Chapter 219
The hospital corridors blurred as Isabella and the others rushed Alexander inside, the weight of every second pressing down on them like a physical force.
After what seemed like an eternity, the surgeon finally emerged from the operating room, his expression calm but weary. “He’ll be fine,” he assured them, wiping his hands on a towel.
Despite the reassurance, Isabella’s chest remained tight, her pulse still erratic. She had seen too much blood—too much pain.
In moments of life and death, instinct took over.
She understood now the magnitude of what Alexander had done. He had faced his deepest fear—exposing the truth about his legs—just to step between her and that knife.
“Isabella, try to breathe,” Julian murmured, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. His voice was gentle, but she could hear the underlying tension. “Mr. Kingsley’s injuries have been treated. He’ll wake up soon.”
The police finished taking their statements, their expressions grim but satisfied. “We have everything we need,” one officer said, glancing at Isabella’s pale face. “The kidnapper was neutralized by our sniper. You all handled the situation well.” He hesitated, then added, “But given the trauma, I’d recommend speaking to a therapist. It might help with any lingering effects.”
Isabella nodded numbly. “Okay.”
She had grown too familiar with death, but she still played the part of the shaken victim for their benefit.
When the officers finally left, the room fell into silence. With Darren’s death, the nightmare was over.
When Alexander finally stirred, the first thing he saw was Isabella, her fingers carefully peeling an apple, her brow furrowed in concentration. He tried to speak, but his throat burned.
“You’re awake,” she said softly, immediately setting the fruit aside to hand him a glass of water. “Here. Drink.”
As he sipped, her mind flashed back to when she had returned from the Burned Inds, feverish and wounded. Back then, it had been Alexander who had stayed by her side, watching over her through the worst of it.
“Thank you, Ms. Sinclair,” he rasped, adjusting the stiff hospital blanket. “Did the police wrap everything up?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Darren’s dead. He was shot.”
A quiet satisfaction settled in her chest. He had gotten what he deserved.
Her gaze drifted to his legs, hidden beneath the blanket. The memory of his bloodied wounds—self-inflicted under Darren’s twisted commands—still haunted her. She knew how severe the injuries had been.
Meeting his eyes, she couldn’t hold back the question any longer.
“Why did you reveal your secret today?” she asked quietly. “You’ve kept it hidden for years. And now—because of me?”
Alexander’s expression softened. “Isabella, your safety was never a small thing to me.” He exhaled slowly. “And honestly, I was tired of pretending. I couldn’t keep up the act forever. I’d been thinking about coming clean for a while. Today just… felt like the right time.”
His words left no room for argument.
In that moment, when he’d seen Darren cutting the rope with the knife, Alexander had known—instinctively—that the man was beyond reason. All he had thought about was shielding Isabella.
“I understand,” she murmured, handing him a slice of apple. “But Alexander, you didn’t have to risk yourself like that. Most people would have saved themselves first.”
Yet he hadn’t hesitated.
That kind of selflessness—or recklessness—left her speechless.
The image of his blood soaking into the ground still haunted her.
For a terrifying moment, she had truly believed she was watching him die.
