“I didn’t do it for you, Ms. Sinclair.”
Alexander’s voice was steady, though his fingers twitched slightly against the armrest of his wheelchair. The sterile hospital lights cast sharp shadows across his face, emphasizing the tension in his jaw.
“I just prefer to keep my conscience clean.” He shrugged, as if the act of taking a knife for her had been nothing more than a casual decision. “Besides, you found such a skilled doctor for Amelia. If anything happened to you, she’d be devastated.”
His explanation was as much for himself as it was for Isabella. Even he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d reacted so instinctively. The moment he’d seen the blade flash toward her, his body had moved before his mind could process the danger.
“Plus,” he added, forcing a smirk, “when I blocked the knife, I angled it just enough to avoid anything vital. Just a scratch on the abdomen. If that blade had hit you, though…” His gaze darkened. “Well, it would’ve been a lot worse.”
He exhaled, meeting her eyes. “So, all things considered, it was the right call. Don’t you agree?”
Isabella studied him, her expression unreadable. She knew he wasn’t fishing for gratitude. He was downplaying it—trying to keep her from feeling indebted. But that very concern, though well-intentioned, unsettled her. She wasn’t used to someone putting themselves in harm’s way for her.
Alexander noticed the weight in her silence. Without thinking, he flexed his injured hand, wincing at the sharp sting. Still, he managed a teasing grin. “So, how are you going to repay me? Dinner? Some other day, maybe?”
Isabella’s lips curved slightly as she reached out, adjusting the bandage on his hand with surprising gentleness. “They say a life-saving debt should be repaid with a lifetime of gratitude,” she murmured, her tone light but edged with something unspoken.
His reply was immediate. “Would you be up for that, Ms. Sinclair?”
From where he sat, he could see the way her long lashes brushed against her cheeks, the cool clarity of her eyes beneath them. And for just a fleeting second, something softer flickered in their depths.
What had started as banter suddenly felt like a step toward something deeper.
Isabella withdrew her hand, resting her chin on her palm with a faint, knowing smile. “Mr. Kingsley, you’re one of the top ten wealthiest men in the country. Who could possibly say no to you?”
Their gazes locked—just for a heartbeat—before Alexander looked away first, though his expression remained composed. Beneath that calm, however, his pulse betrayed him.
“Ms. Sinclair, you’re just teasing.”
For a moment, he almost asked her outright: Would you ever consider being with me? But the thought dissolved before it could take shape. Love wasn’t something to be rushed. He wouldn’t risk what they had by pushing too hard, too soon.
Isabella seemed to sense his restraint. She broke the silence, her tone shifting as she nodded toward his uninjured leg. “You really caused a stir when you revealed you weren’t actually crippled. It’s all over the news. Seen the trending topics? Your half-brother must be losing his mind right about now. You’re in for a rough time.”
Alexander’s expression darkened. He knew the storm was coming. “Thanks for the heads-up, Ms. Sinclair.”
Isabella stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her blazer. “I’ll let you rest, Mr. Kingsley.”
As she turned to leave, Alexander’s gaze lingered on the bandage she’d adjusted. Somehow, it still carried the warmth of her touch.
