Chapter 90 To Fulfill Her Last Wish
Cecilia turned away from the noisy cluster of nurses at the station, her steps deliberate, her mind a storm.
This could not end here. Locking her ashes inside that grave named Eternal Cecilia, forcing her even in death to stare endlessly at the land of the Chapman family she despised… It was a cruelty far worse than killing her a hundred times over.
She had to reclaim her ashes.
But now she was Amelia—just an intern nurse with no power, no influence. She could never stand against Rufus alone.
She needed help. Someone she could trust. Someone who would help her without question.
A face rose in her mind, soft and kind. Charles.
She pressed a hand to the cold wall, breathing hard, forcing herself to think. No. She couldn't drag him back into this. If Rufus discovered Charles was still involved in her affairs, that madman would destroy him without hesitation. She owed Charles too much already. She couldn't let a final wish shackle the rest of his life.
But who else could she turn to?
Cecilia leaned against the wall, a crushing helplessness tightening around her heart.
Lisa's voice cut through from down the hall. "Amelia, what are you doing just standing there? Go to the storeroom, check the new IV tubing, and log it."
Cecilia murmured an acknowledgment and walked toward the storeroom, her steps heavy.
The cramped space was stacked high with medical supplies, the mingled scents of plastic and antiseptic thick in the air. Alone here, she felt a fragile moment of calm.
She crouched down, mechanically counting items on the shelves, but her mind raced. Was she really going to give up? Let Rufus win? Let the last trace of her existence become his twisted trophy?
No. She couldn't accept that.
She stopped what she was doing. When she had faced death, her only comfort had been the thought of resting beside Patrick. And Rufus… Rufus wanted to strip even that away.
Why should he?
The thought hardened inside her, crushing every shred of hesitation and fear.
She had to see Charles. Not to ask him to fight Rufus—only to tell him the truth, to let him know her final wish. What he did after that would be his choice. Even if he walked away, she would accept it.
At least she would have tried.
Cecilia pulled Amelia's old phone from her pocket. Her fingers moved by instinct, dialing a number etched into her memory.
A long, droning tone filled the line. Finally, the call connected.
"Hello." The voice was hoarse, frayed by exhaustion, heavy with a nasal rasp, as if it hadn't spoken freely in a long time.
Cecilia's heart clenched painfully. "Is this Mr. Smith?"
A pause. Silence while he tried to place the unfamiliar voice. "I am. Who is this?"
"I… I'm a relative of Cecilia." Her fingertips were cold against the phone. "I have something about her I want to discuss."
The moment her name left Cecilia's lips, she heard the sharp hitch in his breathing on the other end.
Silence again—so long she thought he might hang up.
"Time. Place." His voice was flat, but it trembled faintly.
"Tonight, seven o'clock. Carousel Café, across from the city hospital."
"Fine."
The call ended.
Cecilia leaned back against the shelving, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor. The dull ache in her chest throbbed in waves.
Just hearing his voice hurt this much. She didn't dare imagine what it would feel like to see him in person.
At seven, she finished her shift, changed out of her nurse's uniform, and arrived at the café on time.
She spotted Charles instantly. He sat by the window, wearing a rumpled shirt, his frame thinner than she remembered, his jaw shadowed with unshaven stubble. He hadn't ordered anything, just stared blankly out at the street.
The warm, composed presence he had once carried was gone. The gentle smile that used to live in his eyes had been replaced by emptiness and a lifeless glaze.
Cecilia froze mid-step. Now she understood the depth of the blow her death had dealt him.
Relief and dread twisted together inside her. Thank God she hadn't pulled him into her world again before she died. If Rufus, with his violent obsession, had turned his sights on Charles, the outcome would have been far worse.
She steadied herself and walked toward him. "Mr. Smith?"
He turned slowly at the sound of her voice. The moment his eyes met her face, his body jolted, stiffening completely.
The glass in his hand slipped, shattering on the floor. He shot to his feet so fast his chair toppled backward, the crash drawing every gaze in the café.
Charles didn't notice. He was staring at Amelia—at the pale face that bore a striking resemblance to Cecilia. "You… who are you?" His voice shook, disbelief and shock tangled together.
"I'm Amelia Martinez. I spoke to you on the phone—Cecilia's—"
"Relative?" His voice rose sharply, tinged with anger, the kind that comes when someone feels they've been played. "I've known her for twenty years! If she had a relative, I'd know. Who are you really?"
The question cut like a blade. Cecilia didn't answer directly. She lifted her chin and met his eyes. "On her tenth birthday, you gave her a music box. The song always jammed halfway through the second chorus. You said it was a rare piece, that you'd searched several stores to find it—until it got dropped."
Charles's pupils contracted sharply.
"And when you applied to a university abroad, she slipped a four-leaf clover into your application letter. You told her you didn't believe in God, only in yourself. But she still hoped a little luck might find you."
These were moments so private that only the two of them could have known. Hearing them from a stranger shattered every wall Charles had built around himself.
The anger drained from his face, leaving only confusion and grief.
He collapsed back into his chair, running his hands through his hair, bowing his head in pain. "How… how did you know her?" His voice was raw.
"We wrote letters for years," Cecilia lied smoothly. "I lived in a remote town. I came back hoping to see her. But…" She let the sentence trail off.
Charles understood without her saying more. Silence settled between them.
She hesitated, then forced herself to speak. "Mr. Smith, I came to you for one reason. That Eternal Cecilia grave… it's not what she wanted. Her greatest wish was to rest with her grandfather Patrick."
Charles's body jolted again. Of course it was her wish. But Rufus…
"He has no right!" Charles slammed his fist on the table, his voice breaking into a muffled roar. "He tormented her when she was alive. And now, even in death, he won't let her go!"
Cecilia exhaled, her voice trembling as she placed all her hope in him. "Mr. Smith… will you help her? Will you fulfill this last wish?"
Charles looked at her—at the face so like Cecilia's, at the stubborn, pleading fire in her eyes. He knew he could not refuse. This was the only thing left he could do for her.
"Yes." He nodded, solemn and steady. "I'll handle it."
Relief washed through Cecilia, loosening the tension that had gripped her all day.
They spoke briefly about how to stay in contact, then rose to leave.
Charles insisted on walking her back to the hospital.
As they stepped out of the café together, a black, limited-edition car rolled past them on the street.