Chapter 18 Orders Concerning Her Medicine
Cecilia lowered her gaze. That was the deed to the burial plot she had bought before collapsing… most likely it had slipped from her bag when Rufus shoved her, and he had picked it up.
She could not quite understand the sudden anger in his eyes.
"I have told you so many times… begged you. I said I was dying, that I could not keep being Blair's test subject. But you never believed me."
Rufus's expression faltered. His eyes shifted away, avoiding hers.
Cecilia almost laughed at the irony. If it had not been for Rufus forcing her into trial after trial, she would not be here now. Those drugs, tested only on lab animals before being pushed into her veins, were potent—and their side effects brutal. He would not risk Blair, so he made her carry the burden instead.
She had always known this day would come, just not so soon.
Now, the man who had set it all in motion was standing here demanding explanations. It was absurd.
When she had first learned the truth about her health, she had been terrified—angry at the world, asking why. She had done nothing wrong, owed no one anything. Why had she met Rufus? Why had she clung to promises that cost her everything, even her body?
But time had worn down her rage. She had accepted the reality, focusing only on how to make the days she had left bearable.
Even that, it seemed, was too much to ask.
Rufus did not argue. Instead, he tore the burial contract in front of her, shredding it into a flurry of paper fragments.
Cecilia shook her head, saying nothing. She knew her words would never change his decisions.
The scraps drifted to the floor like pale snow. She let out a long breath.
"So you hate me that much? You would even destroy the one bit of dignity I have left?"
She misunderstood his intent, thinking it was just another way to hurt her for Blair's sake.
Rufus did not correct her. "If you know I hate you, stop trying to use stunts like this to get my attention. Don't you realize how pathetic it looks?"
Cecilia gave a short, humorless laugh. No matter what she said, Rufus would never believe her. In his eyes, she was nothing more than a despicable liar.
So she stopped defending herself. She just smiled at him, a silent message in her eyes.
Her calm acceptance of death made him bristle, even boil.
The door opened. Cecilia turned her head toward the sound—and froze, her fingers curling tight.
Lyle stepped in, carrying a bowl of medicine. His voice was flat, professional. "Ms. Thorne, it is time for your dose."
Cecilia stared at Rufus. "Afraid I will die too late? Afraid I will get in the way of your sweet life with Blair?"
She had thought that once he knew she was truly ill, he would back off. Instead, her life weighed less to him than Blair's comfort.
She had suspected as much, but facing it now made her throat tighten. Tears threatened, but she forced them back, breathing deep.
"Does it have to be like this? I do not want the medicine. Just let me go with a shred of dignity. Call it the last courtesy between husband and wife."
Rufus hated talk of death since learning her diagnosis.
"Dignity? You think you have earned that?"
No matter what he said, she refused to cooperate. The bowl sat untouched.
"Ms. Thorne, it is best taken while hot," Lyle pressed, stepping closer.
His nearness made her skin crawl. She slapped the bowl away. "I said no!"
The hot liquid splashed across her, stinging her skin. But the redness in her eyes burned worse. No matter how she tried to hide it, the humiliation seeped through.
Rufus simply ordered another bowl. His tone made it clear—she would drink it.
While they waited, Cecilia kept her gaze fixed on the window, refusing to look at him. He stared at her without blinking, his gaze heavy enough to pierce through her.
When the second bowl arrived, Rufus took it in one hand, gripped her chin with the other, and forced it toward her mouth.
She clamped her lips shut. The medicine spilled down her clothes.
His temper flared. He hated her stubborn will to die.
"You think I am out of options?" Before she could react, Rufus drank the rest himself, then seized her by the neck, pressing his mouth to hers. His kiss was brutal, forcing the liquid past her lips.
Cecilia winced, eyes squeezed shut, pushing at him with what little strength she had. It was nothing to him—like brushing off a feather.
She bit down hard, tasting blood. Rufus's brows twitched with pain, but instead of letting go, he deepened the kiss, stealing every breath she had.
By the time the bowl was empty, she was gasping for air. Rufus pulled back, blood at the corner of his mouth, looking half-mad.
She glared at him, chest heaving.
"You still owe me," he said coldly. "I am not letting you go. Die? Not a chance."
He left without another word. If she had been watching closely, she might have noticed the uneven rhythm of his steps—almost as if he were fleeing.
She did not look.
Outside, Rufus went straight to the research team.
"Keep sending the medicine to her room every day. Make sure she drinks it. If she refuses, call me—I will handle it. And stop the special drugs for now."