Chapter 23
I still didn’t die-though I’d aimed my head straight for the pavement.
That idiot Alexander, instead of fleeing after breaking free from his restraints, rushed forward and caught me.
I lived. His arms shattered.
Staring at his plaster-casted limbs now, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Benjamin lingered outside my hospital room for hours before finally entering. “Nathaniel said… he wants you to focus on
recovering.”
I knew he wouldn’t let me off so easily.
But it didn’t matter.
There were always other ways to die.
I’d never entangle myself with him again.
“Emily,” Alexander’s voice was raw, his eyes rimmed red, “is there really nothing left in this world worth staying for?”
For the briefest moment, something in me wavered.
Under Alexander’s relentless care, my body gradually healed.
After six months of rehabilitation, my hands could hold a pen again.
The following year, I entered the SKP competition-and won.
The trophy was heavy. My half-crippled hands trembled under its weight until Alexander steadied it for me.
Leaving the venue, I received a call from an unknown number.
Nathaniel’s assistant.
“Mr. Hawthorne had his own limbs broken and tendons severed,” the voice trembled. “He’s lying in that alley where you first met-the one you saved him in twice.”
A pause.
“He asked… if he survives three days there… would you consider forgiving him?”
Silence.
“Miss Sinclair, he’s lost too much blood! He won’t make it without-”
“No.”
I ended the call.
Turning, I found Alexander uncharacteristically flushed, fidgeting. Chapter 23
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“Emily,” he blurted suddenly, “you’re still hopelessly clumsy. And… kind of broken. You shouldn’t be left unsupervised.” He scuffed his shoe against the pavement. “So… wanna marry me?”
My heart stuttered.
When I didn’t respond, he quickly backpedaled, “Just a thought! Forget 1-”
“Aren’t you afraid?” I whispered. “Of Nathaniel bankrupting you? Of him skinning you alive?”
Alexander’s eyes blazed. “Everyone dies. But a life without doing what matters? Without protecting who matters?” He grinned, reckless and bright. “What’s the point of living long that way?”
I smiled. “Alright. I’ll marry you.”
Nathaniel never saw Emily that day.
Alone in the blood-soaked alley-the place she’d saved him twice before-he endured.
Three days.
Three days watching his blood seep into cracked pavement.
Three days feeling ants gnaw at exposed bone.
His phone lay inches from mangled fingers he could no longer move.
Now he understood.
Now he knew the depth of despair he’d inflicted upon her.
“Emily…” The whisper cracked with dying breath. “I’m sorry…”
Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.