Chapter 276
Inside the dimly lit room, Julian was carefully tending to Alexander’s wound. The antiseptic’s sharp scent hung heavily in the air as it made contact with the raw flesh, emphasizing the severity of the injury.
“Mr. Kingsley,” Julian murmured, his voice laced with concern. “You didn’t hesitate earlier. Weren’t you worried about aggravating this?”
Alexander merely clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “It’s nothing,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
Pain had never been an issue for him—especially not in moments of passion.
That night on the yacht, Isabella’s nails had raked down his back, leaving crimson trails in their wake. Bite marks had littered his shoulders, a testament to their reckless abandon. Yet, instead of recoiling, Alexander had leaned into it, craving every sharp sting, every bruising grip.
Because when it was her inflicting it, pain twisted into something dangerously intoxicating.
Now, his voice dropped to a low, velvety murmur. “Ms. Sinclair—and all of you—are worth more than any wound.”
Isabella’s gaze flickered toward him, the breeze from the open window ruffling his dark hair. His expression remained unreadable, his features carved from ice.
Alexander continued wrapping the bandage, his movements precise, almost hypnotic. The flex of his lean muscles beneath his rolled-up sleeves was impossible to ignore. He sat half-shrouded in shadow, as if the darkness itself clung to him, a perfect match for his enigmatic presence.
To the outside world, Alexander Kingsley was untouchable—cold, composed, distant as the moon.
But behind closed doors?
His walls held secrets—ropes, blindfolds, restraints—tools of control that contradicted his polished exterior.
Julian, ever perceptive, cleared his throat. “Well, Mr. Kingsley, it seems you do have a heart after all.”
A flicker of discomfort passed through Julian, but he masked it expertly, focusing on the task at hand. Especially with Isabella watching.
Then, with a playful glint in his eye, Julian turned to her, his smile warm. “You know, Isabella, I think you’re more important too.”
Unlike Alexander’s icy demeanor, Julian’s expression was tender, almost affectionate—like a devoted lover rather than a doctor. His gold-rimmed glasses caught the dim light as he reached into his pocket, producing a small, elegantly wrapped box of Leonidas chocolates.
“Here,” he said, deliberately ensuring Alexander heard him. “I remember how much you love these.”
The golden box was adorned with delicate hearts, filled with hazelnut and pine nut chocolates—Isabella’s favorites. But what stood out most was the inscription etched onto the lid:
“I look into your eyes and fall deeper in love.”
Alexander exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to sink deeper into the sofa. Instead, he tilted his head, his voice dripping with dry amusement. “Strange. I recall her not being fond of sweets.”
Julian merely shrugged, unfazed. “Perhaps, Mr. Kingsley, you don’t know her as well as you think. We have known each other since Leswington.”
Then, turning back to Isabella, his smile softened. “You do still like sweets, don’t you, Isabella?”
Though his tone was light, the challenge in his eyes was unmistakable as they briefly locked with Alexander’s.
Silence stretched between them, thick and charged, like the quiet before a storm.
Both men waited, their gazes fixed on Isabella, tension coiling tighter with every passing second.
And Isabella, caught between them, could only stare, utterly at a loss for words.
