Chapter 199

Chapter 199

Elizabeth's POV

I turned my head and looked at his profile.

His expression was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that scared me.

But I knew he was only holding himself together, waiting until we were alone before he let himself come apart.

When the car pulled into the villa, Alexander didn't turn off the engine right away.

He sat in the driver's seat with both hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead without moving.

"Alexander," I said.

He didn't respond.

"Alexander." I reached over and touched his fingers.

They were freezing, cold like he'd had them submerged in ice water.

"Elizabeth." His voice was so hoarse it barely sounded like him.

"He admitted it."

"He said it himself."

I looked at him and didn't know what to say.

I knew he didn't feel relieved.

He just sat there like someone who had run for too long, only to stop at the finish line and realize there was nothing on the other side of it.

"Alexander." I unfastened my seat belt, leaned over, and wrapped my arms around him.

His body stiffened for a second, then slowly gave in against my shoulder. He didn't cry. He didn't shake. He just buried his face in the curve of my neck and stayed there without moving.

I could feel his breathing. Heavy. Slow. Like every breath took effort.

So we stayed like that.

In the garage. In the car, after the engine finally went quiet. On the day everything had ended.

After a long time, he lifted his head and looked into my eyes.

"Elizabeth."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being there today," he said. "If you hadn't been, I don't know what I would've done."

I reached up and wiped away the faint trace of dampness at the corner of his eye, so slight I almost could have missed it. "From now on, I'll be there every day."

He looked at me, his eyes rimmed red, and the corner of his mouth lifted just a little. It wasn't really a smile. More like he was trying to smile and couldn't quite manage it.

"Come on," he said as he pushed open the car door. "Let's go home."

This time, he said home, not back.

I got out of the car, took his hand, and walked into the villa with him.

Lisa was busy in the kitchen. When she heard us, she leaned out to look, saw our faces, and quietly disappeared back inside.

The lights in the living room were on. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows and spilled across the floor.

Everything was still.

Still enough to look like an ordinary afternoon, as if nothing had happened at all.

But I knew everything had changed.

I thought that once Franklin was taken away, we'd get at least a few quiet days.

But on the third day, everything shattered.

That afternoon, I was in the garden painting.

The sun was warm. Lisa was nearby, trimming the flowers. The air smelled faintly sweet from the blossoms.

Everything was peaceful. So peaceful it almost made the nightmare of the last few days feel unreal.

Then my phone rang. It was Julia.

"Elizabeth! Turn on the news right now! Franklin's out!"

My brush froze over the paper, and a blot of ink spread across the page.

"What do you mean, he's out?"

"He made bail! It was processed this morning. All the paperwork was in order. The reporters barely had time to react before he was already gone. His pictures are all over the internet now. Photos of him walking out of the station in a suit and tie, smiling, even waving at the cameras!"

I set the brush down and opened my phone.

Franklin's photo filled the screen.

He was standing outside the police station in a dark gray suit, his hair perfectly combed, his back straight, that faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

If you didn't know who he was, you'd think he was a successful businessman. A polished middle-aged man. A gentleman leaving a meeting downtown.

No one would ever guess he had just been publicly accused by his own nephew of murder.

Looking at those photos, I suddenly understood what that smile had meant back then.

It wasn't a resignation.

It was confidence.

He had known he'd be fine. Known he would walk out.

The thought made my stomach drop.

[Where is he now?] I asked.

[I don't know. He got into a car right after he left the station. Nobody caught the plate number or where it went. But everyone's guessing he's headed to one place.]

Windsor Estate.

Gray's birthday banquet was less than twenty days away. Franklin had come back early, made bail early, and shown himself to the world early.

Not returning in disgrace. Not slinking back in humiliation.

He came back in a suit and tie, smiling like a man returning in triumph.

My hand shook around the phone.

Not from fear.

From rage.

He had gotten four people killed, spent three days in custody, and then walked out as if nothing had happened.

What about the law? What about justice? What about everything written in that notebook?

I drew in a sharp breath and called Alexander.

It rang three times before he answered.

"You saw the news?" I asked.

"I did." His voice was calm. Wrongly calm. There was no anger in it, no disappointment, no emotion at all. That calm unsettled me more than shouting would have. It sounded like the dead stillness before a storm.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"At the office."

"Are you okay?"

There was a pause on the other end.

"Elizabeth, Franklin didn't go back to his own place after he left the station."

"Then where did he go?"

"The Windsor Group building." Alexander's voice dropped. "He showed up in the lobby a little while ago. In front of everyone, he greeted the receptionist, took the elevator, and went up to the twenty-third floor."

The twenty-third floor.

The core executive floor of The Windsor Group.

Alexander's office was on that floor.

"He went to see you?" My voice came out strained.

"No. He went to look at his old office." Alexander paused. "That office was sealed after he left fifteen years ago. Grandfather never let anyone touch it. Never let anyone go in. It still has the same lock on the door."

I tightened my grip on the phone, my thoughts turning chaotic.

Franklin had walked out of the police station and gone straight to The Windsor Group building to visit the office that had been sealed for fifteen years.

What was he doing? Claiming territory? Telling everyone he was back and meant to stay?

"Alexander, come home," I said.

"Elizabeth—"

"Come home," I cut in. "I don't want you there alone."

Silence stretched on the line for a long moment.

"Okay."

After I hung up, I stood in the garden with the sunlight pouring over me, and still I couldn't feel warm.

At some point, Lisa had already gone inside, leaving me alone in the garden.

I lowered my eyes to the unfinished painting, my mind completely blank.

Alexander got back quickly.

When he pushed the door open and walked in, his face looked paler than usual.

He had changed out of his suit and into a dark house shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, as if he had come home and switched clothes on the way in. But I noticed the scrape on his fingers.

It was slight.

Easy to miss.

But it was there.