When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2070

“I heard the same from Sven. Her name is Denise. Let's hope she can keep Magnus on this new path.”

Cecilia's unease had settled in long before dawn. What truly kept her awake was the thought that Magnus might hurt Denise again.

That gentle, scar-scarred woman had already suffered enough. Cecilia would not allow fresh wounds to be carved where old ones had barely healed.

“Of course, Boss. I'll take care of it,” Charlotte said, placing a steaming mug of coffee into Cecilia's waiting hands. The rich aroma drifted upward, wrapping the room in the faint comfort of roasted beans and quiet loyalty.

“Thank you,” Cecilia replied, her voice low but sincere. The cup trembled the slightest bit between her fingers before she raised it for a careful sip.

Meanwhile, Magnus hurried back through the hospital's revolving doors, a plastic bag of takeout swinging against his thigh.

Inside the ward, Denise tried to rise. A burst of dizziness painted her vision black, and her knees buckled.

Magnus dropped the food and lunged, catching her before she collapsed, his arms wrapping around her fragile frame with desperate speed.

“Why did you get out of bed so suddenly? Were you trying to reach the restroom?” Magnus asked, words tumbling out faster than his breath. Concern sharpened every syllable.

As Denise's sight cleared, she realized she was pressed against Magnus' chest. Heat rushed to her cheeks, turning them the color of pale roses at first bloom.

“I just wanted to walk a little,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.

With quiet determination, she braced a hand on the mattress edge and slipped from his arms, forcing a polite distance between them.

“Easy,” Oblivious to their closeness, Magnus said, releasing her by slow degrees. “The doctor warned you've been lying down too long. If you must move, someone needs to steady you. First, eat something. Your blood sugar will crash if you stay empty much longer.”

He crouched to gather the abandoned containers.

Only then did he notice the spilled soup spreading across the tiles like a defeated tide.

“Ah, what a waste,” he sighed, shaking his head. “At least a little survived.”

Magnus set the rescued boxes on the rolling tray table and nudged it toward the bed.

Denise watched in silence.

He pushed every remaining dish toward her side of the tray, keeping for himself nothing but a single serving of plain rice.

“Magnus?” Her soft call cut through the hush.

At last, he let the moment glide past, deciding to accept the misunderstanding rather than risk shattering the fragile ease between them.

Denise dipped her head in a grateful, resolute nod, then raised her fork and began to tuck in.

After a bite, she lifted a piece of braised pork and set it on Magnus' plate with gentle insistence. “You, too. Eat plenty,” she murmured.

“Sure.”

They shared three plain dishes and a pot of soup, and somehow the simple fare tasted to Magnus richer than any delicacy he had savored in better days.

When Denise laid her fork down, warmth had returned to her cheeks, and the weariness in her eyes eased.

A sudden thought flickered across her face. “New Year's is coming fast,” she asked, searching his eyes. “Are you going home for the holiday?”

New Year's? Magnus' fingers tightened around his fork.

He gave a short shake of the head. “No chance. You know the size of my debt. If I show up out of nowhere, someone will plant me face-down in the street.”