Chapter 86 Cecilia! Come Back!
The tablet's screen glared cold and white, bleaching the last trace of color from Rufus's face until he looked carved from stone.
A live feed from the operating room.
Cecilia lay on the surgical table, sedated, her stillness so absolute it blurred the line between sleep and death.
Then Blair entered.
Scrubs. Mask. Cap. Only her eyes were visible—shaped like a predator's, glinting with a malice so raw it felt like fingers closing around the throat. The smile hidden in them was venom distilled.
She moved to Cecilia's side, leaning in until her breath brushed the shell of her ear.
"Cecilia, what do you think Rufus will do when he finds out your miraculous 'recovery' came from me… from a forbidden drug I slipped into your veins?"
Her tone dripped honey, but every syllable burned like acid. "It's beautiful, really. You look radiant—right before you burn out. The price? Every last scrap of life you have left."
She straightened, letting her next words fall like a blade. "Don't worry. I'll keep your kidneys intact. I want him begging the surgeons to cut you open."
Her gaze flicked toward the doctor.
Martin Collins. Syringe in hand. The liquid inside glowed an unnatural, electric blue.
cph4.
The codename detonated in Rufus's mind, tearing open a pit beneath his feet.
Collins hesitated. Blair's glance crushed that hesitation to dust.
The needle slid into Cecilia's vein.
Blue fire seeped into her bloodstream.
A moment later, her body—meant to be locked in deep anesthesia—snapped taut. Muscles seized, her frame convulsing so violently she nearly rolled off the narrow table.
It wasn't waking.
It was burning alive from the inside.
Her throat worked soundlessly, neck veins standing out like cables under a strangler's grip. Her limbs twisted into shapes no living body should take.
Pain.
A pain that tore language to shreds.
Rufus's heart missed a beat, then clenched until his chest locked tight.
So this… this was the truth behind her 'recovery.'
Somewhere beyond his reach, the woman he had sworn to protect was being broken in the most methodical, merciless way imaginable.
This was the origin of that shining, healthy medical report.
He saw again the moment it landed in his hands. The flare of rage. The words he had thrown at her.
"I didn't realize you were capable of such scheming, Cecilia. Pretending to be gravely ill…"
"If not for this report, who knows how long you would have kept lying to me!"
Fool.
Not just a fool. The worst kind. The kind who loads the gun, hands it over, and shows the shooter where to aim.
A sound ripped from his throat—raw, jagged, inhuman.
He hurled the tablet to the floor. The screen shattered, the image gone.
But the hellish scene was already etched into his mind, every frame seared into his soul, burning him over and over.
"Hospital!"
Rufus spun, bloodshot eyes locking on Louis.
"Now! We go now!"
His body staggered, but his pace was relentless, driven by a fury that could level cities.
Brad, sprawled on the floor from an earlier blow, watched him go, a chill racing from his feet to his skull.
Rufus was out of his mind.
The hospital was chaos.
Rufus stormed in, reeking of alcohol and blood, his bodyguards shoving aside anyone in their way.
He went straight to the office of Doctor Martin—the same man who had overseen Cecilia's examination.
Martin was sorting patient files. When he looked up and saw Rufus, saw the lethal fury in his eyes, the folder slipped from his hands and scattered across the floor.
"Mr… Mr. Chapman?"
Rufus didn't answer. He grabbed the doctor's collar, hauled him out of his chair, and slammed him against the wall.
"Report!"
His teeth ground audibly, his voice sharp with blood and rage.
"Cecilia's medical report. All of it. Every original record. Now!"
Martin's face drained of color, his body trembling.
"The report… the report was already given to you…"
"The one you gave me?" Rufus laughed—high, broken, vicious. "That report said she was healthy! That her numbers were improving!"
He slammed Martin down onto his desk, scattering papers to the floor.
"Tell me!"
"How does a late-stage leukemia patient suddenly become healthy?"
The question shattered Martin's composure.
He thought of that day in the operating room, of Blair's promises, of Cecilia's unbearable convulsions.
Fear of Rufus crushed him.
"It wasn't me! It wasn't me, Mr. Chapman!"
Martin broke, sobbing.
"It was Miss Ember! She forced me! She said it was a newly developed special drug… that it could temporarily boost Ms. Thorne's bodily functions…"
"She made me forge that healthy report! She said it was your wish! That you wanted to see Ms. Thorne 'recover,' so she could qualify as a kidney donor for Miss Ember!"
Martin's voice shook as he spilled everything.
"She said the drug was just burning through her life force… that it would make death come faster… the side effects… the side effects were unknown…"
Rufus couldn't hear the rest.
His mind was blank.
From the beginning, Blair had played him like a violin.
She had used his trust, his guilt, turning him into the sharpest blade, cutting Cecilia piece by piece.
Even the final 'proof' that had made him abandon her was forged by Blair's hand.
He had condemned Cecilia based on a lie.
What had he done?
What had he done to her?
The absurdity and crushing remorse made him feel like he was drowning.
His throat tightened.
Blood surged up and spilled from his mouth, splattering across the wreckage before him.
The world tilted, spinning wildly.
All sound faded.
In the last moment before darkness claimed him, he thought he saw Cecilia.
She stood not far away, watching him silently.
His body felt impossibly heavy.
Rufus collapsed.
The world became pure white.
No sky, no ground—just endless nothing.
Rufus knelt in the void, and there she was, standing before him, her face still gentle, still beautiful.
"Cecilia."
He stumbled toward her, desperate to take her hand.
But no matter how he tried, there was a distance between them that could never be crossed.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
His voice broke, tears streaming, grief raw and unrestrained.
"It was my fault. I shouldn't have believed her. I shouldn't have doubted you."
"Please… come back."
"Hit me, curse me, do whatever you want… just don't look at me like that."
At last, Cecilia moved.
She lifted her hand and rested it gently on her abdomen.
Once, it had carried their child—Soren.
A child Rufus had ordered killed.
Her face was expressionless, her eyes—once filled with love—now cold and lifeless.
Rufus's heart stopped.
He reached out, screaming her name like a madman.
"Cecilia! Come back!"