Chapter 58 Emaciated Cecilia
Outside the study, Orla had been standing for what felt like forever. To be exact, it had been nearly twenty minutes, but the weight of it pressed heavier with each passing second. The thought of facing Rufus alone made something coil tight in her chest, a quiet dread she could not quite shake.
Through the closed door, voices drifted out. She recognized his easily—low, smooth, with that unshakable authority—and a woman's voice, lighter, playful, but edged with something sharper.
Inside, three minutes earlier, Rufus had taken a call from Blair.
"Rufus, I want to see a play tomorrow. Can I?" Her tone was still sweet, almost girlish, but there was a thread of hesitation woven through it.
Brad had told her to stay calm, to keep her distance for now. But the moment Blair saw Rufus leave with Cecilia earlier, something inside her twisted—an unease she couldn't name, and a jealousy she refused to admit out loud.
She timed her call deliberately, imagining them back at the villa, imagining Cecilia leaning in too close, saying too little but saying enough. Blair wasn't about to leave that to chance.
Rufus's lips curved, his voice warm, indulgent. "Of course. Whatever you want, you know I'll say yes."
Blair's health had been improving lately. He had no real reason to keep her confined like a patient under lock and key. Still, she wanted more than permission.
"Then… will you come with me?" she asked, her voice dipped in a calculated sweetness.
That gave him pause. Tomorrow was the Chapman Group's general meeting—a date marked in his calendar for weeks. Blair knew it too. She was gambling now, betting that her place in his priorities outweighed everything else. Only that would settle the restless sting in her chest.
She won the bet.
His answer came quickly. "I'll come."
"You'd better not be lying to me, Rufus," she teased, though the edge of doubt was real.
"When have I ever lied to you? And besides, letting you go alone would worry me. Being with you is better."
Her smile bloomed unseen on the other end of the line, satisfaction curling in her chest. Still, she didn't forget to ask—lightly, almost carelessly—about Cecilia. It was part of the image she liked to keep.
At the mention of Cecilia, Rufus's mind flashed back to earlier, to her lying there with that vacant, unresponsive air. The memory soured his mood instantly.
"Why bring her up? You know what she's like. Nothing's wrong with her. It's all an act."
Blair's lips tilted higher. She liked hearing him dismiss Cecilia, liked the quiet thrill of superiority it gave her.
They talked on, Blair pulling question after question from him, and Rufus answering without complaint. The call ended twenty minutes later.
Which meant Orla had been standing outside for twenty minutes too. Her palms were damp, her confidence eroded by the minute. Even as an outsider, she couldn't help feeling a chill at the contrast between the way Rufus spoke to Blair and the way he spoke of Cecilia.
She took a breath, braced herself, and knocked.
"Come in." His voice was clipped, eyes still on the stock charts in front of him.
Orla stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Only when she stopped before his desk did his gaze lift, assessing her with a faint frown. There was a flicker of recognition there.
"You're the new housemaid?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "I could swear I've seen you before."
She didn't flinch. "I used to work at the hospital as Mrs. Chapman's caregiver. I was dismissed after I offended you. But Mrs. Chapman was kind enough to give me another chance here."
Rufus's mouth curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Louis really must be tired of his job if he's hiring without a proper background check."
The words were light, almost lazy, but they slid under her skin like a cold blade. Still, she was here now. She had already spoken—there was no taking it back.
"Mr. Chapman," she began, steadying her voice, "I came to tell you that Mrs. Chapman's condition is serious. She needs to be taken back to the hospital…"
He cut her off with a raised hand, his expression twisting into something that mocked her. "What is this? Did Cecilia send you to plead her case? How much did she pay you?"
Orla shook her head, disbelief tightening her throat. The man in front of her was nothing like the one who had just been on the phone. And yet Cecilia was his wife.
Rufus waved a hand, impatient now. "I know exactly what kind of person she is. She's pulling the same stunt she always does, trying to steal Blair's attention. She's not a child. She should know better. Tricks lose their edge when you use them over and over."
Orla opened her mouth to argue, but he was already done listening.
Just as Cecilia had said, Rufus had decided she was lying. Every word, every action of hers was filtered through that assumption, and her pain was invisible to him.
"You're lucky you even found your way here," he said, his voice cooling further. "Since you've spoken with Mrs. Chapman, you can stay. But I don't want to hear anything like this from you again. Being presumptuous is not a good look. If it happens again, you're gone."
Shamed and dismissed, Orla left. The door closed behind her with a soft click, and she let out a long breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Cecilia knew nothing of the exchange. She had gone to bed early. But in the dark hours of the night, pain clawed her awake.
It started in her abdomen, radiating outward until it gripped her limbs. She bit down on her arm to keep from making a sound, the taste of her own skin grounding her against the wave of agony.
She bit harder, chasing one pain with another, until her arm went numb. By the time the spasm eased, her mouth was full of blood.
When it was over, she rose and went to the bathroom.
The mirror showed a pale, gaunt woman staring back at her. Her collarbones jutted sharply, her eyes hollowed by shadows. She didn't look like herself anymore.
Her fingers touched her cheek, tracing the sharpness there. The face in the glass felt like a stranger's.
A humorless sound escaped her. "Ugly," she murmured to the reflection. "And yet Rufus still manages to find an appetite."
She didn't know if it was self-pity or a quiet strike back at him. Maybe both.