Chapter 80 This Fool
A woman was strapped into a custom-built metal chair, her limbs bound, her body forced open to the brink.
Her brown hair fell like a curtain, hiding her face, revealing only the pale cut of her jaw. She was thin to the point of fragility, her bones stark beneath her skin. Old scars crisscrossed her body, merging with fresh, raw welts from the whip. The blood was still wet.
What stabbed at Alexander's eyes was the stain between her legs—dark, streaked with red—an unflinching testament to the violation she had just endured. Here. On this stage. In front of them all.
His fury froze in place, as though a white-hot steel spike had been driven straight through his chest, searing and cold at once.
"Caroline..." The name escaped him in a hoarse whisper, almost breaking.
A heartbeat later, he lunged for the stage.
"Sir!" Liam was right behind him, his men in tow.
The club's security moved to block their path, but Liam shoved a pistol against one man's temple. "Move."
Alexander vaulted up onto the stage, closing the gap to the bound woman. Under the harsh lights, every wound was laid bare.
His legs felt weighted, refusing to take another step. For a long moment he simply stood there, trembling, before his hand lifted to tilt her face upward, brushing her hair aside.
"You're not allowed to die... your debt isn't paid... I won't—"
But beneath the hair was a face he had never seen before.
Alexander froze.
The taut wire in his mind snapped. His hands recoiled as if burned, his balance faltering, forcing him back two steps.
Relief hit him like a stone—only to swing wildly into dread. If this wasn't Caroline... then where was she?
Six hours. In a place like this... had she already—
He drew his pistol in one smooth motion, turning to press the barrel against the temple of the host kneeling nearby, the man shaking so violently he wet himself.
"Where is she? Caroline. Tell me!"
The host sobbed, shaking his head frantically. "I—I don't know... sir, I swear I don't know who you mean... her name's not on tonight's list... please, don't kill me!"
Whatever warmth was left in Alexander's eyes vanished. His finger tightened on the trigger.
"Mr. Hamilton, hold your fire." Harry's voice cut through the tension.
Alexander turned rigidly toward him.
Harry—Grandhaven's mining magnate—was smiling as he approached the stage, hands spread in mock peace.
"Easy, Mr. Hamilton. Your wife was indeed brought here tonight. I recognized her. Frankly, I thought it was inappropriate for her to remain in a place like this. By coincidence, Daniel Cortes—the head of a geological survey team I've invested in—said he knew her. He begged me to help. I couldn't refuse. I paid the ransom and let Dr. Cortes take her."
Harry's brows lifted in mock surprise. "What? He hasn't contacted you?"
Daniel. The man who had rescued Caroline in the Maze Forest, who had tended to her in the hospital.
Alexander's brow darkened, his face hardening into stone.
Liam turned away, unwilling to witness what was coming. In his mind, he counted down three silent seconds for Harry's soul.
Harry thought he was offering a favor. He didn't understand. For Alexander, having his wife rescued by another man—and in a place like this—wasn't charity. It was a public declaration of his failure. An insult sharper than any aimed directly at him.
Harry mistook the silence for consideration, his smile deepening. "No need to thank me, I only—"
"So." Alexander's voice cut in, flat and lethal. "You saw."
Harry blinked. "Saw what?"
"My wife. Bound like merchandise. Displayed. Valued. Or perhaps... you even joined in the bidding?"
The smile faltered. Cold crept up Harry's spine.
"Mr. Hamilton, you misunderstand, I—"
The gunshot cracked through the air.
Harry screamed, his left knee exploding in a spray of blood. He collapsed hard, clutching his leg.
"Sir!" his assistant cried, rushing forward.
Alexander didn't look at her. His arm lifted.
Another shot. The assistant's forehead burst open, her surprise frozen on her face as she fell backward.
Gasps swept through the crowd.
Alexander lowered the pistol, plucked a white napkin from a stunned waiter's tray, and wiped his hands with slow, deliberate care. The bloodied cloth landed on Harry's face.
He turned toward the exit, his voice low and cold, an edge of steel in every word. "Everyone here who laid eyes on her—gouge them out. Cut their vocal cords. Break their hands.
"The club's owner, and anyone involved in her abduction or transport—sever their tendons. Bring them all."
Daniel carried Caroline into his apartment.
Inside, he cranked the heat up, settling her on the sofa and wrapping her in a thick wool blanket.
"Don't be afraid, Caroline... you're safe now. This is my home. You're safe here." The words tumbled out, desperate.
He didn't dare look beneath the blanket, didn't dare imagine what she'd endured. He hurried into the bathroom, turning the tap until warm water filled the tub.
Returning to the living room, he lifted her—blanket and all—and carried her into the bathroom, setting her gently on the edge of the tub, where a rubber mat kept her from slipping.
"The water's ready. You can... wash up. It might help."
He turned his head away from the emptiness in her eyes.
"I'll get the medical kit. You... might need some treatment."
Drawing the curtain closed, he stepped out quietly.