When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2159

"When time drags on, do I keep paying for rooms I can't afford? Tell me, Jason—will you keep funneling cash so I can continue hiding behind hotel walls?"

Silence wrapped around the man. He had no quick answer, and the stillness gnawed at the air.

Chelsea turned her back, curling onto the couch like a wounded cat. "I don't care. I'm staying right here with you. I refuse to go anywhere else."

Jason sighed, helplessness swimming in his dark eyes. He knew Chelsea's stubborn streak—rock solid and impossible to shift once planted.

After a long beat, he spoke, choosing each word with deliberate care. "All right. Take the bedroom. From tonight on, I'll sleep here in the living room."

Chelsea shot upright, a grin breaking through her tears. "Deal."

Jason watched the sudden sparkle on her face, aware she had outmaneuvered him again. He felt exasperated, yet the warmth in his chest refused to let him scold her.

Curled into the corner of the couch, Chelsea looked over her shoulder and whispered. "Aren't you supposed to catch up on sleep during the day? Go on, get some rest. I'll stay out here in the living room and keep quiet. I won't disturb you."

Jason rubbed a hand across his tired face, shook his head, and let out a low laugh. "Sleep can wait. I'm quitting that job anyway."

With Chelsea under his roof, the very idea of closing his eyes felt impossible.

She gave a small nod, the conversation settling like dusk between them. "All right, if you're sure."

Jason glanced at the clock—midday already—and his stomach tightened with worry. "Have you eaten? Let me make something for you."

"Sure," Chelsea answered without hesitation, a spark of curiosity flickering in her eyes.

She had never tasted Jason's cooking before, and the thought alone warmed her more than the sun pouring through the windows.

Because he had almost nothing in the refrigerator, Jason brought her out for fresh groceries, then returned with arms full of produce and possibilities.

Shopping together, chopping vegetables, and listening to water hiss in the skillet filled the tiny kitchen with the humble rhythm of ordinary life, and Chelsea's mood lifted like steam curling toward the ceiling.

She had been thrown out so suddenly that morning she'd left with nothing but the clothes on her back.

After lunch, Jason escorted her downtown, helping her choose clothes, shampoo, a swipe of perfume, even a modest palette of makeup—essentials that rebuilt a sense of self one shopping bag at a time.

Though she tried to restrain herself, the register still rang up a little over 100 thousand.

Chelsea offered her own card, only to find it useless—her accounts had been frozen, and the balance on her digital wallet sat at a lonely zero.

"Don't worry. He's a good man. He'd never hurt me," Chelsea texted back with unwavering certainty.

Conversation finished, Chelsea slipped out of the bedroom and padded past the couch. Unable to help herself, she paused and called his name, her voice soft as the glow from the hallway light.

Across the darkened room, Chelsea whispered, "Jason, are you asleep?"

He snapped his gaze up to the ceiling, throat clearing in a rush. "Not yet," he managed, voice muffled with embarrassment. "What's wrong?"

"I need the restroom," Chelsea confessed, hugging her own elbows like the shadows might bite. "But I'm scared."

Chelsea, fearless of thunder or thieves, trembled at the thought of a strange bathroom—certain some dripping hand might claw out of the porcelain the second she sat down.

Jason pushed upright, careful not to let his eyes linger on the hem of her nightgown. "It's only a few steps away," he murmured, keeping his tone light. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

"B-But I'm still frightened," she admitted, desperation cracking her whisper. "Will you stand with me—just for a minute?"