Chapter 11

Alexander’s voice was smooth, unbothered.

“I need to shower.”

Before I could react, his fingers curled around my arm, pushing me gently aside. Then, without another glance, he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door in my face.

I blinked at the polished wood, stunned at how quickly he went from hot to cold.

Oh well. What was I expecting? A heartfelt moment?

No touching. That’s what the contract said. And yet, some foolish part of me had almost believed—No. Stop.

Shaking off the ridiculous thought, I exhaled sharply. I needed to get out of here.

Slipping out of Alexander’s bedroom, I scanned the hallway, my heartbeat picking up. The last thing I needed was to run into Gratia again.

I tiptoed across the grand staircase, relief flooding me as I reached my bedroom door—

“So, you don’t sleep in the same room as your husband?”

I stiffened.

That voice.

Drew.

His tone was silky, teasing, yet something about it felt… off.

Slowly, I turned.

He leaned lazily against the stair railing, dressed in a checkered pajama set. His damp dark hair gleamed under the warm chandelier light. His lips curved into a knowing smirk.

I forced a light laugh. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t act innocent.” His smirk deepened.

“I’d love to chat, but I need to—” I turned toward my room, but of course, he wasn’t done.

I heard his footsteps before I even reached the door.

“Oh no, you can’t just walk away now.” His voice remained playful, yet something in it made my stomach twist. “You’re right in front of me. We should talk, shouldn’t we… Beatrice?”

My spine locked at the name.

Before I could react, his fingers wrapped around my wrist.

Not hard. Not rough. But firm.

And something in his gaze made my skin crawl.

I met his eyes—

“Tell me…” His grip tightened slightly. “Why did you leave?”

A chill ran through me.

Leave?

I had no idea what Beatrice had done. No idea what she and Drew had been to each other.

And judging by the way he was looking at me now… it wasn’t something….. small.

Swallowing, I forced a bright smile. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, Drew.”

His grip tightened.

“Oh? Feisty, aren’t we?” His voice dropped an octave. “That’s new.”

I tried to yank my arm away. “Let go of me.”

But Drew only smirked wider.

“We used to be so… close, Beatrice. I believe we have some unfinished business.”

And then, before I could react—

He shoved me back against my bedroom door.

My shoulders hit the cold wood, and my breath hitched.

“Drew, let—”

His mouth crashed onto mine.

I froze.

The force of his kiss was brutal, overwhelming. His hands grabbed my face, his body pressing against mine, trapping me.

I struggled, my palms pushing at his chest. No. No. No.

His tongue forced its way in—hot, violent, bruising my lips. I whimpered against him, trying to shove him off, but he was stronger.

He groaned softly at my fight, his grip tightening.

Panic swelled in my chest.

I needed to get out of this.

Then—instinct kicked in.

I bit down. Hard.

The sharp taste of blood filled my mouth as Drew jerked back, cursing.

“You bitch—”

His hand snapped up as if to strike.

I lunged for the door handle, twisting it violently.

I shoved myself inside, slamming the door shut behind me.

My heartbeat pounded in my ears.

On the other side, Drew banged on the door.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he hissed, his voice venomous. “You stupid, useless bitch. You’re sick, you hear me? Sick!”

My hands trembled as I grabbed a chair from the dresser, wedging it beneath the doorknob.

Finally—his footsteps retreated.

Silence.

But it wasn’t comforting. It was suffocating.

I turned toward the mirror.

Swollen lips. The faint streak of his blood on my mouth.

My stomach churned.

Drew—Alexander’s stepbrother—just…

It took everything in me not to march into Alexander’s room and tell him about what had happened.

But how could I?

He wasn’t even home the next day.

He had vanished before sunrise, and I had no idea when he would return.

So, I did the only thing I could.

I focused on why I was here in the first place.

My mother.

I sat in the back of the sleek black car as it cruised through the streets, my fingers tightening around the tiger-print coat draped over my shoulders.

Lucy had styled my hair into a soft knot, two loose strands curling against my cheeks. A long-sleeved black body-hugging gown completed the look—something simple, effortless.

I made sure too avoid Gratia and her appalling son as i snuck out of the estate.

Orbot, the driver, didn’t protest when I told him where I was going.

Not this time.

Why would he?

I wasn’t going to the trenches anymore.

The car pulled into the private hospital in Brookville.

A deep brown building, tall and imposing. It resembled a prestigious law firm more than a hospital. Thick trees lined its exterior, offering an air of exclusivity.

