Chapter 262
Pathetic. That was the only word for it.
The kidnapper’s system had been hacked with laughable ease. His equipment might as well have been scrap metal.
Alexander’s expression twisted into something dark, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. His voice was a low, dangerous growl.
“Take him down.”
A pause. Then, colder:
“Don’t let him die quickly.”
Sebastian nodded sharply, already motioning for his team to move. Within seconds, the kidnapper was pinned to the ground, his struggles useless against trained professionals.
The remote detonator had malfunctioned. His gun was empty. The threat was neutralized.
Amelia was safe—but the moment the adrenaline faded, her small body crumpled. Unconscious, trembling violently, as if every ounce of strength had been drained from her.
Alexander dropped to his knees, gathering her into his arms with surprising gentleness. He cradled her against his chest, moving swiftly back toward the car.
When he yanked open the door, Isabella leaned out, triumph flashing in her eyes as she waved her laptop.
“Mr. Kingsley,” she said, breathless but victorious, “I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”
She swung her legs out of the car, reaching for Amelia. Alexander hesitated—just for a second—before carefully transferring the girl into Isabella’s arms.
Isabella’s expression softened as she looked down at Amelia’s flushed face.
“She spoke today,” she murmured, pride and worry warring in her voice.
Her fingers brushed Amelia’s forehead—burning with fever. The shock, the terror—it had taken its toll.
“She’s burning up,” Isabella said, frowning.
But before the words fully registered, chaos erupted again.
The kidnapper, cornered by Alexander’s men, made a desperate last move.
Gritting his teeth, he turned—and sprinted straight for the ocean.
Sebastian’s team reacted too late.
A second later, the man was violently flung back onto the shore, clutching his head, groaning in agony.
Julian emerged from the water, shaking off seawater like it was nothing.
“You guys are slow,” he drawled, tossing the dazed man toward Sebastian before sauntering over to Isabella.
He propped his chin on his hand, grinning. “How’d I do? Impressive, right?”
A wink.
Completely ignoring the murderous aura radiating off Alexander.
Isabella rolled her eyes. “Not the time, Julian. Amelia’s in bad shape—high fever, unconscious.”
Julian’s smile vanished.
He stepped forward, pressing a hand to Amelia’s forehead. His brows furrowed.
“Yeah. Stress reaction. The emotional overload was too much.”
His gaze flickered between Alexander and Isabella, noting the matching worry in their expressions.
A strange thought flickered through his mind—Amelia almost looked like theirs.
But he shoved it aside.
“Don’t panic,” Julian said, softer now. “The fact that she cried and spoke? That’s progress. She’s healing.”
He hadn’t expected today’s disaster to somehow trigger a breakthrough—but it had come at a cost.
Alexander had taken a bullet and was barely holding it together.
“Once we get her back, I’ll give her something for the fever. Rest, fluids—she’ll be fine.” A pause. “In time, she might even speak normally again.”
Then his gaze shifted to Alexander.
“As for you, Mr. Kingsley—that shoulder needs treatment. Now. Unless you want an infection.”
Julian was a psychiatrist, but he was still a doctor. And right now, medical instinct overrode everything else.
Isabella’s eyes widened.
She hadn’t noticed the wound. The dark fabric of Alexander’s suit hid the blood—but now, up close, she could see the stain spreading across his chest.
“Julian’s right,” she said, voice firm. “You need to let him treat that. Sebastian and I can handle the rest.”
A beat. Then, quieter:
“If you collapse, who’s going to take care of Amelia?”
Alexander’s jaw tightened. But after a tense moment, he gave a single, reluctant nod.
“Fine.”
His gaze cut to the kidnapper, now being shoved into a car trunk.
His expression darkened.
“Ms. Sinclair,” he said, voice like gravel, “don’t dirty your hands with this.”
A pause. Then, colder:
“Sebastian will deal with him.”
The unspoken promise in those words sent a chill through the air.
No one had ever pushed Alexander this far.
Whoever was behind this would pay.
Julian watched, intrigued. He’d always known Alexander as controlled, calculating—but this?
This was something else.
It reminded him of the rumors—the stories about how Alexander had once taken down a crime lord and left his head on display.
Julian adjusted his glasses, unfazed.
He just hadn’t expected someone like Alexander to get so close to someone like Isabella—who hated trouble more than anything.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
“Mr. Kingsley,” he said smoothly, “while I am just a psychiatrist, I’m not bad with physical wounds either.”
Alexander gave a terse nod.
“Thank you.”
The gratitude was genuine. Julian had no stake in their war—yet he’d stepped in without hesitation.
Julian waved it off. “Don’t thank me. Isabella’s the one who sent me the location.”
A glance at her, warm but knowing.
“After all, what concerns her concerns me.”
Alexander said nothing.
But one thing was clear—he and Julian would never get along.
