Chapter 124 Don't Let Her Know
But Alexander offered no explanation. He merely waved his hand, dismissing him.
Liam stood there in silence. Then the realization struck him.
This truth—devastating enough to shatter a man's entire belief system—had already broken Alexander. Caroline could not see it. She could not know.
So Alexander was protecting her?
The thought left Liam unsure whether to feel relieved or heartbroken.
He nodded sharply. "Yes, sir. I understand. I'll handle it."
He turned and left the study.
The moment the door clicked shut, Alexander's tall frame swayed. He staggered back two steps and dropped heavily into the wide leather chair.
He raised his hands to his face. His palms were ice-cold. His fingers trembled.
If Edith had truly been Linus's spy—if all that warmth, all that care, all those moments he had mistaken for affection had been calculated manipulation—
Then what had these five years been?
What had his obsessive, all-consuming love for her meant? The love he had clung to like a lifeline?
A pathetic delusion? A sick joke?
And the pain he had inflicted on Caroline because of that love, that rage—what was that?
Cruelty born of selfishness? An unforgivable crime?
It crept in, cold and insidious.
Was Edith's death really an accident?
In the bedroom, Caroline lay in a deep, exhausted sleep. The pain had drained her completely.
Kenna sat at her bedside, dabbing gently at Caroline's hands with a damp cloth. They were soaked with cold sweat. Her eyes stung with unshed tears.
Caroline always ended up in these situations. Always suffering for things beyond her control.
That bloody shootout at the docks—how could any of that be Caroline's fault?
Yes, perhaps she should not have left the house in the middle of the night. But she had been a heartbroken girl seeking somewhere quiet to be alone. Could that be a crime?
Kenna only dared think these things. She would never say them aloud.
Caroline's sleep was restless. Her eyes stayed shut, but her lashes fluttered. A sheen of sweat kept forming on her forehead.
Kenna reached out and touched her brow. Warm. Too warm.
She was running a fever.
Thankfully, the doctor had anticipated this and left fever medication.
Kenna stood to fetch water.
But the moment she opened the door, she froze.
Alexander was standing right outside. His head was lowered, the toe of his shoe scraping lightly against the floor. He seemed lost in thought.
He did not notice her until she was right in front of him.
Kenna gathered her courage. "Sir?"
Alexander looked up.
"How is she?"
"Not great..." Kenna answered honestly. "Mrs. Hamilton has a fever."
Alexander's head snapped up.
For just a second, Kenna saw something unmistakable in his eyes.
Worry.
The next moment, he stepped past her into the room.
Kenna startled. "Sir!"
Alexander did not respond. He simply said quietly, "Don't worry."
That was enough. Kenna relaxed.
He was telling her he would not hurt Caroline.
She watched his broad back as he walked to the bed and let out a soft sigh.
Alexander was finally learning to care about Caroline.
But what would happen if one day Caroline remembered everything?
Kenna did not dare think about it. She closed the door softly behind him.
Caroline was trapped in a nightmare.
She was back at the docks—that damp, salt-stained place.
But this was not the scene where the bodyguard had tied her up and raised the axe.
She was kneeling on cold, rough planks. Gunfire cracked all around her.
In the dream, she looked down.
Edith was in her arms, growing colder, life draining away fast.
Warm blood soaked through Caroline's hands, staining her sister's white dress crimson.
Something wet slid down her cheeks. She realized she was crying.
Tears blurred her vision. Her heart felt as if it were being ripped apart.
She kept speaking to Edith, begging her not to sleep, begging her to hold on. But she could not stop it—could not stop the life slipping away.
Then, just as Edith exhaled her last breath—just as her arm fell limp—Caroline saw it.
Her pale, cracked lips curled upward.
Caroline's sobs stopped. She stared, wide-eyed.
That was not peace. It was not the smile of someone dying without regrets.
It was twisted. Mocking. The smile of someone who had gotten exactly what they wanted.
Caroline froze. Forgot to cry. Just stared at her sister's face.
Then Edith's features began to rot.
Her smooth skin mottled with decay. Her once-bright eyes turned cloudy and gray. Then, with a sodden, sickening sound, they rolled out of their sockets.
Maggots poured from the empty holes, writhing, mindless.
Her nails lengthened, blackening as they did. That cold, rotting hand—covered in squirming larvae—shot up and clamped around Caroline's throat. Sharp black nails dug deep into the skin at the back of her neck.
Caroline thrashed, desperately trying to pry the hand away. Her fingers only tore off chunks of cold, slimy flesh, releasing more wriggling insects.
"No! Stop! Edith, it's me! It's Caroline!"
But Edith's grip only tightened, as if she wanted to tear the skin straight from Caroline's neck.
Those red lips leaned close, whispering in her ear. The voice came from somewhere deep and hellish.
"Caroline... I want you dead..."
Impossible. Her sister would never want her dead.
But in the next instant, Edith's sharp nails slashed toward her throat.
Caroline screamed—a raw, piercing shriek.
She jolted awake.
Her chest heaved. Breath came in ragged gasps.
The back of her neck throbbed with pain—the wound from the bodyguard's axe at the docks.
But the pain did not pull her out of the nightmare. It only dragged her deeper into confusion.