father did to mine!