Chapter 300
“You’re drunk, Alexander,” Isabella murmured, her brow furrowing as she studied him.
Her mind flashed back to that night on the yacht—the same reckless intensity she saw in him now had surfaced then too.
As Alexander leaned closer, the sharp scent of whiskey enveloped her, burning and potent.
Compared to Julian’s boyish, almost naive charm, Alexander exuded something darker—an unyielding, commanding presence.
“I don’t get drunk,” Alexander rasped, his voice so rough it barely sounded like his own.
Yet despite his words, he could barely keep himself upright, half-slumped against the bed.
“Tonight… tonight was a waste for you.”
Isabella shook her head.
She moved to the water dispenser, poured him a glass of warm water, and held it out.
“Tonight was just for fun. It doesn’t matter if it was wasted or not. Drink this and sober up.”
But Alexander ignored it.
Instead, he cracked open another bottle of bourbon, taking deep, unsteady gulps, his throat working with each swallow.
“I told Sebastian to send you home…” His voice was softer than usual, laced with something like confusion.
He didn’t sound like the cold, detached Mr. Kingsley.
He sounded like… Alexander.
Isabella’s lips curved slightly.
“What’s this? Backing out of the gala at the last minute?”
“No… I just don’t feel like it.”
His reply was quiet, nearly lost in the dim light.
He thought he’d made himself clear.
Yet she didn’t leave.
Instead, she settled beside him, reaching for a bottle of scotch.
“If you’re not in the mood, why not talk about it?” she suggested. “I happen to love a good story—especially with decent liquor.”
She could feel the tension coiled around him, the suffocating weight of whatever was eating at him.
She didn’t know what had happened, but she wasn’t walking away now.
She’d told Sebastian she’d try, and she never went back on her word.
They said liquor loosened tongues, and Alexander, always guarded, might just let something slip tonight.
“Did Dominic say something to you?” she asked, taking a sip before clinking her glass against his.
For a moment, the only sound was the soft chime of crystal.
Then, in a voice laced with bitter amusement, Alexander replied, “I asked him to look into something for me… about what really happened to my idiot brother on the Burned Islands all those years ago.”
He called his brother an idiot, but there was something dangerous in his eyes.
Isabella caught it immediately.
“You said it was revenge before,” she pressed carefully.
“It’s because of me,” Alexander answered abruptly, his tone strange.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling as if seeing something far beyond it.
“If it weren’t for my birthday, he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to fall for it… and Amelia wouldn’t have had to watch him die.”
He laughed, the sound dry and hollow, like he was remembering a joke only he understood.
“You think he was a fool? Trusting me like that?”
As he laughed, his eyes glistened—unshed tears catching the dim light.
Isabella’s breath hitched.
She’d never seen this side of him before.
When he spoke of his brother’s death, his entire body radiated something lethal—a resentment so deep it was almost tangible.
And yet, he laughed.
Laughed while calling his brother an idiot, even as his eyes burned with grief.
He looked like a blade with a broken edge—still sharp, still deadly, but deeply wounded.
Isabella’s grip tightened on her glass.
The casual air she’d maintained vanished, replaced by something colder, more resolute.
She knew exactly what it felt like to lose someone because of yourself.
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong,” she whispered.
It was all she could offer, and even then, it felt painfully inadequate.
Loss… the kind that carved into you and never fully healed.
“I’m right here, Alexander.”
She exhaled sharply and set down the scotch, reaching for the hangover remedy Sebastian had left earlier.
She reminded herself not to empathize too much—this was just a transaction.
“Drink this—”
Before she could finish, Alexander’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist.
In the warm glow of the lamplight, their eyes locked, each reflecting the other.
The scent of whiskey hung thick between them, heady and intoxicating.
Isabella’s pulse stuttered.
