Chapter 500

Isabella opened her eyes.

The sterile white ceiling of the hospital room greeted her. A doctor in a crisp white coat informed her that she had been unconscious for three days after the accident.

Her left leg was encased in a heavy cast. The slightest movement sent sharp jolts of pain through her body, making her want to scream.

But no one was there to hear her.

Other patients had loved ones fussing over them—flowers, balloons, whispered reassurances. Isabella had nothing but the hum of machines and the distant murmur of hospital staff.

A deep loneliness settled over her.

The Morgan family was gone. She had no one left. If her brother were still alive, he would have been by her side in an instant, tending to her every need with that familiar, protective scowl.

But he had been gone for over a decade. Now, the only person she could lean on was Alexander.

The door creaked open. Simon Graves stepped inside, his expression unreadable. "Ms. Morgan, you're awake."

He had been coordinating with the hospital since her admission.

"The doctor says your fracture will take at least two weeks to heal before you can even think about walking." His gaze flickered to her immobilized leg. "What would you like to eat? I'll arrange it."

The words were polite, detached. Not the warmth she craved.

She swallowed hard, forcing a weak smile. "Anything is fine."

Simon nodded and turned to leave, but hesitated at the door. "Mr. Whitmore has been informed of your condition."

Her breath hitched.

Alexander knew.

But he wasn't here.

The door clicked shut behind Simon, leaving Isabella alone again with her thoughts—and the gnawing question of why the man who had once promised to always be there for her hadn't even bothered to visit.

She burst into tears. "Where's Alexander?"

"Mr. Whitmore has urgent business and can't make it."

Isabella's voice trembled. "Will he come after work?"

Simon's tone was firm. "There's a fireworks show in Cresthaven tonight. He’ll likely take his wife to see it."

Her breath hitched. Disbelief twisted her features as sobs wracked her body.

"I'm lying here, injured, and he’s off enjoying fireworks? What does that make me?"

Simon exhaled slowly. "Ms. Morgan, your injuries weren’t caused by Mr. Whitmore. Why shouldn’t he enjoy the evening?"

He crossed his arms. "Besides, I’m here with you, aren’t I?"

Isabella’s eyes flashed with fury. "I don’t need your company! Who do you think you are?"

Her chest heaved. She snatched the pillow behind her and hurled it at him. "Get out! I don’t want to see you!"

Simon barely dodged, rubbing his temple.

Amusing, really.

The Morgan family had been irrelevant for years, yet she still acted like royalty.

He was Alexander’s right-hand man—a senior executive at Horizon Enterprises.

And yet, here he was, tolerating her tantrums.

Patience had its limits.

Simon had already reached the door. But the words burning in his chest forced him to turn back.

"Ms. Morgan, let’s be clear—I have no personal stake in this. But tell me, what exactly is Mr. Whitmore to you?"

His voice was sharp, deliberate. "He has no obligation to camp out in this hospital day and night, attending to your every need. Or does he?"

Isabella’s lips thinned. "You don’t understand a thing. Alexander and I grew up together. We were inseparable. My brother died saving his life. So tell me, doesn’t he owe me this much?"

Simon didn’t flinch. "Mr. Whitmore repaid that debt long ago. When you were injured, he rushed here in the dead of night to donate blood. He arranged round-the-clock care. He’s done enough." His gaze hardened. "He’s a married man now, Ms. Morgan. Act like it."

Isabella’s face flushed crimson. The words struck like a slap.

She had no retort. Only fury. With a clipped command, she dismissed him.

Alone again, her fingers trembled as they brushed the pearl bracelet circling her wrist. The delicate beads felt like shackles.

A mocking gift from Dominic. A trophy of her humiliation.

Gritting her teeth, she clawed at the clasp. The skin beneath turned raw, red. But the bracelet refused to budge.

It clung to her, just like the past she couldn’t escape.

Evelyn Carter slammed her fists against the plush duvet, her frustration boiling over.

The door creaked open, revealing Alexander Whitmore leaning casually against the frame. His lips curved into an amused smirk.

"Care to explain why you summoned me with such urgency?" His deep voice carried a teasing lilt.

Evelyn's chest heaved as she glared at him. "You knew! All these years, you knew about Vanessa and my inheritance, didn't you?"

Alexander pushed off the doorframe, his expression shifting to something more serious. Moonlight from the bay window cast shadows across his sharp features.

He took three deliberate steps forward before answering. "Not all of it. Only what mattered."

Her nails dug into the bedding. "What does that even mean?"

The scent of his cedarwood cologne enveloped her as he sat on the edge of the four-poster bed. "It means I protected you from truths that would've destroyed you back then."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "How noble."

His fingers brushed against her clenched fist. "I'd do it again."

The quiet intensity in his voice made her breath catch. For five heartbeats, the only sound was the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway.

Then Evelyn yanked her hand away. "You don't get to decide what I can handle."

Alexander's jaw tightened. "Someone had to."

Her pillow hit his chest with a soft thud. "Get out."

He caught the pillow effortlessly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Make me."

The challenge hung between them, charged with years of unspoken history. Somewhere downstairs, a glass shattered—probably Eleanor dropping another antique.

Evelyn opened her mouth to retaliate when sudden realization struck. "Wait... if you knew about the will, then you must know who—"

Alexander's phone buzzed violently in his pocket, cutting her off. The screen illuminated with Victoria Sloan's name.

His thumb hovered over the decline button, but Evelyn saw the way his shoulders tensed. "Answer it."

When he hesitated, she snatched the device and hit accept.

Victoria's panicked voice filled the room. "Alex! It's happening again—just like last time. They're at Titan Capital right now!"

Evelyn watched blood drain from Alexander's face. Whatever this was, it was worse than inheritance secrets.

Much worse.

Evelyn slammed her fist against the mattress in frustration. "Dominic!"

To her surprise, an amused voice responded instantly from the hallway. "Hmm? Did you need something, darling?"

The door creaked open slightly, revealing Alexander leaning against the frame with that infuriating smirk of his. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd just run his fingers through it, and his piercing blue eyes gleamed with mischief.

Evelyn crossed her arms, her cheeks flushing. "Don't 'darling' me. You know exactly what you did."

Alexander pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the room, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. "Enlighten me, sweetheart. What terrible crime have I committed this time?"

She glared at him, though the effect was ruined by the way her lips twitched. "You told my father about the—"

"Ah." His smirk widened. "That."

Evelyn threw a pillow at him. "It was supposed to be a surprise!"

Alexander caught it effortlessly, his laughter warm and rich. "In my defense, he cornered me. And you know I can't lie to Richard."

She huffed, but the anger was already dissipating. "You're impossible."

He tossed the pillow back onto the bed and closed the distance between them in two long strides. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "But you love me anyway."

Evelyn rolled her eyes, but she didn't pull away. "Unfortunately."

Alexander grinned, undeterred. "Admit it. You missed this."

She sighed, finally relenting. "Maybe a little."

His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

Evelyn rested her forehead against his shoulder, hiding her smile. "You'd better not."

Outside, the wind rustled the leaves of the Hawthorne Estate's ancient oak trees, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming roses. Some things, after all, never changed.