When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2052

After Cecilia left the detention wing, Norman fell into step just behind her, his briefcase clutched like a shield.

"Could you draft a settlement agreement? I want the court to consider a light sentence for Scorpius."

"Of course," Norman replied with a single, solemn nod.

They slid into the back seat of the sedan, doors thudding shut against the gray afternoon.

Cecilia leaned back, eyelids sliding down as fatigue pooled behind her eyes and darkness swirled, merciful and silent.

Time blurred until her phone shrilled. She jerked awake, glanced at the screen, and saw it was the director of the psychiatric hospital calling.

"Hello? What is it?"

"Ms. Smith, the patient named Stella Ross insists on seeing you. How would you like us to proceed?"

Cecilia's lips curved, the smile cold enough to frost glass.

"Still pretending she's unstable, is she?"

"She seems far more lucid now—probably dropped the act," the director answered.

"Understood."

She had assumed Stella could keep the charade alive indefinitely. Apparently, the walls of a psychiatric ward were rougher than the fantasy she'd woven for herself.

She tapped the partition. "Driver, to the psychiatric hospital."

Cecilia wanted to look Stella in the eye and take the measure of the damage.

After years of tangled grudges, Stella herself meant little to her now—hardly more than a shadow on the past.

Yet she had not forgotten the harm Stella once orchestrated.

Cassandra had already met her reckoning. Perhaps Stella's turn had come.

Inside the psychiatric hospital, the air smelled of disinfectant and muted desperation.

Stella sat trembling on a vinyl couch, bandages and bruises mottling every inch of exposed skin. The director and a nurse stood guard, wary and wordless.

"Has Cecilia arrived yet?" Stella asked, voice shaking so hard each syllable barely survived the air.

The director offered a measured smile. "Ms. Smith said she is on her way."

Her pupils were dull, unfocused, as though someone had blown out the candle behind them. You thought playing insane would buy you time, a quiet hideaway. Instead, every hour in this place has been a slow, exquisite torture. Jail might be kinder than this.

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