Chapter 76 Liberated
"You're crying so hard, aren't you…"
The empty room suddenly echoed with a female voice, sharp with mockery.
Blair's heels clicked against the polished floor as she strode in, each step deliberate, her posture radiating elegance. She stopped in front of Cecilia, towering over her, savoring the sight of her in complete ruin.
Cecilia's face was ashen, her eyes vacant, her lips still stained with traces of blood she hadn't bothered to wipe away. She looked like a flower crushed into the mud, stripped of every petal and left to rot.
Blair's crimson lips curved into a smile that was all venom and satisfaction. Her voice slithered like a snake's tongue.
"Cecilia, look at you… pathetic. If I were you—if I'd caused this much death around me—I'd be too ashamed to keep breathing. I'd find a quiet place to end it, spare the rest of the world from your poison."
A faint tremor ran through Cecilia's body, almost imperceptible. Her empty gaze sharpened, locking onto Blair.
"What are you talking about? Who have I killed? And this place doesn't welcome you. Get out."
Cecilia could not bear the thought of Blair trespassing into the home she had built for Soren.
"Who have you killed?" Blair's laugh was soft, amused, but her eyes were shards of ice. "Do I need to spell it out? That unborn child of yours—don't you dare forget—was destroyed because you couldn't win Rufus's heart. He took care of it himself. Tell me that isn't your fault."
The words struck Cecilia like a hammer to the chest, stealing her breath.
But Blair wasn't finished. She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice so only the two of them could hear, every syllable cruel and deliberate.
"And your beloved grandfather, Cecilia… did you really think he died of illness?"
Cecilia's eyes flew wide. Her breathing turned ragged, and she could hear the sharp intake of her own gasp.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Blair enunciated each word slowly, savoring the moment, "your grandfather took his own life… because of you."
"No!" Cecilia's voice broke into a hoarse shout, trembling despite her attempt at defiance. "Stop lying. Rufus may be under your spell, but I know exactly what kind of person you are."
"Blair, you're vile beyond redemption. You'll never deserve happiness. Nothing that comes out of your mouth is ever true."
"Why wouldn't it be true?" Blair's smile was cold, merciless. "That wretched Patrick—he knew that as long as he was alive, Rufus could use him to control you. Patrick didn't want to watch you bend and break for his sake. He didn't want to see Rufus torment you any longer. So he chose to end it himself. He thought his death might set you free. But you… you were too weak. Even after he died, Rufus kept you in his grip, like a pitiful insect he could crush at any time."
Her words drove into Cecilia's mind like ice picks, shattering every memory she had of Patrick's final days—the sudden decline in his health, Rufus's evasive eyes when she confronted him, Brad's strange behavior.
The truth hit her like a tidal wave.
Patrick hadn't died of illness. Rufus hadn't killed him either. Patrick had killed himself… for her.
The realization tore through her, bringing with it a flood of guilt so heavy she could barely breathe.
She had killed her unborn child, Soren. And now, she had killed the man who had loved her most.
She was cursed. A walking disaster.
A scream tore from her throat, raw and piercing, echoing off the walls. She curled into herself, arms wrapping around her head, nails digging into her scalp. She felt no pain—her heartache had drowned out every other sensation.
Blair watched her crumble, her satisfaction plain, like a theatergoer enjoying the climax of a tragedy.
"You should have died long ago, Cecilia. Staying alive only means you'll destroy more people who care about you."
With that, Blair turned, her posture regal, leaving the room as if she were the victor of a war. Cecilia remained alone in the cold, hollow space, sinking into her own private hell.
She stayed curled up for what felt like hours before her body went slack, collapsing onto the floor like a discarded rag doll.
Her tears were gone. All that remained was emptiness, a numb void, and despair that seeped into her bones.
Slowly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a worn photograph. It was the last picture taken of her and Patrick—his arm around her, his smile warm, her own face lit with happiness.
Was that smile hiding the resolve to die for her?
She traced his face with her thumb, lingering as if she could still feel the warmth of his skin.
Blair had been right: she should have died long ago. Her existence was a mistake, a curse that brought ruin to anyone who cared for her.
Since Patrick's death, no one in the world had truly thought of her anymore.
Her will to live shattered completely.
Her phone, discarded nearby, lit up suddenly and buzzed. On the screen, a name flashed—Charles.
She stared at it for a long moment before answering, her movements slow, mechanical.
"Cecilia! Are you alright?" Charles's voice was low but urgent. "I've set everything up. Tomorrow night, Rufus will be at a business gala he can't skip. I'll set a fire in the side building where you're staying, create chaos, and get you out. Be ready…"
"Alright."
Charles froze, caught off guard by her calm, almost lifeless tone.
"Cecilia? Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine." Her voice was flat, her eyes fixed on Patrick's smiling face in the photo. "We'll do it your way."
She hung up, tossed the phone aside, and clutched the photograph to her chest as if it could give her a trace of warmth that no longer existed.
Not long after, flames engulfed the attic.
Cecilia closed her eyes slowly, her lips curling into a faint, eerie smile.
'Charles, thank you for your kindness. But it's not necessary. This fire will be my ending… my release. From now on, no one will suffer because of me again,' she thought.