Chapter 65 No More Compromises
Rufus repeated the words like they were some absurd joke.
"Not going to make it? Only a few days left?" His tone sharpened into a blade of mockery.
He pushed himself up from the couch, the leather creaking under his sudden movement, and barked into the phone, "Louis, have you been bought off too? Helping her spin these pathetic lies? Clotting disorder, cancer metastasis—she's pulled this trick before! She's faking it, all of it, just to dodge responsibility. Just to make me soften."
His voice carried through the empty living room, bouncing off glass and stone, thick with the fury of a man who believed his authority was being challenged and his trust betrayed.
"Even if she dies, she'll die in front of me," he snarled. "Not hiding in some hospital bed pretending to be sick."
Upstairs, at the bend of the hallway, a slim figure lingered in shadow. Blair had come down to see why Rufus was still awake, but instead found herself listening.
When Louis's voice drifted through the receiver—"She may only have a few days"—Blair's heart kicked hard against her ribs.
A rush of savage, intoxicating joy flooded her… Was it possible? That irritating, conniving bitch finally gone? No more threat to her place in this house, in Rufus's life?
But Rufus's unwavering disbelief cooled her in an instant. Fear crept in along the edges.
No. She couldn't risk him going to the hospital and finding out the truth. She had to make sure the story of Cecilia's fake illness stuck—had to make him despise her even more.
Blair backed away from the railing, retreating to her room, her pulse pounding with a mix of excitement and calculation.
She needed a plan. A way to ensure Cecilia vanished quietly… and Rufus would never doubt that it was anything but another of her manipulations.
Downstairs, Rufus's anger burned itself out into something colder. "Tomorrow morning, you go to the hospital," he ordered Louis. "I don't care what excuse she gives—bring her back. I want to see what game she's playing this time."
A pause, then a low, humorless laugh. "Forget it. I'll go myself. She staged this whole drama for attention… why not give her exactly what she wants?"
Rufus still believed she was pretending.
Louis opened his mouth, then shut it. There was nothing he could say that would pierce Rufus's certainty.
When the call ended, Louis stood by the window, staring into the heavy night. A weight pressed against his chest, a sense of something irreversible looming just beyond reach.
Rufus remained alone in the living room, the air thick with traces of Cecilia's presence—faint, almost imagined, but enough to unsettle him.
He forced himself not to think about Louis's voice, not to picture Cecilia's lifeless eyes.
"She's lying," he muttered to himself, as if repetition could make it true. But somewhere deep in that voice, buried under defiance, was a flicker of doubt he didn't recognize.
The next morning, Rufus pushed open the hospital room door. The sound startled Cecilia awake.
Light spilled through the blinds, harsh and unfiltered. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes before she could focus on him.
Rufus stopped in the doorway, studying her. She looked thinner—when had that happened? Was she eating at all? The thought crossed his mind, but he didn't ask.
"This little injury needed all this fuss?" His voice carried no apology, only the cool weight of condescension.
He stepped closer, tilting her chin up with his fingers. "Have you learned your lesson? Will you keep your hands off Blair from now on?"
Cecilia's reply was quiet, almost toneless. "I won't do it again."
What she meant, though, was entirely different. She wasn't going to have anything to do with Rufus or Blair ever again. She was leaving—one way or another.
Rufus didn't hear the subtext. He saw only her obedience, assumed his discipline had finally broken her. Satisfaction softened his voice.
"If you stop scheming against Blair, I can treat you as I used to. No love, perhaps, but respect. I'll give you the dignity due to Mrs. Chapman."
He leaned back, folding his arms. "If you cooperate, we'll both have fewer problems. Isn't that better? No more of these little games."
Cecilia almost smiled at the irony but stayed silent.
Then Rufus's tone shifted into that of a man granting a favor. "Later today, I'll have the styling team come here. Tonight there's a business gala—you'll come with me."
It wasn't an invitation. Rufus had long grown used to her compliance, certain she'd welcome the chance to stand beside him in public. In his mind, it was even a gesture of validation.
This time, he was wrong.
Her voice was hoarse, but her refusal was firm. "I'm not feeling well. I'd rather not attend."
Rufus's eyes narrowed. "And what's that supposed to mean? These events require a partner. You want me to show up alone and be laughed at?"
The anger in his voice barely touched her.
"Blair's health has stabilized," Cecilia said evenly. "She enjoys those events. If taking me makes you uncomfortable, take her instead. It might even help you… grow closer."
His laugh was sharp, without a hint of warmth. "I get it… stepping back so you can strike later? You used to claw your way into these invitations, and now you're tossing them aside to look generous? I told you before—don't pull that stunt with me. It doesn't sit well."
He decided she was sulking, manipulating, and his patience thinned.
But Cecilia knew her own mind. It wasn't a tactic. She simply didn't have the energy—or the desire—to stand beside him in a room full of strangers. She had always disliked such gatherings; before, she'd forced herself. Now she wouldn't.
She was dying. She wasn't going to waste her remaining time pretending.
Her calm refusal only deepened his irritation. He jabbed a finger toward her. "Fine. Don't regret it."
He turned sharply on his heel, striding toward the door. But he lingered in the hall, waiting for the familiar sound of her capitulation, the soft surrender he'd heard so many times before.
It never came.
Cecilia lay back against the pillows, closing her eyes, already drifting toward sleep.