When Her Death Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel) novel Chapter 2205

Jason's smile wavered, then steadied into polite composure. "Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Rainsworth. Please come in."

They had expected Jason to feel guilty upon seeing them, yet his calm welcome forced a swift reassessment.

The steadier a man behaved, the more carefully one had to guard against him.

They feared their daughter might not be a match for such composed resolve.

Inside, the couple surveyed the small flat; to their surprise, everything glittered with deliberate order.

Two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and two bathrooms—compact yet sufficient.

Phoebe's attention drifted unerringly toward the bedroom doors.

In the larger room, a pink comforter lay neatly tucked, plush toys—Chelsea's favorites—guarding the headboard.

The second room was spartan: two folded quilts, a stack of books, and a humming desktop computer.

"You two aren't sharing a bed?" Phoebe asked without preamble.

Beside her, Kingston's face darkened; he coughed twice, heavy and awkward.

Jason nodded firmly. "That's right. Chelsea sleeps in the master, I take the other."

Phoebe's brows lifted despite herself.

They had arrived unannounced; Jason could not possibly have staged all this in advance.

Which meant his explanation was likely genuine—they had, in fact, been sleeping apart.

Still, separate rooms proved nothing.

"Why are you two living in separate rooms? I thought you'd already tied the knot."

If they sleep separately, they must be hiding from us—or worse, the man can't perform. Either way, Jason Whitaker is clearly not quality husband material.

"Married?" Jason echoed, the word cracking across the cramped room like a dropped porcelain cup.

His eyes widened, panic and incredulity battling behind thick lashes.

"Mrs. Rainsworth, you must be mistaken. Chelsea and I aren't married," he said, every syllable as earnest as a sworn oath.

Jason still felt like a fledgling. I haven't built anything worthy yet; how dare I ask for Chelsea's hand?

"Mr. and Mrs. Rainsworth, the place is humble, and I have no tea prepared. Please forgive me," he said, setting the water before them.

Jason straightened, shoulders squared, awaiting their verdict like a cadet on inspection day.

Phoebe shot him a glare. "If you know it's humble, how can you let Chelsea live in such hardship? Her bedroom at home is larger than this entire house."

Jason nodded solemnly. "I understand."

Kingston gave a sharp snort. "And it isn't even yours. The place is rented."

Another humble nod. "That's right—this isn't my property."

"But please, grant me a chance," Jason said, eyes steady. "Give me one year. I will earn real money and offer Chelsea the life she deserves."

Phoebe raised a brow. "One year? You've courted her in secret for months—why didn't you prove yourself then instead of wasting time on romance?"

Her words were hard, yet Jason's circumstances were anything but ordinary.

Until recently, his foster parents had leeched every penny from him; only now had he severed that draining tie for good.