Chapter 36 36
Granny didn’t hesitate.
The moment the maid’s trembling voice reached her, she was already moving—straight-backed. She closed the door to her sitting room behind her and picked up the private phone on her desk.
Her fingers dialed a number she knew by heart.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then—
“I need you at the mansion,” she said the second the line connected, her voice low but firm. No greetings. No pleasantries. “Yes. It’s Alexander.”
A pause.
Her grip tightened slightly around the receiver.
“He’s escalating,” she continued. “Yes… the signs are back. Obsession. Agitation. Violence.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
“I don’t care that it’s late. You’re the only one he listens to when it gets like this.”
Another pause. Softer this time.
“No,” she said quietly. “I don’t think he’s taken more than prescribed. But something has triggered him.”
Her gaze drifted toward the direction of the study—toward the shattered silence beyond the walls.
“…Yes. Her,” she added.
The answer on the other end made her inhale slowly.
“Good,” Granny said. “Come immediately. And bring the stronger sedatives. We may need them.”
She hung up gently, as if any sudden movement might shake the house itself.
For a long moment, she stood there alone, worry finally breaking through the steel in her expression.
“My poor boy,” she murmured.
And down the corridor, the Burke mansion held its breath—
because when Alexander started again, nothing stayed untouched.
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the mansion.
The front doors flew open.
“She’s here,” a maid whispered urgently.
Moments later, the doctor strode in—young, composed, and striking in a way that made people stare twice. Her dark hair was pulled into a neat low bun, her white coat thrown hastily over a silk dress.
Dr. Elara Quinn.
The city’s youngest prodigy. Brilliant. Beautiful.
And the only doctor Alexander Burke had ever allowed near him in this state.
She didn’t slow.
“Where is he?” Elara asked sharply, already snapping on gloves as she moved.
“This way,” Granny said, turning immediately.
They entered the study.
The room looked like a storm had passed through it.
Alexander was half-slumped in the leather chair, eyes closed, shirt wrinkled, hair damp with sweat. His lips moved faintly—broken words slipping out under his breath.
“…don’t touch her… stay with me… Blair…”
Elara’s chest tightened—but she didn’t let it show.
She rushed to him, kneeling in front of the chair. “Alexander,” she said calmly, gently touching his wrist to check his pulse. “It’s me. Elara.”
His eyes snapped open.
Wild. Disoriented.
He surged forward suddenly, hand shooting out—
“Don’t!” he growled, shoving her hard in the shoulder.
Elara stumbled back but caught herself quickly, shock flashing across her face before she masked it.
“Alexander, stop,” she said firmly. “You’re not in danger.”
He stood abruptly, breathing heavy, backing away like a cornered animal.
“Get away from me,” he snapped hoarsely. “Don’t touch me. Don’t—”
His gaze flicked around the room, unfocused, searching for someone who wasn’t there.
Elara rose slowly, hands up, voice softening. “Okay. Okay. I won’t touch you.”
Granny stepped forward, fear breaking through her composure. “Alex, sweetheart…”
He shook his head violently.
“She was here,” he said, voice cracking. “I saw her. They were taking her. I couldn’t—”
His knees buckled.
Elara moved instinctively to catch him—
And he pushed her away again, harder this time, panic flashing raw and unfiltered in his eyes.
“No—don’t come near me!”
Alexander’s breathing turned ragged.
He shook his head violently, backing away another step, eyes wild.
“Only her,” he snapped hoarsely. “Only her can touch me. Not anyone else. Don’t—don’t touch me.”
“Elara, Alex,” she said carefully, keeping her voice steady as she moved just a fraction closer. “It’s me. You know me.”
“No,” he growled, jaw clenched. “You’re not her.”
Stubborn. Unyielding. Slipping.
Granny’s fingers dug into the arm of the chair behind her.
Elara met her eyes for one brief second—then made the decision.
“I’m sorry,” Elara whispered.
She moved fast.
Alexander barely had time to register the sharp pinch at his arm before the sedative slid in.
“What did you—” he started, fury flaring, but the strength drained from him almost instantly.
His knees gave out.
Elara lunged forward, catching him as his full weight collapsed against her. His head fell to her shoulder, breath slowing, body going slack.
“Easy,” she murmured, holding him tightly. “I’ve got you.”
She eased them both down, sitting on the edge of the desk chair as she cradled him, one hand gently stroking through his damp hair.
“I’m here now,” she whispered softly, fingers combing through his curls again and again. “You’re safe, my love. I’m here.”
Alexander’s lashes fluttered once before settling. His breathing evened out, finally calm, finally still.
Granny watched from a distance, eyes heavy with worry and relief tangled together.
Because when Alexander Burke slept like this—
it was never just rest.
Back at the Brooks mansion—
Lucas stirred.
Slowly. Heavily.
It felt like he was clawing his way up from the bottom of a lake, lungs burning, head pounding. His lashes fluttered, then finally lifted.
His brow furrowed.
“What…?” His throat was dry. His voice came out rough.
He tried to sit up. A sharp ache pulsed behind his eyes, forcing a low groan from his chest. Images tried to surface—his phone, the hallway, the loading bar—but they slipped away like water through his fingers.
Blank.
The door creaked open.
“Easy,” a gentle older voice said.
Lucas turned his head slowly.
His grandmother sat beside the bed, composed as ever, a porcelain cup resting in her hand. She studied him with calm relief,
“You gave us quite the scare,” she said lightly. “You collapsed at the function.”
He frowned. “Collapsed?”
“Yes. Completely unconscious.” She tilted her head. “You don’t remember?”
He searched his mind again.
Nothing.
Just… darkness.
“I—no,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t remember how I got here.”
She reached out and adjusted the blanket over his chest. “The coffee girl was nice enough to save you, Lucas.”
His heart skipped.
“The… coffee girl?” he repeated slowly.
“Yes,” his grandmother continued, unaware of the way his pulse had suddenly spiked. “She found you on the floor and didn’t leave your side. Very decent girl. Kept calling your name like she knew you.”
Lucas swallowed.
A strange tightness formed in his chest—unfamiliar, unsettling.
“Did she—” he paused, then shook his head. “Did she say her name?”
His grandmother smiled faintly. “Blair.”
The name landed softly.
But something inside him shifted anyway.