The parking lot was filled with luxury cars, each one parked with perfect precision.

The car stopped. Orbot met my eyes through the rearview mirror.

“Ma’am, we’re here.”

I nodded. “Yes. My mother is here.”

Something flickered across his expression—a brief, sharp look of surprise.

“Your mother?” His brows furrowed slightly, as though the words didn’t quite add up.

I met his gaze, my expression unreadable. “Yes.”

His lips parted slightly, but he quickly masked it. “The door is open, ma’am. You can step out.”

That was… odd.

Still, I shook off the uneasy feeling and stepped out, pulling my coat tighter around me.

I approached the receptionist’s desk.

A woman in a spotless white uniform glanced up. A silver name tag gleamed on her chest—R.L.

“I’m here to see a patient,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Lauren Monroe.”

She studied me before reaching for a brown folder and an iPad.

“Your name, ma’am?”

My stomach clenched.

What name had Alexander registered me under?

Would it be Isla Monroe? Or…

I swallowed. “Isla Monroe Blackwood.”

The receptionist’s brows lifted slightly.

“Oh,” she murmured, as if recognizing something. “Mrs. Blackwood.”

A strange tone colored her voice, but before I could question it, she straightened and nodded.

“I’ll take you to her. Please have a seat.”

She disappeared through the back door.

Minutes passed.

Then she returned—with a different file in her hands.

“Come with me.”

I followed her through endless white hallways, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to the air.

Through open doors, I caught glimpses of patients—an elderly man struggling with a medical stroller by his side a nurse and another woman maybe his child? adjusting his IV drip.

The receptionist stopped in front of a sleek white door, pressing a code onto the keypad.

A soft beep followed. The door unlocked with a smooth whoosh.

I stepped inside—

And froze.

The room was beautiful.

Large, spacious, bathed in golden light. Expensive floral arrangements, a plush couch by an open window that brightened the room, and a cute light blue water dispenser. Next too my mum’s bed was—

A heartbeat monitor.

A nurse in pale blue uniform was already there tending to her as she turned toward me with a gentle smile.

“You must be Isla.”she brightened.

“Your mother woke up last night, Mrs. Blackwood.”

The nurse smiled kindly as she glanced down at my mother, who lay still in her hospital bed, eyes closed, breathing softly.

“She was delirious at first,” the nurse continued. “But she asked for you.”

Something inside me tightened painfully.

She had woken up without me

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my gaze scanning her resting form. Her cheeks had more color now, pink and warm, no longer as pale as before. Her body looked less frail, and most noticeably, the feeding tube had been removed.

They had fed her directly.

She’s improving.

I didn’t wait for an invitation I quickly sat on the stool beside her bed. The nurse gave me one last glance before excusing herself, stepping out into the hallway with the receptionist.

And then it was just us.

My mother and me.

Her hand lay still beneath mine, and for a moment, I simply stared at her, at the rise and fall of her chest.

And then—

A single flutter.

Her eyelids twitched.

My breath caught as she stirred, lashes flickering, before her deep green eyes slowly opened.

For a moment, she blinked in confusion, her gaze unfocused.

Then she saw me.

And she croaked out in a dry, cracked voice—

“Isla.”

“Hold on—hold on, Mom,” I rushed to the water dispenser at the side of the room, pouring a cup of warm water.

Returning quickly, I helped her lift the cup to her lips.

She drank carefully, sipping like a child, her throat working slowly, her fingers trembling slightly.

When she finally lowered the glass, she looked at me again—really looked at me.

And her expression shifted.

“Isla…” Her voice was stronger this time, filled with confusion. “What’s happening? How have you been? How…”

She trailed off, her eyes darting around the room, finally taking in her surroundings.

And then her entire face paled.

“Did you… did you borrow money?” she asked abruptly, panic creeping into her voice.

Before I could stop her, she began pulling at the IV in her hand.

“Mom, no! Stop!” I grabbed her wrists, forcing her to still. “You need that! Please, don’t.”

She froze, looking at me again. And this time, her gaze turned sharp.

Slowly, she raised a shaky hand and touched my hair.

Her fingers brushed over the expensive hairstyle, tracing the loose curls framing my face. Then her eyes dropped to my coat, entire outfit.

And something dark clouded her expression.

“Isla…” she whispered. “What have you done?”

My chest tightened.

“Mom—”