Chapter 39 I'm Tired, Rufus
To Cecilia, Blair's constant games had long since become tiresome.
"When are you going to stop being so insecure?" Cecilia's voice was quiet but edged with steel. "You keep imagining I'm after Rufus, that I'm some threat you need to neutralize. Why waste your energy?"
There had been a time—before Patrick's death—when Cecilia still clung to some shred of feeling for Rufus, some stubborn hope for their relationship.
But that hope had died with her grandfather. Whatever bond they'd had was gone, turned to ash.
She couldn't pretend nothing had happened. She couldn't smile and go back to how things were.
And Blair? Blair had no reason to keep pouring so much venom into her direction.
The words hit their mark. Blair's expression tightened, the easy smile slipping away.
Cecilia had just named the one thing Blair feared most—that someone might see through her, strip her bare. And worse, it came from Cecilia, the woman Blair had always looked down on.
Blair's lips thinned. "Cecilia, you really are pathetic. The people you treasure throw you away like trash. The ones you care for leave you behind. You are cursed."
Her eyes glittered with malice. "Tell me—do you think your grandfather's spirit regrets ever agreeing to let your mother bring you into this world? He died so young because of you!"
The words sliced clean through Cecilia's composure. She shoved Blair hard, the movement sharp and unrestrained.
Normally, she could ignore Blair's barbs, let them slide past without reaction. But not this. Not when Patrick's name was dragged through the mud.
The door swung open. Rufus stepped in, and the first thing he saw was Blair sprawled on the floor, Cecilia standing over her, eyes cold.
"Cecilia! What the hell are you doing?" His voice cracked like a whip. He strode forward, grabbed her shoulder, and shoved her back.
The impact caught her off guard. Her head slammed into the wall with a dull, sickening thud. Pain exploded at the base of her skull, her vision dimmed, and for a moment, all sound dropped away. Instinctively, she reached back, her fingers finding something warm and wet—blood.
"Blair, are you all right?" Rufus didn't spare Cecilia a glance. He crouched beside Blair, voice low and tender in a way Cecilia hadn't heard in years.
Blair leaned weakly into him, eyes shimmering with tears. "I'm fine, Rufus… Don't blame Cecilia. She's just upset. This is my fault—I shouldn't have come. I was only worried about her."
"Don't be ridiculous. This isn't your fault." Rufus cut her off, scooping her up in his arms. "Let's get you to a doctor."
He left without so much as a flicker of concern for Cecilia.
She braced herself against the wall, trying to steady her breathing. The wound throbbed with every heartbeat, but the ache in her chest was worse—a cold, hollow ache that spread outward until it felt like her whole body was numb.
She watched Rufus carry Blair away, his stride urgent, his voice full of worry, as if Blair were the most precious thing he'd ever held. And Cecilia? She was just dust in the corner, something to be brushed aside.
This was the man she had loved for so long.
It took effort to stand, each step a test of will. A faint smear of her blood marked the wall behind her, a quiet testament to a wound that would not heal.
By the time she had cleaned herself up and returned to the ward, Rufus was waiting. His expression was sharp, his voice colder than the hospital's sterile air.
"Cecilia, I underestimated you. I thought you just liked to play little games. But this—this is pure malice." His gaze cut into her like ice. "You knew Blair had just come out of surgery. You push her like that—were you trying to kill her?"
Cecilia held his stare. This was the man she had once believed she would spend her life with. Slowly, she reached for the hem of her hospital gown and lifted it, revealing the angry scar across her abdomen.
"Rufus, I also just had surgery," she said, her voice unnervingly calm. "For your precious Blair."
The scar was jagged, ugly, a pale rope of flesh against her skin, like a centipede curled in place.
For a moment, something flickered in Rufus's eyes—hesitation, maybe guilt—but it was gone in an instant, replaced by frost.
"Same tricks again? Last time it was a fake medical record. This time, a fake scar? Your acting is improving, Cecilia."
Her fingers trembled as she lowered the fabric. So that was what he thought of her.
She should have been used to this by now, but the dull ache in her chest told her otherwise.
"I don't want to fight about this," she said, closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath. "I just want to know—yesterday you promised me that if I cooperated with the drug trial, you'd let me see my grandfather. So why is he lying in the morgue today?"
Something in Rufus's face shifted, a crack in the mask. He looked away. "This isn't the time to talk about that. And you shouldn't go back there."
"When can I see him?" Her voice wavered, though she didn't notice.
"When Blair's stable."
But yesterday he hadn't said that. And why keep her away if Patrick was fine? The thought settled in her stomach like lead, heavy and cold. A terrible suspicion began to take shape.
"Rufus," she whispered, the words barely audible, "did you order them to stop my grandfather's medication?"
His head snapped toward her, eyes sharp. "What the hell are you talking about?"
But she saw it—the brief flash of panic, the forced calm, the way he wouldn't meet her gaze. It was all the answer she needed.
She had clung to the hope that Blair was lying, that this was just another cruel trick. But now the floor seemed to tilt beneath her, the world breaking apart.
Patrick, the man who had raised her, taught her to write, stood up for her when no one else would—was gone. And the man she loved had taken him from her.
Rufus had caused it all, and then hidden it, dangling the promise of seeing Patrick just to make her serve Blair's needs in the trial.
Her voice was raw, each word scraped out from deep inside. "I did what you asked. All I wanted was for my grandfather to be well. Was that really too much?"
His lips pressed into a thin line. Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Sometimes silence was the cruelest answer.
Cecilia laughed suddenly, tears slipping free. She stepped toward him, closing the distance until she stood right before him.
"Rufus, do you know something?" Her voice was soft, the kind that carried more weight than a shout. "When I was fifteen, my grandfather told me that if you love someone, you give them everything. I listened. I gave you all I had.
"Before our wedding, he told me that love has to go both ways. If only one person gives, they'll eventually grow tired. I didn't believe him. I thought if I loved you enough, you'd see me."
Her breath hitched. "Now I understand. He was right. I'm tired, Rufus."