Chapter 210
Alexander's POV
The door burst open with a crash that made me jerk back from Elena. One of my men stood there, breathing hard.
"Sir, Julian Sterling is here. His men are fighting ours at the entrance. He's demanding to see you."
Julian. Here. My men had reported that he was still bedridden, barely able to stand. How could he have dragged that broken body here?
I looked down at Elena, still strapped to the frame. Her eyes had gone wide—not with terror, but with hope. Raw, desperate hope.
"Stay here," I said, stepping back and straightening my clothes. The command was absurd—she was still restrained—but I needed to reassert control.
I followed my man outside. Part of me wanted to laugh at the sheer insanity of it. Julian Sterling, who could barely stand, coming here for a woman he'd treated like garbage for three years.
But as I stepped outside and saw him, something in my chest tightened.
The scene was chaos—Julian's men trading blows with my security team while Julian himself stood propped between two bodyguards at the entrance. Blood was seeping through his white shirt where he'd clearly torn his stitches, his face ashen, but his eyes burned with desperate fury.
"You know," I called out, my voice cutting through the chaos, "you look half-dead already. Why bother coming here at all? Wouldn't it be smarter to stay in the hospital?"
Julian's head snapped toward me, and he tried to step forward, only to stumble. His men caught him immediately, but he shoved them away with what little strength he had left.
"You're only making yourself suffer," I continued, watching him sway dangerously. "You barely survived that knife wound. Keep this up, and you might just die right here tonight."
Julian's laugh was bitter, breathless. "Uncle," he said, the word dripping with sarcasm, "does it feel good? Stealing women from your own nephew?"
The jab hit closer than I wanted to admit. "Love doesn't recognize bloodlines, Julian. First come, first served. What I claim as mine stays mine."
"Funny," he shot back, his lips curling into something that might have been a smile. "I was about to say the exact same thing."
He took another step forward, and this time when he stumbled, blood began trickling from the corner of his mouth. His men moved to support him again, but he waved them off with a shaking hand.
Before I could respond, a sound from the house made us both freeze. Elena's voice, hoarse and desperate, carried through the open window.
"If you kill him," she screamed from inside, her voice breaking, "I'll bite my tongue off right now! I swear to God, Alexander, I will never let you have me!"
The words hit me like a physical blow. Julian's knees buckled at the sound of her voice, and this time his men couldn't catch him fast enough. He hit the ground hard, coughing up blood, but his eyes never left my face.
I stared down at him—this broken, bleeding man who'd crawled out of a hospital bed to fight for the woman he'd spent three years destroying. Elena's threat echoed in my mind, and for the first time, doubt crept in. She would do it. She would actually kill herself rather than submit to me.
But that didn't mean I had to give up. There were other ways. I could wait. I could be patient. I could—
"You heard her," Julian gasped, struggling to push himself up on his elbows. "She'd rather die than be with you."
"Shut up," I snapped, but the words lacked their usual venom. Something was shifting inside me, something I didn't want to acknowledge.
"You love him that much?" I heard myself ask, my voice directed toward the window. "You want to be with him so badly that you'd rather die than stay with me?"
The silence that followed was deafening. Then, faintly, I heard her voice again—not screaming this time, but sobbing. Broken, desperate sobs that cut through me like glass.
I looked down at Julian, who was now being helped to his feet by his men, blood still trickling from his mouth. Even half-dead, even barely conscious, he was still the man she'd choose. And I... I was just the monster who'd taken her away from him.
The realization crept in slowly, like poison, filling me with cold, bitter understanding. I could force her to stay. I could lock her away, could break her spirit, could make her submit. But I would never have what Julian had—her love, freely given.
I would be just like my father. Taking what I wanted by force, keeping a woman prisoner, watching her wither away until there was nothing left but resentment and fear.
The thought made bile rise in my throat, but it wasn't enough to make me noble. It was just enough to make me tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushing tired.
"Get him medical attention," I said quietly to my men, the words tasting like ash. "And then... step aside."
The shock on everyone's faces was almost comical. I wasn't doing this out of some sudden burst of conscience. I was doing it because I was sick of losing. Sick of fighting for something that would never really be mine. Sick of being the villain in someone else's love story.
I walked toward the house slowly, my mind already calculating. This wasn't over. It couldn't be over. But maybe... maybe I needed a different approach.
When I reached the study, Elena was still strapped to the frame, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm going to untie you," I said quietly. "Your clothes are over there."
I worked at the leather straps with steady hands, ignoring the way she flinched when my fingers brushed her skin. When she was free, she immediately scrambled away from me, rubbing her wrists.
I picked up her jeans and shirt, holding them out to her at arm's length. She snatched them from my hands and turned her back, dressing quickly with shaking fingers.
When she was dressed, she moved toward the door, but I stepped into her path. She froze, fear flashing across her face, and part of me savored that look. The power I still held over her.
"I just want to ask you one thing," I said quietly. "Will you remember me? After all this... will there be any part of you that remembers?"
She was quiet for a long moment, her eyes searching my face. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but steady.
"The Alexander I knew in London," she said carefully, "the one who was kind to me and Lila, who made us feel safe... that man will stay in my heart."
Not the real me, then. Just the carefully constructed facade I'd maintained for four years. The beautiful lie.
It shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. But maybe that was something I could work with. Maybe that man—the one she remembered fondly—could find another way back into her life.
"Then go," I said, stepping aside. "Get out of here. Before I change my mind."
She didn't need to be told twice. She moved past me, giving me a wide berth, and I followed her out at a distance.
I watched from the doorway as she made her way down the steps to where Julian had collapsed onto his knees, his strength finally giving out. Blood was spreading across his shirt, and his face was gray with pain.
Without hesitation, she dropped down beside him, her hands gentle as she checked his wounds. When she touched his face, he looked at her with an expression so tender it made my chest ache with something I refused to name.
"Come on," she said softly, slipping her arm around his waist and helping him to his feet with surprising strength. "Let's get you back to the hospital; you're still injured."