Chapter 80 Rufus, You Deserve to Die
Blair froze, her mind going utterly blank at those four words—"Are you happy now?"
She stood rooted to the spot, unable to think, unable to breathe.
This man—this unhinged, broken Rufus—had just admitted, in his own voice, that the woman he loved… was Cecilia.
Then what did that make her? Blair, who had spent years enduring, scheming, flattering, bending herself into whatever shape he needed. What was she now?
A joke. A cruel, humiliating joke.
No. No, it couldn't be.
The humiliation surged up like a tide, drowning reason, snapping the last thread of control inside her.
"I don't believe you!" Her voice rose into a ragged scream.
She didn't care about the mud clinging to her clothes, didn't care about the way her hair hung in filthy, wet strands. She lunged forward, grabbing at his arm again.
"Rufus, you're just upset. You don't know what you're saying!" She shook him, desperation clawing at her throat. "Look at me! I'm Blair! You promised—you said you'd take care of me for the rest of my life!"
She clung to those hollow promises, trying to drag him back to the man she wanted him to be.
Rufus's unfocused gaze slowly sharpened, locking on her face.
That face. The face he had once believed he owed a lifetime of penance to.
Now every flicker of expression, every word spilling from her lips, felt like a silent, mocking reminder of his own stupidity—of everything he had lost.
A wave of revulsion rose from deep in his gut, hot and sharp, impossible to swallow.
He didn't want to see her. Not for another second.
"Get out."
The words scraped from his cracked lips, hoarse and cold.
Blair's sob caught in her throat. "Rufus, you—"
"I said get out!" His roar shattered the air between them.
He tore his arm free from her grasp with such force that she stumbled back and crashed to the ground, mud smearing across her hands and knees.
Pointing at her, his body shook violently—not just with fury, but with the kind of pain that burned straight through the bones. He turned to the guards standing nearby and let out a sound that was more animal than human.
"Get her out of my sight!"
"Now! Right now!"
The two guards moved instantly, one on each side, their faces blank as they seized Blair's arms and hauled her toward the waiting car.
"No! Rufus, you can't do this to me! What did I do wrong?" Her voice broke into a shriek. "You're just upset—calm down! Rufus!"
Her protests faded as they dragged her away, muffled entirely when the car door slammed shut.
Silence fell over the ruins once more.
Above it all, Cecilia's spirit hovered, watching him. Watching the man finally make a choice he should have made long ago.
Too late. Far too late.
Rufus turned back toward the blackened ground alone. He stepped over the police tape as if it didn't exist, dropping to his knees in the dirt and ash.
Suicide? Why would she take her own life?
He had seen her not long ago—empty, yes, numb, yes—but her eyes had still held hatred. And hatred meant she still wanted to live, if only to spite him.
So what had broken her completely?
His thoughts dragged him backward. He remembered Cecilia telling him, again and again, "Rufus, stay away from Blair. She's not who you think she is."
And what had he done? He had laughed it off. Called her jealous. Irrational.
He remembered Blair's casual remarks about Cecilia—never overtly cruel, but always sharp enough to hit the exact nerve that sent his temper flaring.
One detail after another, all the things he had brushed aside, now surged back, linking together into a blood-red thread that pointed toward a horrifying conclusion.
His head snapped toward the direction Blair had been taken. His eyes no longer burned with rage or madness.
They were calm. Deathly calm. The kind of stillness that comes before a storm tears the world apart.
Yesterday… Blair had been here. She had seen Cecilia. She could have been the last person to see her alive—just before the fire.
It wasn't a suspicion. It was certainty.
Rufus pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialed Louis.
When the call connected, his voice was broken but absolute. "Find out everything Blair did yesterday. Every place she went, every person she saw, every word she said. I want security footage, phone records—don't miss a single detail."
"And…" His voice faltered for a fraction of a second at the next name. "Check Cecilia's movements. Especially before the fire. Who she saw, who she spoke to—anyone she texted. I want it all."
He ended the call and stayed there, kneeling like a man awaiting his sentence.
No more tears. No more shouting.
He simply reached out with hands torn and bloodied, brushing away a thin layer of ash.
Beneath it lay a warped, half-melted plastic duck.
He picked it up, cradling it in his palm, and began wiping it clean with the least filthy part of his sleeve. Slow. Careful. As if it were the most precious thing left in the world.
Owen, the butler, stood watching. He sighed once. Then again.
Finally, after a long hesitation, he approached with a coat draped over one arm. "Mr. Chapman… it's morning. You—"
Rufus didn't turn.
He stayed kneeling, his silhouette stretched long and solitary in the pale light of dawn.
When he finally spoke, the words were so soft and cracked they were almost lost to the wind. "Prepare for the funeral."
Owen exhaled, relieved to have clear instructions. "Yes, Mr. Chapman. I'll arrange—"
"But…" Rufus's interruption was a blade sliding through the air. That voice carried a chilling edge of obsession. "I will identify the body myself."
"Now."
Before Owen could respond, Rufus's phone rang again.
He answered with shaking hands.
"Mr. Chapman," Louis said, "we found something. Mrs. Chapman took a phone call shortly before the fire."
"From Charles."
The name hit like a blow.
Charles.
Again.
In an instant, every suspicion about Blair was drowned beneath a flood of jealousy and murderous rage.
It had to be Charles. It was his call that had driven Cecilia past the edge. His presence that had stripped away her last reason to stay alive.
Rufus surged to his feet, fury igniting every nerve, ready to hunt Charles down.
The sound of screeching brakes ripped through the air behind him.
A car skidded to a halt beside the ruins, and the door was kicked open.
Charles emerged, eyes bloodshot, his entire body radiating cold fury. He moved like a man possessed, cutting straight through the police line, shoving aside anyone in his path.
"Rufus!" His voice was raw, shredded by grief and rage.
He stopped inches away, his glare burning with a hatred that promised violence. "Where is she? What have you done to Cecilia?"
Rufus opened his mouth, but the answer never came.
Charles's fist did.
The punch landed square on his jaw, the force snapping his head back and sending him stumbling several steps. Copper flooded his mouth, sharp and metallic.
Charles grabbed him by the collar, slamming him back against the charred remains of a wall. His voice was a roar, every word laced with venom.
"She loved you! And you… you did this to her?"
"Rufus, you deserve to die!"