Chapter 95 Can You Come Home More Often?
Alexander had intended to pry her arms away, but her illogical, emotionally charged sobbing made him freeze mid-motion.
Her words pricked at him, one after another, like fine needles.
Not enough to cause real pain, but enough to leave a strange, lingering ache.
He knew perfectly well this was all fake—an illusion her scrambled memory had constructed.
Her waiting, her fear, her apologies—none of it was for the real him. It was all for the fictional husband in her head, the one who supposedly loved her.
So why, when she curled against him crying, did the urge to push her away suddenly… vanish?
Alexander squeezed his eyes shut, shoving that unwelcome ache deep into the darkest corner of his chest.
"Let go!"
He increased the pressure, roughly pulling her from his embrace and shoving her back half a step.
Caroline stumbled, but before he could react, she lunged forward again, using both hands and feet to climb onto him, desperately trying to burrow into his arms.
"Let go!"
Alexander's irritation spiked at her shameless clinging. He reached up to pry her arms from around his neck.
But somehow she had impossible strength. No matter how hard he pulled, she wouldn't release him.
The moment he freed one hand, the other locked tighter.
Her breath was warm and slow against his neck, trailing over his skin with unsettling deliberation. His spine went rigid. A shiver ran through his entire body.
"Caroline!" Alexander growled. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?! There are people watching!"
But Caroline, who normally cared so much about appearances, completely ignored the servants' stares and clung to him like a lifeline.
Left with no choice, Alexander abandoned trying to pry her off. Instead he cupped her face, forcing her to look up and meet his eyes.
"Look at me. Look closely!"
He spoke through gritted teeth.
"I'm not the gentle husband from your memories! I'm just a—"
The words "person who wishes you were dead" had reached his throat when Caroline suddenly moved.
Instead of shrinking from his harsh gaze, she pressed forward, resting her forehead against his cold skin.
"It doesn't matter." She cut him off. "Whether you're cold or warm, whether you're exactly like I remember or completely different… I love you anyway."
She pulled back slightly, gazing earnestly into his eyes as she spoke each word with careful precision. "Alexander, I love you. Every part of you."
Alexander's hands trembled almost imperceptibly where they cupped her face.
He froze completely. Even his breathing stopped.
He screamed at himself internally. 'This tenderness she feels for me is fake. It's just a hallucination caused by that damn blood clot in her brain. A pathetic product of scrambled memories.'
But then why, looking into her eyes brimming with devotion, was his own heart trembling uncontrollably?
When he didn't respond, Caroline gathered her courage and gently shook his arm, asking softly, "Darling… could you come home every day from now on?"
Then, as if realizing she'd asked too much, she rushed to add, "Not every day! I know you're busy. Just… whenever you have time. Even for a little while. I promise I'll be good. I won't bother you."
Home.
The word struck Alexander like an unfamiliar blade.
What was home?
He owned many properties.
But whether it was the Hamilton family estate, or this Ravenwood Manor, or even that penthouse apartment he'd once prepared meticulously for Edith but never got the chance to bring her to—none of them felt like home.
They were luxurious, comfortable, fully equipped. But to him, they were just places to sleep.
No different from his study or a hotel suite. Temporary stopping points.
He realized with pathetic clarity that he had no concept of home at all.
When he remained silent, Caroline mustered her courage and quickly kissed his tense cheek.
"If you don't say anything… I'll take that as a yes!"
A blush spread across her face. She smiled shyly, finally releasing her arms from around his neck and lowering her feet to the floor. But then she caught his hand where it hung at his side.
"Come on, darling, I made you dinner!"
She pulled him toward the dining room, her enthusiasm infectious, her eyes crinkling with her smile.
"Try it and tell me if my cooking is still the same as before. I've been a bit clumsy lately, but I put my heart into it."
Alexander remained in a state of profound shock, allowing himself to be led in a daze, his feet moving mechanically.
When he came back to himself, he found he was already seated at the long dining table.
Before him lay carefully arranged place settings and several dishes that had clearly been prepared with great care.
Across from him, Caroline watched expectantly, waiting for him to pick up his utensils.
The moment their eyes met, rage surged through him.
With a heavy crash, Alexander shot out his hand and violently flipped the table.
The solid wood table tilted and fell. Fine china plates and bowls shattered on the floor. All the food she'd spent the afternoon preparing scattered across the pristine flooring.
"Ah!" Caroline cried out, stumbling backward several steps.
She stared at the wreckage, at her afternoon's work destroyed in an instant. Her eyes immediately welled with tears that spilled down her cheeks without warning.
But she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand, forcing a trembling smile. "It's okay… darling, did you not like those dishes? I'll make something else. Whatever you want! I'll go right now!"
Alexander stood amid the destruction, breathing hard.
Fury still burned in his chest.
But he realized with bitter irony that the anger wasn't directed at her.
It was because he'd been playing along with Caroline's delusion.
He'd been accommodating her memory-twisted worldview, deliberately becoming the husband she thought still loved her—the one who only got angry when she disobeyed. A phantom that existed only in her scrambled recollections.
Watching her actually kneel down, her hands shaking as she reached for the sharp porcelain shards, his rage exploded again.
"Stop!"
Alexander roared.
Caroline flinched violently at his shout, instinctively jerking her hands back and looking up at him with terrified eyes.