Chapter 95 You Killed Me
Rufus said nothing.
The longer his silence stretched, the heavier it pressed against Cecilia's ribs, stealing the air from her lungs. It was the kind of quiet that felt like a hand clamped over her mouth, suffocating her without touch.
Her chest burned with a restless fire. She needed an outlet—something to shatter the suffocating stillness he wrapped around her like a shroud.
She lifted her foot and ground it down on the jagged remains of a crystal trophy. The sharp crack of breaking glass sliced through the room again.
"Let me go," she said, lifting her chin, locking her gaze on his. "Or I'll tear this place apart, piece by piece, and we'll see if you can keep pretending you don't care."
She expected that threat to spark something—anger, rage, anything.
But instead, Rufus's pale face softened, just barely, with something that could almost be mistaken for indulgence.
"Alright."
The single word caught in her throat, choking off whatever she had planned to say next.
"As long as it makes you happy." He moved toward her, slow and deliberate, stepping around every shard of glass as if it were sacred ground. "You can smash whatever you want."
His voice was quiet, but it carried a sickness—an unwavering, feverish devotion that made her skin crawl.
"This house, Chapman Tower… if you say the word, I'll have people come in and wreck it for you."
He paused, studying her with unnerving seriousness. "Or maybe you'd rather burn it down? We could do that too. I'll stand beside you while it burns."
Cecilia froze.
Her mind stalled, unable to process the words she was hearing. He was insane.
Rufus had lost his mind completely.
This was not the man she remembered—the one who would have crushed her for the smallest act of defiance, the one whose cruelty had left scars deeper than bone.
"I'll say it again. I'm not the person you're looking for." She forced the absurdity from her voice, stepping back to put distance between them.
She jabbed a finger toward her own face, speaking each word with sharp precision. "Look at me. My name is Amelia. Not your Cecilia."
"I have my own life. I have a boyfriend. What you're doing right now is illegal confinement. It's kidnapping. It's a crime."
Rufus's steps halted.
Finally, there was a reaction—a faint curve at the corner of his mouth, cold as a blade.
"A boyfriend?"
He turned away from her and walked to the massive rosewood desk, pulling open the lowest drawer.
"You wouldn't mean Charles… would you?"
From the drawer, he withdrew a thick manila envelope and tossed it onto the desk in front of her.
Cecilia's breath caught.
"Amelia, twenty-two, born in Harmony City. Orphan. Sent to Sunshine Orphanage at age three. Adopted at seven by her first foster parents. Returned at nine after being diagnosed with congenital heart disease. Adopted again at twelve. Abandoned at sixteen when her foster parents divorced."
Rufus leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk. His eyes were dark pits, full of ruthless certainty.
"You thought you could play this game with me using Amelia's name?"
"Cecilia, have you forgotten? In this city, if I want to know something, there are no secrets."
The envelope spilled open.
An ID card—Amelia's young, unfamiliar face staring back.
A personal file detailing her address and household information.
A contract for a nursing internship at the city hospital, alongside her complete employment records.
And finally, a thin medical report.
Black letters on white paper: [Amelia, female, age twenty-two. Diagnosis: congenital heart disease. Recommendation—avoid emotional stress and strenuous labor.]
It was more than Cecilia herself knew about the body she inhabited. More, and far more terrifying.
Cold spread from the soles of her feet, racing upward until her blood felt frozen.
He had stripped her bare.
She had thought a new name would let her vanish into the crowd, but to Rufus, every disguise, every desperate attempt to run was nothing more than a pathetic joke.
Her knees wavered beneath her.
Rufus bent down, reaching for her cold fingers.
"I was wrong before," he said, his fingertips brushing her skin, shivering at the chill. "Cecilia, I owed you. A home. A life without fear. I gave you nothing."
"From now on, that changes." His grip tightened. "I'll bring you the best the world has to offer, if you'll only look at it."
"Get out!" she screamed, snatching a heavy metal ornament from the floor and hurling it at him without hesitation.
Rufus didn't move.
The ornament struck his leg with a dull, solid thud. He flinched slightly but didn't make a sound.
"You sick bastard! You think you're someone worth knowing?" Cecilia was unraveling, her composure shattered beyond repair.
She spat curses at him—raw, venomous words that scraped her throat bloody.
"What you've done… you could rot in hell for centuries and still not pay for it! And now you want to play the lovesick martyr? Doesn't that disgust you?"
"I swear, even if I die and turn to ash, I will never forgive you! I hate you! Every second I'm alive, I'm cursing you to die badly!"
He stood there, unmoving, letting her rage crash against him like waves against stone.
There was no offense in his expression—only a grief so thick it seemed to weigh the air. And beneath it, disturbingly, a flicker of satisfaction in her hatred.
Eventually, her voice broke.
Her throat was raw, her body shaking from the strain. Pain twisted in her chest—sharp, familiar, a reminder of the fragility of the heart she now carried.
She slid down the wall, breath tearing in and out of her lungs.
The room was silent except for her ragged breathing.
"Finished?" Rufus crouched, meeting her eyes. "Go lie down for a while. I'll have the kitchen send something up."
His tone was gentle, unnervingly so.
Cecilia turned her head away, refusing to meet his gaze.
"I'm not sleeping here," she said through clenched teeth.
Something in him shifted.
He stood, silent for a few beats, and when he spoke again, the warmth was gone.
"I don't want to force you."
"Then kill me," she shot back, lifting her head, her bloodshot eyes locking on his.
The words hit him like a blow.
His body jerked, the color draining from his face, pupils contracting sharply.
But the moment passed.
He bent, ignoring her scream and her flailing hands, scooping her up in his arms.
"Put me down! You bastard! Let me go!"
She fought like a cornered animal, fists hammering against his chest and back.
Rufus didn't react. His arms only tightened, holding her as if she might vanish if he loosened his grip, carrying her toward the bedroom with long, unyielding strides.