Chapter 11 Failed Escape
Blair's collapse came without warning, catching everyone off guard.
In truth, the pressure on her nerves had been causing sudden blackouts for the past six months. That was why she had been admitted to the hospital and kept there for months. She'd only been allowed out briefly for her birthday, and after the celebration Rufus had personally brought her back.
To ease her anxiety, Rufus had all but stopped going to the Chapman Group, spending nearly every day at her side. His devotion to Blair was unmistakable.
"Miss Ember's condition is critical. The best option is immediate kidney transplant surgery."
After half an hour of examination, the team of specialists delivered their final verdict to Rufus.
"Also, our compatibility results are in. Ms. Thorne's genetic screening matches perfectly, which means that if Ms. Thorne donates a kidney to Miss Ember, the risk of rejection will be minimal."
The words were as much a medical fact as a demand, forcing Rufus to make his choice.
Rufus's gaze went straight to Cecilia.
By then, Leroy had been escorted out by Noah, leaving only Rufus, Cecilia, and Blair—unconscious and breathing through a ventilator—in the room.
Cecilia shook her head over and over, desperate to awaken some shred of mercy in him.
"Rufus, I'm not lying. My body can't survive a transplant surgery… I'll die on that operating table." Her voice trembled, her face contorted in pain and despair.
If she could, she wanted to live. Even for Patrick's sake, she wanted to live.
She was flesh and blood, a living heartbeat—not Blair's personal organ bank.
But Rufus remained convinced she was refusing out of jealousy. Her illness, he decided, was just another excuse.
After all, Cecilia had once tried to make him believe that the little girl he met years ago at Horizon Hope was her.
So when faced with Cecilia's pleading, Rufus only answered with cold certainty.
"This is what you owe Blair. After this, you'll be even."
Cecilia broke. She didn't even know what debt she supposedly owed Blair.
Was it for taking the title of Rufus's wife? She had been framed—why did no one ever listen to her side?
Rufus didn't give her the chance to speak. One glance upward, and his bodyguards filed in, hauling her back into the hospital room. It was imprisonment.
Noah himself came to confiscate all her communication devices.
Meeting Cecilia's furious glare, Noah could only say, "Sorry, Ms. Thorne. This is Mr. Chapman's order."
How absurd—her own husband was locking her away, determined to make her give his lover an organ. Even if it killed her.
Rufus had only ever cared about Blair.
Cecilia had thought of escaping, but Rufus had been thorough this time. Bodyguards stood watch outside the door. The moment she opened it, they would block her path—no insults, no persuasion, just an unyielding wall.
"You have no right to keep me here." Cecilia's voice was raw as she locked eyes with the man in front. "Where is Rufus? I want to see him."
He looked down, avoiding the despair in her gaze. "Ms. Thorne, please don't make this harder for us. We're just following orders. Mr. Chapman said that as long as you stay in the room, whatever you want will be brought to you."
Even now, Rufus thought small comforts could soften her resolve. Cecilia found it laughable.
She shut the door and lay back on the bed.
With no power to change her situation, she closed her eyes. Out of sight, out of mind.
To outsiders, it might have looked like she had accepted her fate.
But Cecilia knew she hadn't.
Midnight came. Whether it was the doctors making rounds or the guards delivering food, she cooperated completely. Gradually, the men outside let their guard down.
What they didn't know was that Cecilia had been quietly studying their shift patterns.
At three in the morning, when exhaustion was at its peak, the guards switched posts one last time. She could hear them yawning.
She seized her chance and slipped into the bathroom.
The window pushed open to reveal the hospital's back entrance below.
The drop from the second floor was about nine feet—enough to injure anyone without training.
She had a plan, but plans are one thing and reality another. Staring at the distance, she swallowed hard.
The night air cooled her head. She thought of many things.
Better to risk injury than die on a surgical table. That death would be too humiliating… too much a surrender.
She counted to three, shut her eyes, and jumped.
A muffled sound escaped her, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. Pain shot through her ankle—sharp, crawling pain. It might have been a sprain, maybe a fracture. Tears pricked her eyes.
Rain fell steadily, and at this hour the back entrance was deserted.
She didn't dare linger. Glancing around to ensure no one was near, she forced herself up.
One thought filled her mind: get out.
She gritted her teeth, dragging her injured leg toward the back gate.
Every step toward freedom deepened the smile on her face.
Faster… just a little faster, and she'd be free of this cage. Even the pain in her ankle seemed to fade.
Rain splashed against her cheeks, but she didn't care.
She was one step from the door when a black umbrella appeared over her head, cutting off the cold rain.
Her body went cold. Every hair stood on end.
Slowly, she turned her head—and found herself staring into the face she both loved and hated.
"Cecilia, why can't you learn? Sneaking around with other men wasn't enough… now you're trying to run."