Chapter 93 The Wronged Cecily
"What's supposedly done by me?" Cecily wrinkled her brow as she faced Darian's stormy look.
"Nothing," Darian said curtly before walking out.
Cecily glanced at the clock in the room; it was about time Griffin went to school. She didn't plan on staying any longer, and she headed down the stairs intending to leave. But at the door, a bodyguard from the Fitzgerald family blocked her way.
"Why are you stopping me?"
"Sorry, Ms. Cecily, Mr. Fitzgerald has instructed that you cannot leave before he returns," the bodyguard informed her in an emotionless, formulaic tone.
"On what grounds?" Cecily's anger flared immediately.
"Mr. Fitzgerald's instructions are clear. If he says you cannot leave, then you cannot leave." The bodyguard maintained an unyielding stance, as usual.
Cecily knew that the Fitzgerald family's bodyguards would only listen to Darian. If he said she couldn't leave, these men would likely physically prevent her from exiting.
Taking a deep breath, Cecily realized it was less about waiting for Darian to allow her to leave and more about him finishing his investigation into Ophelia's situation and ensuring it had nothing to do with her.
He still suspected her.
Cecily gently rubbed her forehead and walked toward the living room. She was innocent, and no matter how hard he looked, it wouldn't involve her. She wasn't afraid of his scrutiny.
However, the question remained. Ophelia's kidnapper was unknown. Perhaps, it was one of her own enemies.
Cecily rubbed her temples, trying to piece together what had happened last night.
Without her phone, she felt virtually paralyzed, unable to get anything done.
She had even asked the PR department to set up a meeting with Lucinda for ten in the morning.
By now, she was sure she would be too late.
Cecily waited on the couch for two long hours until a rush of hurried footsteps approached. She looked up to see Darian hastening back, cradling a battered Ophelia in his arms.
As Cecily stood up, Darian exuded an aura that warned others to keep their distance. He carried Ophelia upstairs, closely followed by a wave of family doctors.
"Cecily, come up here!" Darian called angrily.
Cecily was momentarily stunned but reacted before the security guards could grab her. "Don't pull me."
She averted her gaze and stated firmly, "I can walk on my own."
Cecily quickly followed them upstairs.
The room was crowded with doctors; Ophelia lay in bed, deathly pale, with her clothes slashed in a few places, shivering all over. She looked not only injured but deeply frightened.
With tear-stained, bloodless lips, Ophelia kept crying, evoking deep pity.
Surprised by Ophelia's sorry state, Cecily didn't have a chance to reflect before Darian's sharp gaze landed on her. "Did you cause these injuries?"
Cecily's brows furrowed. She knew without a doubt that Ophelia must have embellished the story on their way back. Cecily had no intention of hiding anything. "I hit her head and stepped on her leg."
Darian scoffed, his deep eyes sharp and icy. "Are you not going to defend yourself?"
Cecily stood her ground. "I did it. Why would I argue?"
"What else?"
"That's it."
"That's it?" Darian's eyes gleamed colder than before. "Kidnapping her, dumping her in the wilderness, and threatening her—that wasn't you?"
As Darian's penetrating question came, his tone implied he believed she was involved in the incident.
Cecily offered a bitter smile; although she knew denial was futile, she still resolutely answered, "No, it wasn't."
However, Darian would never believe her.
Darian smirked. "Didn't you just say you wouldn't make excuses? Now, why don't you have the courage to admit it?"
Cecily decisively shut her mouth. Any defense she mustered was twisted into an excuse as he laid the blame on her. There was nothing she could say.
Cecily lowered her gaze, shaking her head with a bitter smile. Her silence only irritated Darian further.
"Do you have nothing to say now? If you won't speak, I will." He continued, "She's injured, can barely walk, and you had someone dump her in a place miles from anywhere. Losing too much blood can kill a person, and it's not like you don't know that. If she hadn't found a place with a signal today, she would have died out there in the suburbs. Cecily, you were practically sentencing her to death."
By the time Darian arrived, Ophelia was lying on the ground, having spent a night in terror, and now feverish from an infected wound. The doctors had said that if he had been any later, chances were she wouldn’t have made it.
It was clear that there had been no intention for Ophelia to walk out alive.
It was virtually a direct action to take someone's life; it was incredibly sinister.
Ophelia claimed that she had had an altercation with Cecily the previous night and was abducted after Cecily left—making Cecily the prime suspect.
A rush of footsteps approached.
A slap resounded.
Cecily felt numb pain on her left cheek as she looked up; the slap had already made its mark, and she couldn't have dodged it.
"Witch!" Ophelia' mother, Tabitha, shrieked hysterically. "You were the death of Ophelia's child back in the day, and now you want to put her in the grave again. How did someone like you not die back then?"
Cecily wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth and slowly lifted her head, her icy gaze firmly on the furiously dressed lady in front of her.
As Tabitha came at her again, Cecily raised her hand, slapping back in a swift retort.
Tabitha reeled back several steps, clutching her face, her eyes filled with disbelief. "How dare you hit back?"
Tristan Flores, standing by his wife, turned a glance of dignified coldness toward Cecily when he saw her being struck. His underlings immediately understood and stepped forward.
Darian’s brow furrowed as he saw the distinct palm print on the woman’s cheek. His eyes blazed with an intensity that swept over the two men approaching. With a cold voice, he commanded, "Do you think it’s your place to discipline her? Get out!"
Hearing this, Tristan's two henchmen stopped in their tracks, not daring to move forward.
"Darian, what do you mean by this?" Tristan furrowed his brows, and his face was flushed with anger, clearly displeased that Darian had intervened to stop him.
"Since when does anyone else have the right to discipline someone on my turf?"
"She almost killed Ophelia and you're still defending her?" Tabitha was beside herself with rage, as if she wanted to drag Cecily out and skin her alive. "A woman like that should be killed on the spot, Darian, don't you forget that Ophelia is your fiancée."
"If you can't understand plain English, maybe you need to go back and learn again."
"You!" Tabitha huffed in anger, seemingly taken aback that Darian would protect Cecily like this. "All right, the evidence is clear she hurt Ophelia, and if you defend her, we will just have to take it up with Grandpa Owen."
"You don't need to threaten me with him. What can he do if I decide to protect her?" Darian's voice was icy cold.
"Darian! She almost killed Ophelia. Why is she still standing here fine and dandy? She should be dead, apologizing to Ophelia."
In the face of Tabitha's relentless nagging, the rage in Darian's eyes was nearly uncontainable as he ground his teeth and asked, "Can't you understand simple English? Do I need to find someone to fix your brain?"
Tristan reached over and grabbed his wife, giving Darian a dark look. "I'm waiting on your decision."
Darian was clear. Cecily was his to deal with, and it wasn't anyone else's place to punish her, much less tell him what to do.
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