Chapter 82 Don't Leave Me Again
"Did I get the wrong person?" Rufus murmured.
He stood on the scorched earth, his gaze fixed on the blackened ruins ahead, the acrid scent of smoke still clinging to the air. His mind was a tangle of disbelief and dread.
The secret he had guarded for over a decade, the one he believed belonged to him and Blair alone… how could Charles know? And worse, Charles had spoken of it with the tone of someone offering pity, as if it were a charity.
Something shifted in Rufus's eyes as he looked back at the wreckage. The pain and regret that had consumed him were joined by something far darker — a fear so deep it rooted itself in his bones, a terror he dared not examine too closely.
What if that stubborn little girl, dirt on her skin but fire in her clear, defiant eyes, the one who had stood by him through the hardest years… had never been Blair?
Then who was she?
The thought grew like a poisonous vine, wrapping tight around his chest until he could not breathe.
"Mr. Chapman."
The voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. A police officer in uniform stepped forward, his expression grave, holding out a sealed evidence envelope.
"This just came from the forensic department. Based on dental records and DNA samples taken from the scene, we can now confirm with absolute certainty…"
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.
"The deceased is your wife, Cecilia Thorne."
The words were soft, yet they struck with the weight of a collapsing world. Rufus felt the colors drain from everything around him, the world fading to an endless expanse of gray and white.
The charred plastic duck he had been clutching slipped from his limp fingers, hitting the ground with a dull, lifeless thud.
His knees buckled. The hollow in his chest seemed to widen until it swallowed him whole, and he dropped heavily to the cold earth.
"Mr. Chapman!"
Owen's voice was sharp with panic. He lunged forward to help, but Rufus shoved him away before his hands could touch.
"I'm fine."
He stayed kneeling, as if by lowering himself he could merge with the ruins, become part of the wreckage itself.
Owen froze, his hand suspended in midair, words caught in his throat. He dared not step closer. The sight of Rufus's broad shoulders, now hunched and radiating a loneliness so profound it seemed to echo, filled Owen with a fear he had never known.
Was Rufus… breaking?
The shrill ring of a cell phone shattered the silence. Rufus did not move, letting the sound pierce the stillness again and again.
After a moment's hesitation, Owen bent down, reached into Rufus's coat pocket, and pulled out the phone. The screen displayed a name: Conrad Wall.
"It's Mr. Wall," Owen said quietly, holding the phone to Rufus's ear. "It might be about Mrs. Chapman's will."
Something flickered in Rufus's vacant gaze. He took the phone.
"Mr. Chapman, my condolences," Conrad began, his voice professional but not unkind. Without delay, he continued, "It's regarding Ms. Thorne's will. The instructions are simple.
"She requested to be buried alongside her grandfather. After cremation, her ashes are to be returned to his cemetery. That is her only wish."
Her only wish.
Even in death, she wanted nothing to do with him. Not a single handful of ashes left behind.
A violent, possessive rage tore through him, rising from the deepest part of his chest and sweeping away every shred of reason.
"No."
Conrad paused, caught off guard. "Mr. Chapman, this is Ms. Thorne's explicit wish. It carries legal authority, I—"
"I said no!" Rufus's voice was a low snarl, edged with madness. "She is my wife! Her marriage certificate bears my name — Rufus Chapman! Alive, she was mine. Dead, she is still ours — even in ash, she belongs to the Chapmans."
Each word was deliberate, cold, and absolute. "Do you understand me?"
On the other end, Conrad fell silent. After a long moment, a weary sigh came through the line.
"I understand, Mr. Chapman."
Rufus ended the call abruptly, throwing the phone to the ground with a sharp crack.
High above, Cecilia's spirit hovered, listening to the absurd exchange. A frostbitten fury surged through her incorporeal form.
In life, he had tossed her aside like nothing. In death, he was still trying to claim her as his wife, shackling her to him forever.
How selfish. How shameless.
She looked down at Rufus, kneeling like a man possessed, and felt the wild urge to tear him apart with her own hands.
But she could do nothing. The legal bond between them had become a shackle on her very soul, holding her prisoner to the man she despised most.
The fragments of the phone had barely cooled when Owen's phone rang. He answered, listening briefly before his expression tightened.
"Mr. Chapman… it's the hospital. Miss Ember is not doing well. She's agitated, insisting on seeing you. They're hoping you can come and calm her down."
Rufus turned his head slowly, his lips cracking as they curved into a short, bitter laugh.
"Calm her? I'm not a doctor. What would I be calming?"
He ignored everyone else, pushing himself to his feet with unsteady movements, and walked toward the one building untouched by the fire.
He did not go to the bedroom or the study. Instead, he descended into the wine cellar.
He left the lights off.
In the dim, cold space, Rufus grabbed a bottle of whiskey, twisted off the cap, and drank straight from the neck. The burn hit his empty stomach like fire, searing its way up to his chest.
Good. Pain was proof he was still alive.
He did not know how long he drank — one bottle, then another… until the room began to tilt and sway. The grief, the regret, the gnawing uncertainty — all of it dulled under the heavy haze of alcohol.
He slumped to the floor, his back pressed against the icy wine racks, a half-empty bottle cradled in his arms.
Just as his consciousness began to slip entirely, slender arms came around his neck from behind. A soft body pressed against him.
"Rufus."
Blair's voice trembled with tears, but urgency threaded through it. She was still wearing the hospital gown — she had run away from her ward.
"Look at you… what are you doing to yourself?"
She pulled the bottle from his hands and set it down hard.
"Cecilia is gone! She's not worth this! You still have me, Rufus. Look at me! Find a reason to keep living. If she's gone, then make me your reason."
"You promised me. You said you'd take care of me for the rest of my life. That was your promise."
Promise. Care.
Through the fog of alcohol, Rufus forced his eyes open. The face before him was blurred, indistinct. But the shape, the softness, the scent — all of it matched the memory of Cecilia.
"Cecilia."
The name left his lips as a hoarse whisper.
He reached out with trembling hands and pulled her into his arms with sudden, desperate force. It was an embrace of someone who had lost and found again. He buried his face deep into the curve of her neck.
"Don't go," he murmured. "Please… don't leave me again."