Chapter 81 The One on the Cruise Ship is Cecilia
Charles's second punch never landed.
A blood-smeared hand shot up and clamped around his wrist with crushing force.
It belonged to Rufus.
The impact of that halted strike shuddered through Rufus's body, yet he did not move an inch. His face—streaked with mud and blood—was stripped of the collapse and despair from moments ago. In their place burned the feral glare of a predator provoked beyond reason.
Rufus's strength was staggering.
With a sudden twist, he wrenched Charles's arm sideways. Pain ripped through Charles's shoulder, forcing his fingers to unclench.
"I'll ask you again."
Rufus stepped forward, the tattered hospital gown on his body snapping in the cold wind. His voice was wrecked, every word grinding like stones in a broken mill.
"What did you say to her… on that call… before she died?"
"Every word. Tell me."
The violence radiating from him seeped into the air, making even the guards and officers nearby instinctively shift back.
Charles stared at Rufus for a long moment… and then laughed. The sound was dry, jagged, steeped in scorn and grief.
"What did I say? Rufus, you still think this is someone else's fault?"
He tore his wrist free, jabbing a finger toward the charred ruin, toward Rufus himself. Every syllable was a knife dripping with blood.
"I told her I was coming to take her away! I already had the tickets! I told her she could live if she left this hell you built for her!
"I told her there are doctors overseas—real ones—who could heal every wound you carved into her. I told her she'd never have to see your disgusting face again!"
Charles's voice cracked into a roar.
"But it was too late! You destroyed everything!
"You killed her! You ground down every last shred of hope she had! What gives you the right to stand here and demand answers from me?
"She loved you… and you treated her like garbage. Rufus, you never deserved her love."
Charles's chest heaved, his eyes burning with the kind of hatred that corrodes. Pain and jealousy drove him to spit out the words he might have buried forever.
"I hate… I regret… everything!
"If back then—if on that ship—if I had been the one beside her, helping her survive those ten days… God, how different it would have been.
"If it had been me, I would never have let her suffer. Not for a single moment."
The world fell silent for Rufus.
Owen's voice, the murmur of the police, the bite of the morning wind—everything vanished.
He heard only two words.
Ship. Ten days.
That memory—buried deep, shared only with Blair—was theirs alone. A secret between him and a little girl from long ago.
And now… Charles had spoken it. In a way Rufus could not comprehend.
Rufus's hands shot to Charles's collar. The towering rage was replaced instantly by something colder, sharper—bone-deep suspicion.
"What did you just say?"
His stare locked onto Charles, searching for even the faintest flicker of a lie.
"What ship? Say it again! How the hell do you know about that?"
Charles froze at Rufus's reaction. Then understanding dawned. A strange smile curved his lips—half contempt, half pity.
"What's wrong? The all-knowing, all-powerful Mr. Chapman doesn't know?"
His eyes held the kind of disdain reserved for fools too arrogant to see the cliff edge.
"Didn't you gift that memory to Blair? Didn't you swear she was that girl?"
Charles leaned closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper meant for Rufus alone.
"Now you realize… you found the wrong person?"
"Rufus, you're going to pay the highest price for your arrogance."
He shoved free of Rufus's grip and turned toward the heart of the ruins.
"Officer, I'm a friend of the deceased," Charles said, regaining a veneer of composure but not losing an ounce of resolve. "I'm taking her. I'll handle the funeral."
The words hit Rufus like a hammer, snapping his chaotic thoughts into a single, fixed point.
"Stop."
He moved to block Charles's path.
"Where are you taking her?"
"Away from you, you damned monster!" Charles shot back without hesitation. "You have no right to touch her again!"
"Right?" Rufus repeated softly. Then he laughed. The sound was worse than crying—twisted, steeped in a madness born of possession.
"I'll tell you what right means, Charles.
"Cecilia was my wife.
"On every legal document, the spouse line carries my name—Rufus Chapman.
"Even if she's nothing but ash, that ash belongs to the Chapman family.
"As long as our marriage exists, I'm her only legal kin. Her body, her funeral, every last thing… is mine to decide."
He leaned in, each word deliberate.
"And you… what the hell are you?"
Wife. Husband.
Even in death, was she still his wife?
Cecilia's spirit drifted above them, listening to the absurd battle below. And suddenly, she understood. Understood why her soul was chained to Rufus, unable to leave, unable to find peace.
It was this bond. This bond she had once begged for in life, but in death had become her prison.
The cruelest joke in the world.
"Rufus!" Charles exploded, fury shredding what was left of his restraint. His fist drew back—
—but this time, the guards moved.
Perhaps sensing the shift in Rufus's mood, they no longer stood idle. They closed in fast, locking Charles in an iron grip.
"Let me go!" Charles thrashed, his eyes bloodshot, locked on Rufus's cold, unyielding face. "You bastard! You can't even leave her a shred of peace?"
Rufus didn't answer. He looked to the guards instead.
"Escort him out."
"Yes, Mr. Chapman."
They didn't hesitate. Charles was dragged toward the street, spitting curses.
"Rufus! You will regret it!"
"You think you've won? You know nothing! You're a damn fool!"
His voice faded, swallowed by the growl of an engine as the car tore away.
The scorched ground fell silent once more.
Rufus stood unmoving, his body locked in place.
"Wife," he murmured.
He had won the battle for her remains… yet his chest was hollow, a black void swallowing him whole. Terror and guilt seeped into every vein.
And that secret about the ship had already lodged itself in his mind—poison, gnawing at his sanity.