Chapter 14 Bent on Death
It happened so suddenly that Rufus froze, his mind scrambling for a way to stop her. Cecilia's grip on the knife was steady, her eyes closed as if welcoming the end. But the pain she expected never came.
She opened her eyes slowly, confusion flickering across her face.
Rufus stood over her, veins bulging at his temple, his hand clamped around the blade poised at her throat. Blood streamed down his wrist, dripping onto the floor in slow, deliberate beats.
"You're insane," Cecilia breathed.
In that moment of shock, Rufus wrenched the knife from her hand. She didn't resist—afraid of hurting him twice—and the blade clattered to the floor, its metallic ring slicing through the air.
"You're insane," she repeated.
His voice cracked like a whip. "Who's insane here, Cecilia? Do you really want to die?"
He knew that if he hadn't intercepted her, the angle and force of the strike would have ended her life instantly. Until now, Rufus had never believed she truly meant to die—never believed she had the courage to follow through.
His fury was unlike anything she'd seen in him before. Rufus had always been controlled, cultured, confident that the world bent to his will. But now, for one of the rare moments in his life, something was slipping beyond his grasp.
He hated that feeling.
Cecilia blinked at him, her voice flat. "Isn't this what you've always wanted? Once I'm gone, Blair can take her rightful place as Mrs. Chapman. Why pretend otherwise?"
To her, his intervention was pointless.
Rufus felt a cold panic coil in his chest. The lifelessness in her eyes unsettled him. He gripped her throat, his blood staining her skin. "You fought to marry me. You stole Blair's place. You've held it for years, enjoyed it for years… and now you think you can just walk away? I'm telling you, that door is closed."
The air between them tightened, sharp as broken glass.
Something warm fell onto his arm—her tears. He loosened his hold instinctively.
Cecilia wiped her face with a harsh motion, glaring at him with pure hatred. "You're right. I made mistakes. I shouldn't have clung to hollow promises all these years. I shouldn't have reached for what was never mine. If Blair wants something, I'll hand it over."
Her voice broke. "But I won't give her my kidney. I won't be treated like a storehouse for spare parts. After years as her guinea pig, after the toll it's taken on my body, isn't that enough? I want to live with dignity, as a human being. I have the right to decide if I live or die."
Rufus stared at her, ice settling in his tone. "You don't deserve it."
Not dignity. Not the freedom to choose death.
The words hit her like a blow. She stopped crying.
The room felt suffocating. Rufus left abruptly, almost fleeing. Cecilia watched his back until the door closed, her gaze hollow.
Outside, Blair had been waiting so long she was about to storm in. When she finally saw him, her eyes lit up—then dropped to the blood on his hand.
"Rufus! What happened to your hand? Did Cecilia do this?"
She took his hand gently, guilt clouding her voice. "I told her so clearly—if she has a problem, she should take it out on me. Why would she hurt the person I care about most?"
Remembering Cecilia's sorrowful eyes, Rufus pulled his hand away. "It wasn't her. I did it myself."
Blair's brows lifted in disbelief. Rufus lying for Cecilia? She couldn't wrap her head around it. But she let it go, telling herself he just didn't want her to worry.
She smiled, tugging him toward the infirmary to treat the wound.
Later that afternoon, the door to Cecilia's room swung open. She braced herself for Blair's cruelty—only to see Dr. Lyle Warner walk in.
She knew him well. Rufus had brought him in from overseas, part of an elite team devoted to Blair's treatment. Lyle handled experimental drugs and tracked side effects. Every time he came, it meant new medication. This time was no different.
"Get out," she said coldly, her eyes cutting him down.
He didn't move. Instead, he prepared a small white pill.
Cecilia swatted weakly at his hand, but her strength failed. The pill remained in his palm.
"Forgive me," Lyle said, gripping her jaw and forcing the pill into her mouth.
She had always cooperated before. This was the first time they'd resorted to force.
But they'd overlooked one thing—her body was too weak to swallow. Even with the pill in her mouth, she couldn't take it down, making observation of side effects impossible.
She stared at him with exhausted defiance. "Now you can leave. And I don't want to see you again."
Seeing him dredged up memories she wanted buried.
Lyle didn't leave. His voice was clinical, almost casual. "Ms. Thorne, don't worry. Give me ten minutes and I'll prepare an injectable form. Even if you can't swallow, the drug will still be absorbed."
The words slithered into her ears like a devil's whisper.
That morning she'd told Rufus she had no dignity. That afternoon they were proving her right.
She wouldn't allow it.
But the syringe was already in his hand, the needle catching the light. Lyle stepped closer, and others pinned her down.
She thought of an animal trapped on the slaughter table. And realized she was that animal.