Chapter 93 Consult a Psychiatrist
On the other end, Charles hesitated, hearing a strange lift in her voice, the kind you carried only after surviving something that should have broken you.
Then guilt surged in, drowning whatever confusion he felt.
"It's all my fault! If I'd been more careful, you wouldn't have—"
"It's not your fault," Cecilia cut him off.
She forced herself to sound steady, even weaving a lie to ease his mind.
"I never believed that text message. It was obviously a scam. I would never go. I was just… startled by something else earlier."
"Really?"
"Really." She pushed a faint smile into her tone. "You don't need to blame yourself. I'm fine."
Charles finally let out a breath, the tension in his voice easing.
But the fragile calm didn't last even three seconds.
A sharp, deliberate knock echoed through the room.
Cecilia froze, every drop of blood in her veins turning to ice.
"Ms. Martinez? Are you okay?"
On the phone, Charles picked up on the sudden silence.
"I… I have to deal with something," she said, gripping the phone so tightly her fingers ached with cold. "I'll call you later."
She didn't wait for his answer. She ended the call and kept the phone clenched in her hand.
The knocking continued—steady, insistent, each strike carrying the weight of someone who would keep going until the door splintered.
It wasn't Lisa. It wasn't the dorm supervisor.
At this hour, there was only one person who would knock like that.
A man she would rather die than face.
Every nerve screamed at her to stay quiet, to pretend she wasn't there.
But she knew this door wouldn't hold him back.
Better to face him than have him break his way in.
She drew in a breath, legs trembling, and stepped toward the door. Her hand shook as it closed around the cold metal handle.
She opened it a crack.
Rufus stood outside.
He had traded the rumpled shirt from the restaurant for a sharp black suit, every line immaculate. His strikingly handsome face was drained of color, shadowing him with an air of danger.
He didn't speak. He simply stared through the narrow gap, his dark eyes locking onto her like a predator sighting prey.
Her mind went blank.
How had he found her? So fast?
Fear surged through her limbs, instinct driving her to slam the door.
But his hand shot forward, bracing against it.
The force behind it was brutal. No matter how hard she pushed, the door didn't budge.
"What do you want from me?" Her voice rose sharp with terror. "This is a hospital dorm! If you don't leave, I swear I'll call the police!"
Rufus said nothing.
He pressed harder, inching the door open. His height filled the frame, blocking out the light from the hallway.
The tiny room seemed to shrink around him.
"Cecilia…" His voice was quiet, but steeped in a kind of sick certainty. "No one can take you away from me."
His gaze dropped to the phone still clutched in her hand.
The screen glowed, the top of the call log showing one name—Charles.
Rufus's eyes narrowed.
He reached out, prying the phone from her stiff fingers.
It buzzed again—Charles calling back.
The shrill ringtone cut through the tense silence.
Rufus glanced at the name flashing on the screen, answered the call, but didn't bring the phone to his ear.
"Ms. Martinez? What's going on? Say something! Is Rufus there? Did he find you?" Charles's voice spilled out, tight with panic.
A cruel smile touched Rufus's mouth.
He ended the call.
Then switched the phone off.
The room fell into absolute silence.
"Come with me," he said, his tone clipped, reaching for her arm.
"I'm not going!" Cecilia's scream was raw, her back hitting the cold wall as she retreated. "You're insane! Let me go!"
Her resistance was nothing against his strength.
His grip locked around her wrist, ignoring her blows and desperate twisting. He dragged her out of the dorm.
Despair.
It closed over her like a sealed coffin.
He shoved her into his car. The doors locked with a solid click, cutting off her last hope for help.
They drove in silence.
The car stopped at the Chapman family's sprawling estate.
Owen emerged from the house, drawn by the sound of the engine. When he saw Rufus pulling a young woman from the car, he froze.
"Mr. Chapman, is this…"
The face was almost identical to the late Cecilia.
Owen's breath caught for a moment.
But then he saw it—the difference. Cecilia's eyes, in life, had never held this raw fear and defiance.
This was just a girl who happened to look like her.
Owen lowered his gaze, slipping back into his usual deference, asking no more.
Rufus hauled Cecilia through the grand living room and threw her onto the plush sofa.
He stood over her, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot and burning with regret, pain, and a twisted joy at having her back.
"I was wrong," Rufus rasped.
Cecilia curled into the corner of the sofa, her muscles tight, glaring at him without speaking.
"Brad—he's in prison. He'll never get out."
"Blair—she's lost her mind. She's in an asylum."
Rufus listed his deeds like offerings on an altar.
"Everyone who hurt you has paid. Paid in ways far worse than what you suffered."
He bent toward her, voice dipping into something almost pleading.
"I won't force you to do anything again. Stay. Please."
Compensation? Redemption?
Cecilia listened to his absurd words, watched his performance of remorse, and felt her stomach twist.
Who did he think he was?
Some god, handing down judgment and dispensing forgiveness on his own terms?
The sheer arrogance and the physical revulsion smothered her fear.
Slowly, she lifted her head.
She sat there for a moment, then straightened, shedding the mask of terror.
Her pale face was stripped of all emotion but one—cold, unyielding contempt.
"Sir, I think you're seriously unwell. You should get your head checked—or better yet, see a psychiatrist.
"Kidnapping a stranger and spewing delusional nonsense… is this your pathetic excuse for redemption?
"Those people you mentioned—I don't know any of them. But if they're real, I'd bet you drove them to ruin yourself.
"You think violence and money can control everything? You're wrong. People like you don't even understand the basics of love or respect.
"Sir, you're just a pitiful case who needs to be committed."