Chapter 48 Alexander's pov
Chapter 48 Alexander's pov
Hospitals had a way of stealing time.
Minutes stretched into hours, hours collapsed into something shapeless and heavy, and by the time I glanced at the clock again, it felt like the day had already swallowed itself whole.
I’d barely slept or eaten. Barely breathed without feeling like something hard was pressed on chest.
The hallway outside my father’s room was quiet except for the squeak of nurses’ shoes,the distant beeping of monitors reminding me that bodies were fragile things no matter how much money wrapped itself around them.
The nurses came every once in a while to check up on my father. It's not like he was in a critical condition.
I leaned back in the chair close to my father's bed, arms crossed, leg bouncing despite my effort to keep still.
Every time my phone vibrated, my heart jumped and every time it didn’t, I felt oddly disappointed.
I had told Ethan to leave.But I knew he wouldn't. It was easier to get Angry when he wasn’t close enough to touch.
The room was dimmer than the hallway, curtains half-drawn, sunlight filtering in like it didn’t quite belong there. My father lay propped up against the pillows, he looks weak but the word 'weak' and Blackwood do not fit in the same sentence.
For a brief, traitorous moment, relief flooded me. Then the anger surged back in twice as hard.
“You’re awake,” I said.
His eyes shifted toward me, softening almost immediately. “Alexander.”
There it was. That voice. The one that had shaped my childhood, my expectations, my fears.
I looked at him for a few seconds without saying anything.
“How long?” I asked.
He frowned slightly. “How long for what?”
“How long have you been lying to me?”
Silence filled the room.
He exhaled slowly, eyes closing for a second like he’d been expecting this reckoning. “what are you talking about?”
“Don’t,” I said sharply. “you know damn well what I'm talking about. Don’t dance around it. Just tell me.”
He looked tired. Older than I’d ever allowed myself to see him.
“There was never any cancer, was there?"
He was quite.
“No,” he admitted.
The word hit harder than I expected.
I laughed, a harsh and broken laugh. “You let me believe you were dying.”
“I needed you to focus,” he said quietly.
“On what?” I snapped. “marrying someone I don't love? For me to focus on cleaning up your mess? On stepping into a war you should’ve protected me from in the first place? What exactly do I need to focus on dad?”
“I was trying to secure your future.”
“My future?” I stepped closer to the bed, hands clenched. “You lied to me about your life. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
He swallowed. “I didn’t want you distracted by emotions.”
“That’s your excuse?” My voice cracked despite my effort to control it. “That I loved you too much for your liking?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I turned away, pacing once, twice, then back again. “you know I had doubts when you came by the office to tell me you were sick. Every conversation we had you made me feel bad about myself. The only reason agreed to go on all those date was because you said you were dying.”
“I was protecting you,” he insisted.
“No,” I shot back. “You were doing it for your own selfish self.”
The words hung between us, ugly and undeniable.
He looked genuinely hurt. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair,” I said, voice low, shaking, “is lying to your son about something that big and calling it love.”
Then, quietly, “I wanted to make sure you had a good life.”
I scoffed. “By turning my entire world into a lie? That's messed up dad.”
He reached for my hand, his grip weak but insistent. I hesitated before letting him touch me.
“I didn’t know how else to keep you safe,” he said. “Your uncle...”
“this has nothing to do with him."
His shoulders slumped.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
To say I was shocked was an understatement but I didn't let it show.
My father has never apologized to me or anyone that I've seen before. The apology felt… small. Necessary, but insufficient.
I pulled my hand away.
“I don’t know how to forgive this,” I said honestly.
“You don’t have to right now.”
That was the first thing he’d said all day that didn’t feel like manipulation.
I nodded once. “I need air.”
I left before he could say anything else.
On my way out of the hospital I saw Ethan sitting at the reception. I just walked past him.
Outside, the sun was already dipping low.
I didn’t look back to see if Ethan followed.I didn’t need to. I knew he would and I could feel him there, like gravity.
The drive home felt slow, though I was going really fast. I focused on the road, knuckles white around the steering wheel. The city blurred past, familiar streets suddenly foreign, like everything I thought I knew had shifted just enough to leave me unsteady.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Ethan’s car was there.I looked away quickly, heart thudding.
I didn’t want to think about him right now. I know I was overreacting but I don't care. He needs to learn to trust and open up to me. The way he’d looked at the hospital—guilty, worried, steadfast in a way that both comforted and infuriated me.
My phone buzzed. I ignored it.
Another buzz.
Ignored.
I needed silence. And I needed to think, to feel angry without someone trying to fix it.
I turned onto a quieter road, the buildings thinning out.
A car that was never there, or maybe I did see it coming slammed into mine.
The impact was strong. Metals screamed.
The world spun violently.My head snapped forward, then back. Pain flared, sharp and blinding.
The world around me flipped and Glass shattered flying everywhere. The care rolled two or three times before it stopped.
The air smelled wrong. Burning. Fuel.
Fire.
My vision swam as flames licked up the side of the car, heat pressing in, smoke curling thick and black.
I tried to move.
My body didn’t listen.
Somewhere distant, I heard shouting. Tires screeching. A door slamming.
"Is this how I meet my end? What about Ethan My dad?" I kept asking myself
I want to live , I have to. But I couldn't breath anymore. Everything hurts.
God Ethan.
Slowly the darkness crept in untill everything faded.