Chapter 67 She Would Rather Die Here
"Rufus, you're going to the hospital, aren't you?" Blair's tone wasn't a question—it was a statement, cool and certain. She smiled, as if his earlier excuse didn't bother her in the slightest, and pushed the blankets aside. "I don't know what's going on with Cecilia, but I think I'll come with you."
It was only then that Rufus realized—she must have overheard Louis's call.
The lie he'd told a moment ago felt heavier now, but strangely, he didn't bother to hide from it anymore.
"Let's go. Don't keep Cecilia waiting." Blair's smile was soft, almost tender, and for a fleeting second, it pulled Rufus back from the restless edge in his mind.
The drive was a blur of flashing lights and sharp turns. Rufus tore down the streets, running red lights without hesitation.
His hands gripped the wheel like a lifeline, his pulse hammering in his ears. That unfamiliar, suffocating sensation—panic—was rising fast, threatening to drown him before they even arrived.
Beside him, Blair clutched the passenger-side handle, her knuckles white. Her jaw was tight, lips pressed together hard enough to hurt. Jealousy burned in her chest, sharp and bitter, but she said nothing.
When Rufus shoved open the hospital room door, the sight before him made his breath hitch.
Cecilia lay still on the bed, her face pale but calm, the monitor above her head tracing steady, rhythmic lines.
Relief hit him so hard it almost hurt. He exhaled—too quickly, too deeply—like a man who'd been holding his breath for hours.
But the moment didn't last.
Blair, stepping in behind him with her flawless makeup untouched by the rush, spoke in a voice that was quiet but carried through the room.
"See? She's fine. I told you, maybe she just wanted to see you… came up with this little stunt to get your attention. She's done it before, hasn't she?"
Her words slid into the air like cold steel, cutting through whatever fragile concern had taken root in Rufus's chest.
The relief shattered, replaced instantly by something harsher—anger, laced with the sting of humiliation.
His gaze darkened. He turned to Cecilia, his voice low and sharp enough to bite. "Cecilia… you never run out of tricks, do you? Staging an attack now? Is that how desperate you are—so pathetic you can't live without me?"
Cecilia's eyes opened slowly, the effort alone draining what little strength she had left.
Weeks of illness had hollowed her out, made even the smallest movement feel like climbing a mountain.
She looked at him—the man whose face could have been carved from stone, beautiful but merciless—and felt nothing but a cold, empty ache. She didn't argue. She didn't care to.
Her silence only fueled his fury. His gaze drifted, catching on her left hand resting atop the blanket. The finger where her wedding ring had always been was bare.
The sight was like a spark to dry tinder.
"Where's the ring?" His hand shot out, gripping her wrist with enough force to bruise. His voice was ice. "Answer me."
Pain flickered across her features, but she met his eyes with a calm that was almost defiance. "Gone."
In her mind, it had been gone for a long time—along with the marriage, along with him.
"Gone?" Rufus's teeth clenched around the word. The anger in his chest flared hotter. "You threw it away, didn't you? Couldn't wait to get rid of me?"
She held his gaze, her lips curling into the faintest, most exhausted trace of a smile. "Think whatever you want, Rufus. I just want you to sign the divorce papers. Let me go. From now on, we have nothing to do with each other."
"Divorce? Freedom? Nothing to do with me?" He laughed—a short, sharp sound with no humor in it. Leaning in, his breath was hot against her cheek, his voice a low growl. "Don't even dream of it. As long as I don't let go, Cecilia, you're mine. You think you can walk away? You won't. Even if you disappear, you'll still be tied to me."
The door burst open again. Bodhi, the hospital's director, and the head of security rushed in, both wearing expressions of nervous apology. "Mr. Chapman, Mrs. Chapman, we're so sorry this happened. We've already called the police. They'll investigate and make sure Mrs. Chapman gets answers. We'll make sure the police get to the bottom of this. Whoever did this won't get away."
"Police? Investigate?" Rufus straightened abruptly, his eyes cutting toward Bodhi like blades. A cold smile twisted his mouth. "What's there to investigate? This is obviously her little performance. Wasting police time, wasting resources… and your hospital is helping her play along?"
The weight of his presence was suffocating. Bodhi froze, sweat breaking across his forehead. He opened his mouth, but under Rufus's glare, the words died before they could form. He lowered his head.
"Come with me," Rufus said, turning back to Cecilia. His hand reached for her arm, his patience gone. He didn't want to spend another second in this room.
"No." The word was barely a whisper, but it was the first spark of real fear in her voice.
Go back? Back to that cold, suffocating prison? She'd rather die here.
Her resistance snapped something in him. "You don't get a choice."
His grip tightened, and in one swift motion, he dragged her off the bed.
Her body was too fragile, held together by IV lines and sheer willpower. The force of his pull sent her stumbling, and then she was falling—like a marionette whose strings had been cut—crashing onto the unforgiving floor.
The sound was dull, heavy. Pain exploded through her body, sharp and immediate, radiating from the half-healed wound in her abdomen. Her vision blurred, stars bursting behind her eyes, darkness crowding in.
Then came the warmth—hot and metallic—spilling from her nose.
One drop. Two. The blood hit the polished tiles, blooming into small, vivid stains that spread like ink in water. It didn't stop.
Cecilia's hands lifted instinctively to cover her nose, but the effort was useless. The crimson seeped over her fingers, soaking into the pale fabric of her hospital gown. Against her ashen skin, the streaks of red were almost shocking.
She couldn't even lift her head. Her breathing was shallow, ragged, each inhale a battle. Her body trembled, spasms shivering through her frame as blood and pain drained what little strength remained.
The room went silent.
Everyone stared, frozen, the sudden violence of the scene locking them in place.
Rufus's hand hung in the air, rigid. He looked down at her—curled on the floor, bleeding, fragile enough to shatter with a touch—and something hit him in the chest, hard. A sharp, unfamiliar ache twisted through him, unwelcome and unrelenting.
Behind him, Blair watched. Her eyes flickered, a flash of satisfaction crossing her face, but beneath it was something colder. Calculation.
Bodhi and the security chief exchanged glances, neither daring to move forward.