Chapter 239 We Have Always Been Missing Each Other
Harry was already delirious with pain, words tumbling out incoherently. "Left... no, right... it's the left leg! Left leg! The left one!"
"Left leg..." Alexander repeated softly.
"Good. Then today, I'll cripple both."
Before the words had fully left his mouth, Alexander's hand shot out and snatched a dinner knife from the tray of a terrified waiter frozen nearby.
"No... don't! Mr. Hamilton! I was wrong! I was wrong! Please! Please spare me!"
Harry thrashed desperately, trying to scramble backward. A dark stain spread across his crotch.
Alexander paid him no mind. He drove the knife viciously into the gap of Harry's right kneecap.
"Ahhhhh!!!!!"
Harry's scream was inhuman. His body convulsed violently before going limp, unconscious from the agony.
When Mark rushed back, Alexander had already finished.
He was standing, frowning slightly as he brushed at his dress with delicate fingers.
"Mark," he said quietly.
Mark hurried forward, voice shaking. "Sir?"
"My dress is ruined. Get me another one."
Alexander raised his hand with practiced grace. Mark immediately stepped closer, offering his arm for support.
Alexander turned, his gaze sweeping across the silent room.
"No one speaks ill of Caroline in Grandhaven," he announced.
Every heart in the room stuttered. People wished they could disappear into their collars.
"Understood?" Alexander's eyebrow arched.
"Yes!"
"Absolutely! We promise!"
Only then did Alexander nod, satisfied. With Mark's support, he glided from the banquet hall in measured, elegant steps.
Alexander had no interest in staying. After changing into a fresh dress, he returned to the car.
"Sir, where to?" Mark asked, turning in his seat.
"The dock." Alexander's eyes drifted closed.
Mark was quiet for a moment but didn't argue. He pressed the accelerator and turned the car toward the waterfront.
Alexander had been going to the dock often lately.
Right at the spot where Edith had "died," a wooden cabin now stood.
He barely did anything when he came. Mostly, he just stared at the sea.
Mark found a flat rock outside the cabin and settled against the wooden wall, exhaustion pulling his eyes shut.
He didn't know if this counted as improvement, but it was one of the few times these days when Alexander stayed calm.
Even though he dressed as a woman, acted like a madman, became the subject of whispered gossip throughout Grandhaven's elite circles—they all said the Hamilton heir had lost his mind completely.
But Mark knew this was better than before, when Alexander had been a hollow shell, self-destructive and half-dead.
At least now Alexander seemed functional on the surface. He'd even started handling company business again.
Mark was bone-tired.
The rhythmic crash of waves lulled him, and leaning against the cabin wall, his consciousness blurred. He actually fell asleep.
He didn't know how long had passed when a strange smell—burnt yet sickly sweet—invaded his nostrils.
Mark jerked awake, half-expecting to find the cabin in flames. But when he whipped around, he only saw thin wisps of smoke curling from beneath the door.
His heart settled slightly. He crept to the doorway and peered inside.
Alexander was crouched beside a small tin stove, carefully working a hand fan over the flames.
In the pot, what looked like red wine bubbled gently, chunks of pear bobbing in the liquid.
Mark slipped inside quietly.
"Sir, are you cooking? Do you want to eat? Let me help."
Alexander shook his head slowly. "I'll do it myself."
After a long silence, Alexander's movements slowed, and he spoke softly.
"This isn't for me."
"It's something Caroline... might have liked."
Mark's chest tightened.
Alexander paused again, then gave a bitter laugh.
"Actually... I don't even know if she liked it. I only heard from Della. She and some of the other maids were sneaking around making poached pears, and Caroline caught them."
"Della said Caroline didn't scold them. She even shared the pears with them."
Mark felt something sour and bitter rise in his throat, a feeling he couldn't name.
He walked around silently and crouched across from Alexander, helping feed wood into the stove.
Alexander resumed fanning, murmuring almost to himself.
"Mark, tell me—what did she actually like?"
"I know she liked wearing red. I know she liked reading poetry... I know she was passionate about psychology, that she had a gift for financial markets, that her ambitions went far beyond being some housewife locked away at home..."
"But... it's still not enough."
He didn't know what she liked to eat.
Sweet things? Savory? Spicy?
Or was it like he'd always assumed—that because of her fragile health, she could only stomach bland food?
Alexander didn't know what she did to pass the time when she wasn't reading, when she was alone.
Did she daydream? Listen to music? Or just sit quietly, thinking of nothing at all?
Alexander's voice turned raw with pain.
"I don't even know what kind of scenery she liked. Mountains? The ocean? Forests? Or city lights at night? If we'd had a real home together, I don't know how she would have wanted it decorated. I..."
Alexander raised his hand and covered his face.
"I failed completely, Mark."
"I've only just realized—I never even told Caroline I loved her."
Mark's nose burned, his eyes stinging instantly.
He spoke quickly, desperate to comfort. "No, you did! I heard you say it to her many times!"
But Alexander shook his head violently, tears slipping through his fingers.
"No... I never said it..." He pressed hard against his chest. "Before she lost her mind, I never said it."
When Caroline had loved him desperately, he'd been in love with Edith.
And when he'd finally discovered that the one he loved was Caroline, she'd already gone mad.
"I was talking to an empty shell who could only survive by pretending to be Edith. The real Caroline never heard me say it."
Alexander's voice was hollow, his eyes distant.
"We kept missing each other, Mark. Over and over."
The fire in the stove flickered, spitting a spark, then dimmed.
Mark quietly picked up the ladle. "Sir, it's ready."