Chapter 31 Bribed
Rufus's gaze dropped, catching sight of Blair's bare feet padding across the cold floor.
His brows drew together in a look that was almost tender, though it carried an undertone of reprimand.
"You… you'll catch your death like that," he murmured, his voice softened in a way Cecilia had never heard directed at her.
It was the kind of warmth that felt as if he would heap the finest things in the world into Blair's arms without a second thought.
And in truth, that was exactly what he did.
Cecilia's chest tightened, a sharp ache twisting through her heart.
Blair's tone turned syrupy sweet. "Then carry me back, will you?"
Rufus hesitated, reminded of the phone still in his hand, the call yet to be ended.
"Please, Rufus… pretty please?" Blair coaxed, her voice curling around the words like silk.
The next moment, Cecilia heard the click — the line went dead.
She stared at the darkened screen for a long time, her mind blank. She had always known Rufus could be gentle, attentive… but never for her. That tenderness was reserved for someone else entirely.
A bitter smile tugged at her lips. This dream was one she should have woken from long ago.
By the latter half of the night, Cecilia had no memory of when she'd collapsed. When she opened her eyes again, she was staring up at a ceiling washed in pale light, disoriented.
The sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant rushed into her nose, and reality settled in.
"You're awake," Rufus's voice came from beside her.
It was then she realized he had brought her to the hospital. The irony was almost laughable.
Her voice was hoarse when she spoke. "Didn't you say I was faking? So why bring me here? What is it, Mr. Chapman — are you helping me keep the act going?"
He didn't answer. After hanging up on her, he had gone back to Blair's room, but sleep had been elusive.
In the dead of night, he woke abruptly, heart pounding, an unshakable sense that something was wrong at the villa.
Thinking back, Cecilia's voice on the phone hadn't sounded like something that could be faked.
Even with what he believed to be proof, a sliver of doubt gnawed at him.
What if she really was sick?
That thought grew until he could no longer ignore it. He returned to the villa.
When he slipped out of the bedroom, he thought he'd been careful enough not to wake Blair.
He didn't know that the moment he'd risen, she had opened her eyes, watching him from the shadows.
She stood at the window, gaze following his car as it pulled from the garage and disappeared into the night, her eyes dark with a hatred so deep it seemed to wish Cecilia out of existence entirely.
Back at the villa, Rufus had rushed straight to the bedroom, finding Cecilia crumpled on the floor. He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the hospital.
By the time she woke, twelve hours had passed. Rufus had been there the whole time.
"Feeling unwell and you don't say a word to Niamh? Just lying there… you could have died and no one would have known."
The words might have been concern in another man's mouth, but from Rufus they came edged with accusation.
Cecilia was used to it. She didn't bother to argue.
The door opened, and Dr. Gage stepped in with a folder in hand. Seeing Cecilia awake, he adjusted his glasses.
"The test results are back," he said, drawing both pairs of eyes to him.
He flipped through the pages, scanning them before delivering his verdict. "According to the report, the patient is in good health. All indicators are normal. As for the leukemia you mentioned, Mr. Chapman, there's no sign of it."
Cecilia froze. That wasn't possible. She knew her body. The brief moment of strength during her solitary walk had felt less like recovery and more like the final flare before the end — a burning of what little life she had left.
She was certain she was at her limit. How could the results be normal?
Her voice rose sharply. "That's impossible. You must have mixed up the reports. Let me see it."
But Gage didn't move to hand it over. He pushed his glasses up again. "Ms. Thorne, the report says what it says. I'm simply relaying the facts. And surely you know your own body better than anyone — there's no point in dwelling on this."
It was precisely because she knew her body that she believed there was something wrong with the report.
Gage turned his attention to Rufus, his tone respectful. "Mr. Chapman, I'll leave the report here. Call me if you need anything."
He lingered at the door, his hand on the handle, mind drifting back to that morning when Blair had approached him.
At nearly forty, he was still only an associate director. Colleagues with less experience had surpassed him. His wife blamed him for his lack of progress, their arguments frequent, their marriage fraying.
Blair had offered him a promotion to department head — all he had to do was tell a small lie. The risk was minimal.
He hadn't hesitated to agree.
Rufus knew none of this. Cecilia even less.
In the room, Rufus stared at the report, whatever fragile hope he'd held for Cecilia crumbling to dust.
A humorless laugh escaped him — at himself. He'd been fooled too many times, yet still he'd chosen to believe.
He looked at her, disappointment heavy in his gaze. The silence between them thickened, neither willing to break it.
The door opened again. Blair entered, placing a vase of roses on the table beside Cecilia's bed.
"Cecilia, what happened? Rufus said you were better, even took you home. Now you're back here — are you in pain? Is it serious?" Her voice carried genuine-seeming worry, questions tumbling out in quick succession.
To anyone unaware of the truth, it would look like the concern of a devoted sister.
Before Cecilia could answer, Rufus cut in with a cold laugh. "Save your breath. Cecilia was never sick. Your concern is wasted."
His words might have been aimed at Blair, but they struck himself as well.
Thinking of the way he'd left Blair in the middle of the night to rush back to the villa, Rufus almost found it amusing. His disgust for Cecilia deepened.
Blair blinked, feigning confusion. "Rufus, what do you mean?"