Chapter 91

The following afternoon, Alexander Kingsley finally stirred from sleep. The same haunting dream had plagued him all night.

He found himself back on the battlefield of Zenithia. A brutal mission had been assigned—infiltrating an enemy camp with fifty comrades, eliminating the terrorists, and rescuing ten hostages.

The criminals were heavily armed, ruthless. Among them were barely legal teenagers who had been killing since the age of five.

The sand beneath his boots was soaked in blood, turning the landscape into a living nightmare.

Originally, Alexander hadn’t been on the mission roster. But he’d volunteered, joining the ranks of the Shadowguard Legion without hesitation.

"Young man, are you married?"

"No."

"Then why take this mission? Every man here has a family. If something happens, there’s someone to carry on their name."

At the time, Alexander had simply laughed, indifferent to life or death.

"I have no burdens. Nothing to lose."

The two most important women in his life had left him, one after the other. His heart had shattered beyond repair. Death held no fear for him.

What terrified him more was the loneliness.

By the end, only ten of the fifty survived.

Alexander had been shot in the leg, stabbed in the shoulder and waist. Just as he’d accepted his fate, a woman in a tattered white coat appeared—an angel on the battlefield.

Her mask was thick, her short hair neatly trimmed. Despite the chaos, her eyes shone brighter than the sun and moon combined.

That woman was Seraphina Lockwood. The woman he’d spent years searching for.

And now, after seeing Isabella Sinclair last night, the dream had returned.

Though Isabella and Seraphina were two entirely different people, something in Isabella’s gaze reminded him of her. It unsettled him.

Alexander rubbed his temples, relieved to find the headache gone.

Just then, Margaret Laurent entered with a medical kit.

Seeing him awake and alert, she brightened. "Mr. Kingsley! You’re awake! How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

He tried to sit up, then froze. His clothes had been changed.

"What happened to my outfit?"

"You vanished last night and came back drenched. I changed you into pajamas." She tidied the room briskly. "You’re thirty, not thirteen. Can’t even take care of yourself."

Alexander frowned, running a hand through his hair in irritation.

The last thing he remembered was the splitting headache. He’d gone to the study for medicine. After that—nothing.

"Margaret, did you change my clothes?"

"Who else would?"

He exhaled sharply. "Margaret, I’m thirty. Not a child. You can’t just undress me whenever."

"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes. "I’ve known you since you were in diapers. Do you think I enjoyed it?"

Alexander sighed.

"And whose fault is it that you drove your wife away? Now you’ve got no one to look after you. One day, when I’m gone, you’ll turn into some wild hermit. Then you’ll be happy!"

She continued her lecture, leaving no room for argument.

"Now, take off your shirt."

"Excuse me?" He took a step back.

"The wound on your back needs ointment. It won’t heal if you don’t keep applying it. Hurry up!"

Margaret held up the ointment Mrs. Abernathy had given her, stern.

Alexander’s gaze sharpened. "How did you know about the injury?"

"Because—" She caught herself, remembering Mrs. Abernathy’s warning. "Because I saw it when I changed your clothes last night! That bruise scared me half to death!"

The memory of last night resurfaced—holding Isabella, feeling her warmth, the way she melted against him.

A fierce urge to protect her had surged through him.

Alexander swallowed, desire flickering in his eyes before cooling just as quickly.

Pride was his downfall. He’d apologized, and she’d not only rejected it—she’d slapped him. Humiliated him.

That, he couldn’t forgive.

At 16:45, the butler’s voice interrupted.

"Mr. Kingsley, Mr. Grant is here to see you. He’s waiting in the drawing room."

Alexander’s lips thinned. "Tell him to meet me in the study."

Lucas Grant’s unexpected visit sent Evelyn Prescott’s heart racing. She nearly tripped over herself in excitement.

She changed into her newest haute couture dress, touched up her makeup, spritzed on perfume, and practically floated downstairs.

As she opened her door, she spotted Amelia hugging that ridiculous teddy bear, hopping around the hallway like a child.

Evelyn’s nose wrinkled in disgust. She strode forward in her stilettos and shoved her hard.

"Ah!" Amelia stumbled, crashing to the ground in an ungainly heap. Even then, she clung to the bear.

"I told you not to play in the hallway. Look what happened."

Too pleased to waste time, Evelyn smoothed her hair and swept past.

Had she been in a worse mood, she might’ve stepped on her.

Once Evelyn was gone, Amelia dared to rise.

Years of this had taught her one thing—play the fool, keep her head down, and the yelling lessened.

"Amelia!" Margaret rushed over, helping her up. "What happened? How did you hurt yourself?"

"I’m fine." Amelia pressed her lips together. "Just clumsy."

"I saw Evelyn leaving. Did she push you?" Margaret’s eyes burned with anger.

"No, no! I’m fine! I have to go!"

At the mention of Evelyn, Amelia hugged her bear tighter and scurried off.

Margaret watched her go, teeth clenched.

Lucas had been strolling the gardens. As he re-entered the house, he nearly collided with a beaming Evelyn.

"Mr. Grant!" Her voice dripped honey. "What brings you here? Looking for Alexander?"

"Indeed." His tone was cool. He knew the Abernathy family dynamics better than most.

Evelyn’s mother, Victoria Sterling, was cunning. It colored his view of her.

But Evelyn mistook his reserve for intrigue. She was beautiful, wealthy, bold. Surely he’d fall for her soon.

She tugged her collar lower, pressing against his arm, lips puckered.

"Mr. Grant, let me take you to him."

The next second, his gaze turned glacial.

"Let go. Your perfume is offensive. Don’t ruin my suit."