When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2203

A chill crawled up Jason's spine. He shoved paperwork aside, grabbed his jacket, and bolted for home.

The apartment was empty.

He panicked and thumbed Cecilia's number—the emergency contact Chelsea had once insisted he save—and pressed call.

Chelsea had offered Cecilia's number for crises that neither of them ever expected. Now the precaution felt unbearably prophetic.

Cecilia was busy working when the unfamiliar digits flashed. She hesitated, then slid her finger across the screen.

"Hello? May I ask who's speaking?" Cecilia's tone was polite, guarded.

"This is Jason Whitaker, Chelsea Rainsworth's boyfriend. Am I speaking with Ms. Smith?"

Cecilia's brow knitted in confusion; she could not imagine why Jason would ring her in the middle of a workday.

"Yes, this is Cecilia. Is everything all right?"

"Chelsea's gone. Have you seen her? Is she with you by any chance?"

"No. Why would she be missing?" Surprise sharpened Cecilia's voice.

Jason said, "Her office called to say she never showed up today. I can't reach her cellphone. Could you please contact her parents and help me find her?"

His chest burned with dread. Pride could wait—he had no choice except to swallow it and call Cecilia.

Cecilia, hearing his shaken voice, agreed without a flicker of doubt.

"All right. I'll start asking around right now, so try not to panic."

With that, Cecilia ended the call, the screen dimming to black.

Waiting felt like an anchor around Jason's neck. He grabbed a print-out of Chelsea's smiling face, stepped into the street, and moved from shopfront to shopfront, holding up the photo and begging strangers for any scrap of information.

A convenience-store owner, wiping his hands on an apron, called him over from the doorway.

"I saw that girl this morning," the man said, voice pitched low with concern. "A big black van pulled up and took her away."

Jason opened his mouth to press for details, but his phone erupted with a shrill ring.

Back inside his apartment, the emptiness roared. Every corner still carried traces of Chelsea.

"This is probably for the best," he whispered to no one.

Meanwhile, in the hospital, after ending the call, Phoebe stood beside the hospital bed, eyes shining with guilt as she watched her daughter lying in bed.

She had told Cecilia only that they had brought Chelsea home; she had not mentioned the injuries.

"What were you doing while my daughter jumped out of a moving car?" Kingston barked at the bodyguards gathered near the door.

"Sir, we're sorry," the lead guard said, head bowed. "She was calm at first—we never imagined she'd leap. It was our failure. We'll cover every cent of her treatment."

Kingston released a weary breath. "Do you think money is the point here?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry," the guard muttered, shrinking further.

Kingston flicked his hand, dismissing the matter beneath the harsh hospital lights. "Forget it. You did what you could. Just be more careful next time."

Chelsea had come away with nothing worse than a clean fracture—no shattered spine, no internal bleeding. Relieved, Kingston decided the guards had already been frightened enough and let the issue drop.