When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2095

The year's final days arrived in a whirl of frost and red paper lanterns. Cecilia filled the dining room with boxes of gifts, including dried fruits, cured meats, and bright tins of biscuits.

She first shipped half to Alphonse and Bethany, then stacked the rest neatly for her own household.

New Year's Eve dawned silver and cold.

By afternoon, Cecilia and Nathaniel guided their children through the wrought-iron gates of Rainsworth Manor. Four little ones tumbled across polished floors, their laughter echoing against vaulted ceilings, but at the dinner table, an undercurrent of tension crackled between Elena and her husband, Wren, like two storm clouds refusing to clear.

Wren set down his wineglass with a hard click. “Nathaniel, ring Nicholas. Tell him New Year's Eve is not optional. He comes home tonight.”

Nicholas had been absent from the manor for months, and every invitation, plea, or command Wren issued had been met with cold silence.

“Dad,” Nathaniel answered slowly, “Nicholas isn't a child anymore. If he wants to return, he will. If he doesn't, forcing him will only push him further.”

“It's New Year's Eve,” Wren barked. “A family should sit together under one roof. How does it look with him missing?”

Elena, spooning pureed vegetables to little Gabriel, lifted her gaze, voice cool as ice water. “If his own father can't persuade him, how is his elder brother supposed to succeed?”

Wren's retort stalled in his throat. He stared at his plate, the sound of his own breathing suddenly far too loud.

An awkward hush threatened to swallow the room until Luke and Gabriel resumed their incessant toddler chatter, mispronounced words spilling between mouthfuls of rice and turning solemn air into bright confetti.

Their babbling lured laughter back to the table, each adult seizing the noise like a lifeline.

Elliot tugged Jonathan's sleeve and murmured, “Jon, looks like you and I aren't the cute ones anymore.”

Jonathan pushed his glasses higher, face all business. “I never relied on cute.”

He bristled at the word cute. The term clung to him like confetti that refused to fall away, and every time someone tried to pin it on his sleeves, he shook it off with quiet irritation.

Elliot exhaled, a long, weary sigh that fluttered across the silent corridor like the tail end of a forgotten melody.

Dinner was finished, and conversation dwindled into the mellow hush that follows a feast. One by one, the household drifted back to their rooms, letting the hush of New Year's Eve settle over the mansion.

Cecilia had only just sunk into her pillows when her phone buzzed against the nightstand.

She squinted at the screen and saw Magnus' name glowed in pale blue.

Nathaniel's brows knit when he saw the message was from Eric. Not that d*mn famous singer again.

He meant to wake her, demand an explanation, but she had already slipped into half-dreams and was now draped over his arm, warm and trusting.

“Sleep,” she mumbled, voice husky with exhaustion. “So tired.”

Pregnancy had whittled her nightly stamina. The old tradition of waiting up for midnight fireworks no longer tempted her.

“All right,” he whispered, the storm in his chest softening to rain.

Her embrace dissolved every last shard of annoyance. He slid beneath the blankets and gathered her close, folding the night around them like the final page of a well-loved story.

Across town, Magnus stood among Denise and her parents, caught in the gentle chaos of snacks, paper lanterns, and televised countdowns.

Denise brushed crumbs from her mother's scarf. “Doctor's orders. You need to rest early. Come on, let's head to bed.”

“Soon,” her father said, eyes fixed on the bright stage of the New Year's Gala. “We'll finish the program, then off we go.”

For the elderly couple, this single evening of music and fireworks felt precious and was a small pocket of celebration they refused to surrender before midnight could bloom.