Chapter 70 The Last Time We Met
Rufus watched Cecilia, her eyes lowered, her voice trembling as she pleaded. Something in him tightened, a sudden constriction in his chest that left him short of breath.
He hated seeing her like this—small, diminished, stripped of the sharp edges she once wielded so well. He would rather face her schemes, her calculated defiance, than witness this fragile surrender.
It unsettled him in ways he couldn't quite name. If he had to call it something, it was… unfamiliar.
"Alright." The word slipped out before he could stop it. His own voice sounded distant, almost foreign to him. "I'll take you home."
The sound of the door bursting open shattered the moment. Blair stepped inside, her expression shifting instantly into that practiced look of delicate vulnerability.
"Rufus," she said, her voice pitched just right, "I've been having nightmares every night… Could you stay with me tonight?"
It was her usual tactic, one she had used countless times to pull him away from Cecilia. The excuses varied—illness, fear, loneliness—but they all worked. Rufus had always favored Blair, indulging her requests no matter how transparent they were.
She was certain this time would be no different. Certain he would leave Cecilia without hesitation.
But her certainty was misplaced.
"Be good," Rufus said gently, "if you can't sleep, I'll have your doctor prescribe something to help you rest, alright?"
It was the first time he had ever said no to her.
To the world, Rufus was cold and unyielding, but Blair had always been the exception—the one person who received his patience, his warmth. Even when her demands bordered on spoiled, he would meet them without complaint.
This refusal was a fracture in the pattern, and jealousy surged through Blair like ice water. Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into the flesh of her palms until she felt the sting of pain… and ignored it.
"But Rufus," she pressed, her tone tinged with desperation, "my body hasn't fully recovered. What if those pills have side effects?"
She was playing the card she thought would never fail—his concern for her health. But this time, it backfired. Anyone could see Cecilia's condition was far worse than hers. The moment Blair mentioned her body, the comparison was unavoidable, and it only pushed Rufus further from her.
His brow tightened. "Be good," he said simply.
Just two words, but they silenced her. The softness in his voice hadn't changed, yet Blair knew him well enough to hear the warning beneath it. This was irritation. And it was because of Cecilia.
The realization chilled her to the bone.
Before leaving, Rufus offered Blair a few words meant to soothe, but to her they felt hollow, perfunctory. She forced a smile, the kind that looked generous but tasted bitter. If Rufus hadn't been standing there, she might have clawed the beauty from Cecilia's face.
Rufus took Cecilia back to the villa. She barely crossed the threshold before she doubled over, a violent cough tearing through her, blood spilling from her lips. It startled him more than he cared to admit.
"What's happening?" He was beside her in an instant, hand on her back, voice low and urgent.
She tried to answer, but the moment she opened her mouth, the blood came again, relentless, choking off her words. She knew she must look terrible—his eyes told her as much, wide with a rare flash of fear.
Without hesitation, Rufus scooped her into his arms. Blood smeared across his shirt, but he didn't seem to care. For a man who valued cleanliness almost obsessively, it was telling.
He ordered Orla to prepare restorative dishes for Cecilia, but every attempt ended the same way—she would swallow, then moments later it would come back up. After several rounds of this, she stopped trying altogether.
"You're not starting another hunger strike, are you?" His voice carried a hard edge, memory pulling him back to the times she had resisted him before.
Cecilia shook her head, her voice barely more than a breath. "I'm not trying to manipulate you. I just… can't keep anything down. It's easier this way."
But Rufus wasn't about to accept that. He caught her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, and pushed spoonfuls toward her lips, relentless as he had been when making her take those pills with unknown side effects.
Tears streaked down her face as she fought him, food slipping from the corners of her mouth. She looked wrecked, stripped of dignity.
Eventually, he relented, setting the bowl aside. "If you eat and follow the treatment, I'll give you whatever you ask for."
He thought it was a generous compromise. Surely she would take it.
Her eyes flickered at his words, a spark of something—hope, maybe—but it faded quickly. She had nothing left to want, except one thing: to leave without looking back.
"I want a divorce," she said, her tone calm, almost detached. "I want to go without any ties."
His answer was immediate. "Not a chance."
The anger he had been holding back surged to the surface. Of all the things she could have asked for, this was the one he would never grant.
"You really want to walk away from me?" His voice was sharp, each word deliberate. "Listen to me. Alive or dead, you are my wife. There will be no clean break. Ever."
She felt foolish for asking. Sometimes she couldn't understand him at all—once, he had been the one pushing her away, insisting on distance. Now, he clung to her with a grip that refused to loosen.
Whether they ended or began was always his decision. But why should it be?
He was about to say more when his phone rang. The name on the screen was familiar—Blair.
He already knew why she was calling. If Cecilia hadn't just provoked him, he might have ignored it. But now, with anger simmering, he pressed the button to answer.
"Rufus…" Blair's voice was soft, threaded with tears. "I'm in pain."
She was doing what she always did—complaining, pleading, drawing him back to her side. He knew his presence wouldn't help; he wasn't a cure for pain. But the thought of punishing Cecilia was tempting.
He glanced at her. She sat there, expression unreadable, as if none of this touched her. The lack of reaction stoked his temper.
"Don't worry," he told Blair. "I'll be there soon."
He didn't look back as he left.
Cecilia watched him go, her gaze fixed on the line of his shoulders, the way he didn't hesitate. And she wondered—if he knew this was the last time they would see each other, would he regret treating her like this?