Chapter 12

The moment Alexander stepped out, Evelyn's eyelids fluttered open.

The sharp sting of antiseptic assaulted her senses before she even registered where she was.

White walls. Sterile air. The steady beep of a heart monitor.

Hospital.

Memories rushed back—the storm, the phone call, the sudden darkness swallowing her whole.

She had barely made it out of Hawthorne Estate before the skies opened up. Rain lashed against her skin, cold and relentless.

Then, her phone buzzed. A missed call.

She had dialed back without thinking, her voice barely audible over the downpour.

"I'm near the old bridge—"

That was all she remembered before collapsing.

Now, lying in this hospital bed, one question burned in her mind.

Did he really come for me?

Ten years ago, she had stumbled upon a wounded man in the woods.

She had bandaged his injuries, given him shelter, and in return, he had pressed a pendant into her palm.

"If you ever need me, call this number."

She had scribbled it down, half-convinced it was meaningless.

People forgot. Promises faded.

Yet tonight, when she had dialed that decade-old number, someone had answered.

And now, here she was. Alive.

The door creaked open.

Her breath caught.

Was it him?

Or had she imagined the whole thing?

The memory was hazy, like a dream half-remembered.

She couldn’t picture his face anymore—only the crisp police uniform he’d worn, the bold numbers "258" stitched onto his shoulder. His badge number, most likely.

Just as the past threatened to swallow her whole, the door swung open, jerking her back to the present.

A man strode in—tall, impeccably dressed, his sharp suit accentuating broad shoulders. The sight of him startled her. He was striking in a way that made her pulse skip.

Simon hadn’t anticipated her being awake already. His steps faltered slightly. "Ms. Carter," he said, voice steady but laced with surprise. "You’re up. Let me call the doctor."

Chaos followed.

A flurry of white coats swept in, checking vitals, murmuring medical jargon, then vanishing just as quickly.

Evelyn watched them come and go, the surrealness of it all pressing down on her. Yet, beneath that, warmth spread through her chest. Someone had stayed. Someone cared.

When the room finally emptied, she turned to Simon, studying him with quiet intensity.

"So it was you," she murmured. "258. Thank you… for tonight."

The memory belonged to another life—one where she’d been just a terrified fourteen-year-old girl.

Now, years later, the face of the man who’d saved her had faded into obscurity.

Simon stilled, surprise flickering in his gaze.

He didn’t understand the significance of that number.

But Evelyn did.

And that changed everything.

Evelyn suspected Alexander was involved.

She studied Simon's face carefully, not wanting to make assumptions.

Simon chose his words with care. "Ms. Carter, if you're looking for the man who helped you earlier, he had to leave. I'm Simon Graves. Please let me know if you need anything—I'll take care of it immediately."

So it wasn't him.

Evelyn gave a faint nod. Noticing her exhaustion, Simon quietly excused himself and closed the door behind him.

In the hallway, he quickly pulled out his phone. [Sir, Ms. Carter is awake. The doctors confirm she's stable.]

Alexander's reply came within seconds. [Good.]

Simon hesitated, then added another message. [She seemed... disappointed it wasn't you.]

Rain lashed against the windows of Eclipse Lounge as Alexander strode inside, his coat untouched by the storm.

The dim lighting accentuated the sharp angles of his face as he checked his phone.

Simon's last message made his lips twitch.

Tall and commanding, Alexander moved through the space with effortless confidence.

Amusement flickered in his dark eyes.

The club's shadows only heightened his striking presence.

He didn't reply to Simon's observation.

Instead, he pocketed his phone with deliberate slowness.

The storm outside mirrored the tension coiling in his chest.

He hadn't expected Evelyn to remember anything.

Yet somehow, she'd sensed his involvement.

That complicated things.

Alexander signaled the bartender for a drink he didn't intend to finish.

The ice clinked softly against the glass as he considered his next move.

Across town, Evelyn stared at the hospital ceiling.

Fragmented memories swirled—strong arms lifting her, a deep voice cutting through the haze of pain.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Why would Alexander Whitmore save her?

And why disappear afterward?

The questions burned brighter than her injuries.

Somewhere between consciousness and sleep, she made a decision.

She would find the truth.

No matter what it cost her.

Alexander took a slow drag from the cigarette dangling between his lips, his fingers flying across the screen. [On my way.]

The moment he sent the message, the smirk vanished from his face.

Inside the private room, the crowd that had been fawning over Ethan Caldwell immediately shifted their attention as Alexander stepped in.

The difference in status was palpable.

Everyone present knew Alexander Whitmore was the true powerhouse behind Titan Capital Group.

Ethan, caught in the act of showing off, rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and approached. "Hey, Uncle."

The air thickened with unspoken tension.

Alexander's piercing gaze swept over the room before landing on Ethan. "Having fun?"

Ethan swallowed hard. "Just catching up with some friends."

A cold smile tugged at Alexander's lips. "Good. Because we have business to discuss."

The room fell silent.

Ethan's fingers twitched at his side. "Right now?"

Alexander exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "Unless you'd rather keep entertaining your audience."

Ethan's jaw tightened, but he nodded.

As Alexander turned to leave, the crowd instinctively parted for him.

No one dared to speak until the door clicked shut behind him.

Ethan let out a slow breath, his earlier bravado crumbling.

This wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.