Chapter 308: A Bitter Homecoming

By the time Cecilia returned home, it was past nine o'clock. She had cleared the storage room to accommodate Nathaniel. The room was modest but had a private bathroom, ensuring he wouldn't disturb her or Martha.

At precisely ten o'clock, a sleek Maybach arrived. Nathaniel sat rigidly in the back seat, his expression dark and inscrutable. The driver exited, approached the rear passenger door, and respectfully announced, "Mr. Rainsworth, we've arrived. I'll inform Mrs. Rainsworth of your arrival."

Following Nathaniel's instructions, only the driver accompanied him. As Nathaniel alighted, he recalled his promise to Cecilia at City Hall—never to disturb her again.

"Take me there," Nathaniel instructed quietly, appearing unremarkable.

"Understood."

The driver offered assistance, but Nathaniel declined. "Just directions," he said, disliking his dependence.

"Yes, sir." The driver, sensing Nathaniel's pride, guided him to the house.

He expected Cecilia at the door, but after a knock, there was no immediate answer. Cecilia eventually opened it, a cold gust of wind entering with her. Without looking at Nathaniel, she said curtly, "Come in."

Marco, the driver, watched Nathaniel enter, feeling it inappropriate to intrude, and returned to his car. However, a loud crash from inside caused him to glance back. Cecilia had seemingly ignored Nathaniel, causing him to walk directly into the couch. Marco considered intervening but ultimately decided against it.

Settling back in the car, Marco sighed, "Never offend your wife." He'd witnessed Nathaniel's past treatment of Cecilia; now, the roles appeared reversed.

Inside, Cecilia turned to Nathaniel, who stood near the couch. "Could you be more careful?" she said coldly. "This is our only large couch."

Nathaniel, recognizing her familiar irritation, remained surprisingly calm. "I understand," he replied.

His composure startled Cecilia.

"Don't worry," he continued, "I'll have a new couch delivered tomorrow."

His humble tone only increased Cecilia's frustration. She'd intended to provoke him, but now felt a pang of embarrassment.

"I don't want your things," she said sharply. "Don't bother. Follow me; I'll show you your room."

Nathaniel reached for her arm, but Cecilia pulled away.

"I'm not taking care of you," she declared firmly. "If you live here, you're on your own."

Nathaniel swallowed. "All right," he agreed quietly. He hadn't expected her care; he simply wanted to be near her.

He followed her to the cramped storage room, where she'd already arranged his toiletries.

"Martha, my nanny, still lives here," she informed him. "Be mindful and try not to leave your room unnecessarily." Martha, in Cecilia's heart, was family.

"All right," Nathaniel replied respectfully.

Despite the tension, the blind Nathaniel seemed different—subdued, more compliant.

Seeing everything was in order, and noting the late hour, Cecilia turned to leave. As she headed to Martha's room, a loud bang echoed from downstairs.