Chapter 85 Surveillance Records Related to Cecilia
The wine cellar had fallen back into a suffocating silence.
Rufus held the jade pendant in a clenched fist, its surface warmed by his own body heat.
His head was bowed again, thumb moving over the carved lines in slow, obsessive strokes. The motion was almost compulsive, as if each pass of his fingertip could summon something lost.
He had seen this gesture before—countless times on Cecilia. On the couch in the living room, outside his study in the dead of night… she would do it without thinking, caressing something precious.
Now he understood. She had been holding onto the past. Their past. The one he had let slip from his memory, but she had guarded for years… until the day she died, carrying it with her.
He had been wrong.
Wrong from the very beginning.
He had trusted the wrong person. Loved the wrong person. Hated the wrong person.
The realization did not bring relief. It was agony—driving splinters through his flesh, pinning him to a cross made of shame and regret.
"Cecilia."
The name left his throat like sandpaper. It wasn't a call. It was confirmation.
Rufus pressed the pendant to his chest. The stone, smooth and gentle to the touch, burned like a coal against his skin even through the fabric.
"I'm sorry."
He bent forward, curling in on himself, forehead resting against the cold metal of the wine rack. His body shook violently.
"I was wrong. I shouldn't have doubted you. I was wrong about everything."
The words spilled out in fragments, tangled and incoherent.
He thought of all the times Cecilia had tried to explain, only to stop herself.
He remembered the sadness in her eyes, a sadness that never seemed to leave.
She had wanted to escape long before the end.
But he had locked her in with a marriage certificate, with the title of wife, until she was reduced to a corpse… to ashes.
He had killed the girl who, in the dark belly of a ship, had shared her bread with him, told him stories, promised to protect him.
Above him, Cecilia's spirit hovered, watching his late collapse with a detached gaze.
She felt no satisfaction.
His regret, his pain—none of it mattered to her anymore.
A butcher who wept over the head he had just severed, claiming he wished he hadn't done it… wasn't that laughable?
Pathetic.
She was tired of it all.
Tired of Rufus's remorseful face. Tired of this house steeped in her suffering.
She wanted to leave.
Anywhere would be better than here.
Her soul surged toward the door of the cellar, desperate to break free. But just as she crossed the threshold, an unseen force yanked her back with brutal strength.
She was slammed into place, forced to face him again—Rufus, kneeling, lost in his own world.
Why?
Why couldn't she leave?
She tried again and again—toward the window, toward the ceiling, toward any possible exit.
Each attempt ended the same.
It was as if an invisible rope tied her to Rufus. Wherever he went, she was dragged along, unable to stray even an inch.
The bond she had never wanted in life had become an eternal shackle in death.
Just as her frustration was reaching its breaking point, hurried and chaotic footsteps echoed from outside.
The door to the cellar burst open.
Owen stepped in, his expression troubled, but before he could speak, a figure pushed past him, radiating anger.
"Rufus!"
It was Brad.
He had come in a rush after hearing Blair had been locked away, sweat shining on his forehead, fury barely contained.
"What the hell are you doing? You locked Blair up over a dead woman? Have you lost your mind?"
Brad strode up to Rufus, jabbing a finger toward his face.
"Cecilia is gone! Burned to ash! What's the point of all this now?
"Blair is the one who's been with you all these years! You can't treat her like this!"
Every word was heavy with righteous indignation.
And every word slammed into Rufus's fraying nerves.
Dead? Burned to ash?
Yes. Cecilia was dead. Driven to it by all of them, step by step.
Rufus lifted his head slowly, deliberately.
The bloodshot eyes that met Brad's no longer held grief or guilt. They were pools of dead black, cold enough to make the air feel thinner.
He said nothing.
Without warning, Rufus stepped forward and drove his foot into Brad's chest with all the force he had.
The kick was fast, brutal.
Brad didn't have time to react. He flew backward, crashing into a rack of wine.
An entire row of expensive bottles toppled. Glass shattered across the floor, red wine spilling in thick streams, mingling with shards. The air filled with the rich scent of alcohol… and the faint tang of blood.
Brad curled on the floor, clutching his chest, coughing hard. His face flushed a deep, ugly red, words stuck in his throat.
He had never imagined Rufus would dare lay a hand on him.
"Mr. Chapman!" Owen's voice cracked with panic. He rushed forward, then froze, unsure what to do, hands hovering uselessly.
Rufus straightened slowly, swaying on his feet, his gaze locking on Owen.
Brad's arrival had reminded him of something.
"Find it."
His voice was calm—too calm.
"The hospital. Every piece of surveillance from the last three years connected to Cecilia. Not one missing."
He spoke each word with deliberate weight, colder and sharper with every syllable.
"She was my wife.
"If anyone touched her in ways they shouldn't have… if anyone gave her drugs they shouldn't have… I want them to pay. A hundred times over."
Brad's body went rigid.
He stared at Rufus, horror creeping into his features. The killing intent in Rufus's eyes was real. Solid.
He was going to investigate.
He was going to take on the Ember family… for a dead woman.
Brad's shock curdled into rage, but the pain in his chest kept him from speaking more than a wheezing breath. He could only glare, helpless.
It wasn't long before another set of footsteps approached—quick, purposeful.
Louis appeared in the doorway. He took in the scene with a flicker of surprise, but his expression settled back into professional composure.
"Mr. Chapman. This is what you asked for."
He crossed the room quickly, handing over the tablet he'd been carrying. The screen was already unlocked, playing a surveillance video.
Louis had worked fast.
In the short time since receiving the order, he had already secured the most critical footage.
"We've obtained all the hospital's surveillance records.
"This is the final footage of Ms. Thorne before she entered the treatment room… and everything immediately after."