Chapter 43 A Night of Unanswered Questions

Chapter 43 A Night of Unanswered Questions
ALEXANDER

My penthouse was eerily quiet when I walked in from the office. It had been quite a hectic day, and I was already looking toward taking a hot bath and wallowing away in self-disgust at my inability to find Elena.

The automated lights flickered to life the moment I stepped inside, and my expensive dress shoes clicked softly against the marble floors as I walked. I shrugged off my suit jacket and tossed it onto the couch before loosening the top buttons of my crisp white shirt. I sighed.

The silence was biting at me.

I was used to it.

For years, I'd lived in this place alone. But tonight, it felt so different—empty in a way that unsettled me.

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. This was Elena's fault.

She wasn't here. Usually, even when we weren't talking, I would find her presence comforting and accommodating, but now.

The whole place was empty because she wasn't around.

Not like she'd been around for long enough.

She'd been the cause of it all.

She was the reason my mind was spiraling, the reason I'd snapped at my employees all day at work. I knew I'd been rash toward them, but I simply couldn't help it. Elena was the reason I'd spent the entire day drowning in irritation and couldn't focus on anything else.

She wasn't answering my calls.

She wasn't at her apartment.

And worse—she was intentionally avoiding me.

It wasn't just frustrating. It was infuriating.

I tried to think of a suitable reason for her behavior, but nothing resurfaced. It was just one recurring thought.

It could be that she was jealous. She'd seen me with Victoria, and she probably was trying to punish me.

"Damned that woman." I cursed under my breath as I further adjusted my necktie.

I strode toward the bar in the corner of my living room and poured myself a drink. The ice clinked against the glass as I sipped and allowed the burn of whiskey to try to soothe my agitation, even though I knew it wouldn't work.

I needed to get her out of my head.

That hot bath might help.

I got up and headed to my bedroom.

I was in the middle of unbuttoning the rest of my shirt in preparation for heading to my ensuite when my phone rang.

I froze on the spot.

My eyes snapped to the device lying on the coffee table.

Elena.

My heart gave a strange, unfamiliar jolt at the sight of her name lighting up my screen—one I wasn't willing to acknowledge just yet—before I swiftly picked up the call.

"Elena," I said in a voice that sounded sharper than I'd intended. "Where the hell have you been?"

She was so unbelievable.

There was a pause. Then, I heard her voice.

Soft. Tiny. Unsteady.

"…Alexander?"

Immediately, my irritation shifted into something else as my fingers tightened around the phone.

What. The. Hell?

"Elena, what's wrong?" My tone had changed, now laced with concern and somewhat impatience.

Elena didn't respond.

Through the call, I could hear the sounds from the background of her location, but I couldn't hear her voice. It was as if she'd either slept off or passed out.

And to God, I wished it were the former rather than the latter, as I wouldn't know what to do with myself if she'd passed out.

"Elena, where are you?" I pressed.

Another pause. Then, she murmured something incoherent.

Good. She wasn't passed out. She was weak.

There was no way she was drunk.

Elena wasn't that careless.

She knew she had someone growing inside of her.

"Elena," I gritted, "I need you to focus. Tell me where you are."

But the only response I got was the faint rustling of fabric—then the call ended.

Damn it.

I swore under my breath.

Something wasn't right. Not with the way she sounded.

It sounded so much like she was in grave danger, and that scared me more than I cared to admit.

I wasn't going to waste time calling her again. Instead, I moved fast, grabbed my laptop, and ran a quick trace on her phone's IP address.

It took less than a minute to get her exact location.

I slammed the laptop shut. Grabbed my car keys and left.

And without calling Prescott—without even thinking—I was already out the door.

Later on,

It was a little over 10 p.m. when I pulled up at the given address, and the moment I spotted the place, my irritation hit a new level.

A bus house.

Really?

She was staying in a goddamn bus house!

I clenched my jaw and held back my anger while still looking the place over.

This was a thousand times less than my penthouse. Why the hell did she refuse to go to my place? At least her safety was more guaranteed there than here.

Music was playing from inside the bus house—loud, messy, and chaotic. Laughter and conversation seeped through the open doors, and the stench of weed and alcohol filled the air.

I clenched my jaw even tighter. My teeth were beginning to ache already.

What the hell was she doing here with these drug addicts and alcoholics?

She was freaking pregnant.

It could be that they'd kidnapped her.

With that thought in mind, I stormed toward the entrance and shoved the door open without hesitation.

The music didn't even stop.

A group of scruffy-looking guys were lounging inside, some with guitars in hand and others with drinks. A girl with purple-dyed hair glanced at me and smirked.

"Well, well, look who—"

"Where the hell is Elena?" I cut in, my voice sharp enough to silence the room.

The hipsters exchanged glances amongst themselves.

Then, one of them—a guy with long curly hair and a half-buttoned shirt—stood up with his arms crossed.

"Yo, man," he said lazily, "you can't just—"

"I'll say this once," I said, stepping forward. "Tell me where she is, or I'll break every bone in your body."

That caught their attention.

The atmosphere shifted suddenly.

Some of them tensed. A few of them looked amused.

The curly-headed guy chuckled and shook his head.

"Man, relax. No one kidnapped your girl—"

"I didn't ask for your opinion."

My patience was running thin. My anger was rising, and my fists itched terribly for action.

And then—

"Alexander?"

The voice was completely unmistakable.

I turned sharply.

And there she was.

Elena.

My girl.

She was standing at the hallway entrance, looking… off.

Her hair was a mess, and her eyes looked so tired. She was wearing someone else's hoodie—one too big for her—and looked like she hadn't slept.

My stomach clenched.

Why the hell did she have to put on someone else's filthy hoodie?

"Elena," I exhaled and stepped toward her. "What the hell is going on?"

She blinked slowly, and I saw that her gaze appeared unfocused.

"Alexander…" she murmured again, her voice distant.

Something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

And before I could demand answers—

She slumped and collapsed into my arms.

"Elena!" I yelled as panic shot through me. Her body was limp, and her breathing was shallow.

"Shit," I hissed. I shook her lightly. "Elena, wake up."

Nothing.

"Move," Riley's voice cut in suddenly from beside me.

I hardly even noticed her until now. I glared.

"What the hell did you do to her?"

Riley scowled.

"Are you insane? No one did anything to her! She was fine earlier, but she's been acting off all day. I don't know what's wrong with her."

I didn't care for excuses. Elena was unconscious.

"I'm taking her to the hospital," I said firmly.

"I'm coming with," Riley said without hesitation.

I didn't argue.

I eased Elena into my arms and carried her out of that godforsaken place and straight to my car.

My mind was racing, and my pulse was unsteady.

And as I sped toward the hospital, one thought consumed me—

What the hell was wrong with her?

How could she jeopardize her health for what?

Because she wanted to punish me?

She was freaking pregnant, for God's sake!