Chapter 68 On the Edge of the Last Breath
"You still planning to keep up this act?" Rufus's tone was casual, almost bored, but the words were sharp enough to cut.
Humiliation rolled off him like second nature. He stood there, watching Cecilia bleed on the cold hospital floor, making no move to help her—eyes flat, detached, as if she were a stranger who had wandered into his life by mistake.
Cecilia had tried—God, she had tried—to stop the bleeding. Pressing her hands to her nose, tilting her head, swallowing back the metallic taste in her throat. Every attempt was useless. The blood kept coming.
She felt it now, in the hollow of her chest and the fading strength in her limbs… she might really be dying.
At first Rufus didn't care. He even barked at her between breaths, impatient. "Get up. Who are you trying to impress with this performance?"
But the seconds ticked past, each one dragging heavier than the last. Something shifted. He noticed her breathing—shallow, uneven. The blood wasn't slowing. It was pooling on the tiles, soaking into the pale fabric of her gown. And for the first time, a crack appeared in his certainty.
Panic slid in, cold and unwelcome. It curled in his gut, tightening. In a flash, he was somewhere else—a sunny afternoon, Cecilia stretched out on the lounge chair in the garden, her hair catching the light.
That same suffocating sense of loss had pressed against his ribs then, and now it was back, sharper, more dangerous. He hated it. Hated the way it made him feel out of control.
He moved fast. Crossing the space between them, he grabbed her hand, his voice low but urgent. "Come on. We're going to the doctor. I want to know what's wrong with you."
She didn't move. Or maybe she couldn't. Her body was limp, her skin cool under his fingers.
Behind them, Blair's voice floated in, smooth and deceptively gentle. "Rufus, are you taking her for another check-up? You've already had so many done… and they've all said the same thing, haven't they?"
It wasn't just a question. It was a reminder—Cecilia had faked illness before, played the part for sympathy. Blair's words carried the weight of accusation, and the implication was clear: this time was no different.
Rufus didn't answer right away. He stood there, silent, eyes on Cecilia. Then his voice came, steady but edged. "She doesn't look right. I need to make sure."
Without another word, he bent and lifted her into his arms. She was light—too light—and he carried her out of the room without slowing.
Blair stayed behind, the security staff hovering near the doorway. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms.
Watching him walk away with Cecilia burned in her throat like acid. She swallowed it down, but in her chest, resentment coiled tighter. She wanted Cecilia gone. For good.
Rufus wasted no time. He had Dr. Felix waiting in another room, the examination set up before they even arrived. Machines hummed, monitors flickered, and for a while it seemed like Cecilia might slip back from the edge. Her vitals steadied. The bleeding stopped. On the surface, things looked better.
Every now and then, she surfaced from the haze, consciousness flickering like a weak flame. Tubes trailed from her arms, her chest, her nose. She stared at them once, the sight pressing a wave of quiet despair through her. Even dying, she couldn't keep her dignity.
But the thought didn't last. Her body couldn't hold her awake for long. Darkness came, and she let it.
"If possible, I want you to arrange surgery immediately. Fix whatever's wrong with her," Rufus said, his voice clipped, commanding. It was the way he spoke to everyone—orders, not requests.
Felix pulled down his mask, his expression tightening. "Mr. Chapman… we can't. Her body is far too weak. If she goes into surgery now, there's a very high chance she won't survive the table."
The words hit Rufus harder than he expected. For the first time, Cecilia's earlier claims—that she didn't have much time—didn't sound like manipulation. They sounded real.
He frowned, the lines between his brows deepening. "What are you talking about? Explain. What do you mean she wouldn't survive?"
Felix kept his voice calm, patient. "Ms. Thorne's body has reached its limit. She's too weak for invasive treatment, and even conservative care might be too much. If I had to estimate… she has days, maybe less."
He hesitated, then added, "If you want my professional advice… don't waste what's left of her strength on procedures. Let her do what she wants—go where she wants, eat what she wants. Give her comfort while you still can. You may not get another chance."
It was plain. Brutally plain.
"You're talking nonsense." Rufus's tone sharpened, anger bleeding into it. "You can't find anything wrong, so you invent this? She's had full check-ups. Every report says she's healthy. And now you're telling me she's dying?"
Part of him was furious—at the idea, at Felix, at the words themselves. But under it was something worse: fear. The possibility that Cecilia could really be gone, and soon, clawed at him in a way he didn't want to admit.
Felix didn't rise to his temper. He just sighed. "If you don't believe me, transfer her. Take her to another hospital. But I'll tell you now—our equipment is the most advanced available. Failures are rare."
It was as close to certainty as a doctor could give.
If Rufus had been calm, he might have heard the truth in it. But calm was far from him now. He shoved past Felix, already calling for the transfer.
Felix watched him go, no anger in his eyes—only a faint, weary sadness. Cecilia was so young. Too young for her body to be this broken.
Within the hour, Rufus had Louis arrange everything. Transfer papers signed, transport ready, and a second round of tests booked. He stayed close the entire time, ignoring Blair completely. He refused to believe it. Refused to accept that she had so little time left.
When the doctor finally appeared, Rufus was on his feet before the man could speak. "Well? What's the verdict?"
Even now, a sliver of hope clung to him. Maybe this was all a mistake.
The doctor shook his head. Rufus felt his stomach drop, a cold weight settling there.
"Ms. Thorne's body has been severely compromised. The leukemia is in its final stage. There's no effective treatment left. Our recommendation is to keep her spirits up."
He didn't have to explain what that meant. No cure. No fight. Just make her last days less painful.
Rufus stepped back, disbelief tightening in his chest. The fear was real now, sharp and suffocating.
Cecilia was dying. Not someday. Not in theory. Soon.