Chapter 45 A Choice Was Given
The grand hall fell into silence again, the kind that weighs on the skin and makes every breath feel heavy.
Caroline remained curled on the floor, her left leg throbbing where the scalding tea had burned her. The pain came in sharp waves, each one digging deeper than the last. She tried to push herself up, but her legs refused to cooperate, trembling uselessly under her weight.
Even Rainey—who had never had a kind word for Edith—watched Caroline with the cold certainty that any cruelty waiting in the shadows belonged to her alone.
Hatred for one didn't soften the disdain they felt for the other; if anything, it sharpened it.
Caroline curled tighter into herself, the way someone does when they're trying to keep their insides from spilling out. Her chest felt numb, but the sudden sting in her heart was like a blade finding soft flesh. It was a kind of torment she couldn't put into words.
Footsteps sounded ahead—slow, deliberate, each one drawing closer. Her spine went rigid. She didn't need to look up to know who it was.
Alexander stopped in front of her. He didn't wear the same open anger he had shown toward his mother earlier. His expression was colder now, devoid of warmth, the kind of cold that cuts deeper than fire. His eyes were knives, sharp enough to pierce without touching.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and flat, the words dropped like stones. "Worthless."
The word hit her like a punch to the chest. So it was true… he still saw her exactly the same way. That brief moment when he had defended her earlier—it had been nothing but a mirage. A reflex to protect his own authority, not her.
Tears welled up again, blurring her vision. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, forcing the sob back down her throat. She didn't dare lift her head. She just let the tears fall quietly.
Alexander's irritation didn't fade at the sight of her submission. If anything, it flared even more, like gasoline catching a spark. He hated the way she folded in on herself, hated the emptiness in her eyes, the resignation that made her look like a shell stripped of a soul.
"My mother tells you to do something, you just obey?" His voice rose suddenly, like a whip crack. "If she told you to die, would you do that too? Caroline, do you have any spine at all? Can't you refuse? Or do you enjoy being ordered around and humiliated?"
The questions stunned her. Refuse? How could she refuse? Here, in Alexander's domain, in all of Grandhaven, what right did she have to say no? She didn't even have the chance to defend herself.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came. Her hands moved instinctively, trying to gesture, trying to ask—if she refused, would he stand beside her? Would he push back against his mother for her the way he had earlier?
But the look in his eyes killed the thought before it could take shape. There was no concern there, only contempt. He wasn't asking because he cared. He was venting, condemning her weakness, not her suffering.
Something inside her broke. Caroline lowered her head, pressing her face into her knees, her shoulders trembling in silence.
Alexander watched her shrink even further, the anger in his chest pounding at his temples. He turned abruptly, striding toward the staircase. At the corner, his steps paused for a fraction of a second. Without looking back, his voice carried down from the upper steps.
"If you think there's no room in this house that suits you, then stay in the living room and kneel."
And then he was gone, swallowed by the shadows of the second-floor hallway.
Caroline lifted her head slowly, staring through tear-blurred eyes at the spot where he had disappeared. Her heart skipped a beat at the weight of his words. What did he mean? Was it mockery? Punishment?
She couldn't tell. Knowing Alexander, it felt more like a cruel challenge—forcing her to choose between continuing to kneel on the cold floor or… something else. But the more she thought about it, the less certain she became.
The butler hurried over, helping her to her feet. His voice was low, almost cautious. "Mrs. Hamilton, Mr. Hamilton means you may choose a room for yourself. There are plenty of empty ones. You can pick whichever you find comfortable."
Choose… a room? Caroline let herself be guided upright, disbelief settling over her like frost. Alexander was giving her the right to choose? It didn't feel real. It didn't fit the way things had always been between them.
It was like sugar-coated poison—she knew better than to believe it, but thirst made her want to reach for it anyway.
She followed the butler up the stairs in a daze, stopping in the middle of the hallway. Doors lined both sides, each closed. The butler gestured that she could look at any of them.
Caroline's eyes moved slowly from one door to the next. Could she really choose? She didn't dare hope that Alexander believed her about tonight, or that he had softened toward her. No—that was impossible. He hated her. That had never changed.
Perhaps he simply could not stand anyone challenging his authority — not even his own mother.
That was why, in front of her, he chose to defend her in that particular way; why, in the heat of his fury, he tossed her a gift that was more of a riddle than a blessing… perhaps just to prove the reach of his absolute control.
Maybe, deep down, he was thinking, 'See? Even when I let you choose, you only dare to take the worst.'
Whatever it was, this small kindness felt like sugar-coated poison. She didn't know which piece would kill her, but she knew it could make her wish she were dead.
Caroline exhaled slowly, pushing away the fragile hope before it could take hold. Her gaze drifted to the far end of the hallway, to the smallest, most unremarkable room, the one farthest from the master bedroom.
'That one,' she thought.
She raised her hand, signaling to the butler. His brows lifted slightly in surprise, but he didn't ask. He simply nodded and opened the door.
The room was exactly what she expected—small, simply furnished, with a single bed, a wardrobe, a table and chair, and a narrow window. It didn't match the opulence of the rest of the villa, but it was clean.
To Caroline, it was better than the room she had been kept in before, the one designed to monitor her every move. At least here, she could pretend it was hers—a shell she could crawl into, a place to hide, even if only for a moment.