Chapter 176
The yacht swayed gently as the doctor worked quickly to disinfect and dress their wounds.
Isabella’s injuries were relatively minor—mostly bruises with two shallow cuts on her leg, likely from scrambling through the dense undergrowth of the forest.
Alexander, however, had sustained deeper wounds, requiring more meticulous treatment.
The doctor spoke with professional deference.
“Mr. Kingsley, Ms. Sinclair, your wounds were exposed to seawater, and the forest air carried toxins. I’ve disinfected and bandaged them, but complications may arise.” He hesitated before adding, “If you experience any discomfort, please alert me immediately.”
Isabella offered a grateful nod. “Thank you for your care.”
Once the doctor had gathered his supplies and left, Alexander leaned back against the pillows, his expression unreadable.
“Seems you’ve made some dangerous enemies,” he remarked, his tone light but probing.
“Are you suggesting something?” Isabella exhaled, well aware of the implication but choosing to deflect.
“The Burned Hands Mafia isn’t known for acting without reason. I can’t imagine why they’d target me,” she lied smoothly. “And Mr. Kingsley, didn’t you hear what Adrian said? He mentioned I had something they wanted. But they must have mistaken me for someone else—or just wanted a ransom.”
Her explanation felt flimsy, even to her own ears. She knew Alexander wasn’t easily fooled, but she had no choice. The truth—her ties to the Hackers’ World and the Mafia—wasn’t something she could reveal. Even if he dug deeper, she had made sure no traces of her past remained.
Alexander sensed her evasion. It was clear she still didn’t trust him. His gaze darkened briefly, though his voice remained steady.
“True. Ransom would make sense.” He let the subject drop, though his next words carried an edge. “Men like that deserved worse than a quick death.”
The controlled fury beneath his calm demeanor was unmistakable.
Isabella, attuned to emotions, felt the weight of his anger. She remembered what she’d uncovered through Cobweb—Alexander’s younger brother, Amelia’s father, had been murdered by the Mafia. The vendetta ran deep.
Not wanting to linger on the topic, she shifted focus.
“Mr. Kingsley, your injuries are severe.” Her eyes flickered to his bandaged wounds, which still looked alarming despite the doctor’s efforts.
Her thoughts drifted back to the forest—how Alexander had crossed dangerous terrain to reach her, deliberately drawing gunfire away from her. There had only been three guards at the dock, but dozens more had been combing the woods. One wrong move, and he could have died.
“But you didn’t have to come yourself,” she said quietly. “When I sent my location, I expected you to call the authorities. You could have handed it over to them. There was no need for you to risk your life.”
She had asked this before. His earlier answer—that they were friends—still lingered in her mind. It felt strange. She rarely dwelled on the past, yet here she was, repeating the question. Maybe because she had always relied on herself. Maybe because someone risking their life for her unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
“I don’t know why either,” Alexander admitted, his voice low. “Maybe I just couldn’t stand the thought of you dying.”
Isabella frowned, sensing something unspoken beneath his words. Before she could press further, he lowered his gaze and added, “Besides, I made a promise. I told you I’d teach you my grandmother’s fragrance techniques. If you died, wouldn’t that make me a liar?”
His explanation was logical, yet it didn’t quite satisfy her.
Then he turned the question back on her, his gaze sharpening. “But Ms. Sinclair, you could have escaped alone. Why take the risk with explosives? Pulling that pin could have killed us both.”
His eyes held hers, waiting.
Isabella’s pulse stuttered.
