Chapter 143 He Never Wanted Her Dead
But Alexander wasn't listening.
The car tore through empty streets. Midnight. No traffic. It screeched to a stop at the docks.
Five years. He hadn't set foot here in five years.
He shoved the door open. The night wind hit him — salt and brine. The cold burned the last of the alcohol out of him.
He lifted his head, staring at that familiar stretch of concrete. Memories flooded in. The night he'd gotten the call. The night he'd stormed this place with his men.
Gunfire. Screaming. Chaos. People scattering like rats.
He had imagined coming back someday — gray-haired, dying, his last breath rattling in his chest.
He would bring Caroline with him.
Yes. He had never truly planned to let her die before him.
He would end her life here. On these docks. With his own hands. Just before he took his last breath, he would drag this sinner to heaven to face Edith.
He had never thought he would return so soon. For Caroline. Not for Edith.
Liam quickly found the dock manager, an old man with gray at his temples.
The man was guarded at first. But Liam slid a thick envelope across the table — cash, generous. The old man's resistance crumbled.
"Two years ago, yeah. Some rich woman came around. Strange one."
The manager rubbed his hands together, remembering.
"She wanted to rent out the whole dock. Just for one night. Picked a night when no ships were coming in. Against regulations, you understand. Even if nobody's using it, we can't just rent it out private. But..." He looked down, guilty. "The money was too good."
"I took it. Sent everyone else home."
"That night she showed up. Brought fifteen, maybe twenty people with her. Rough types. All of them armed."
"Then those people started fighting! Right there on the docks! Loud as hell. Gunshots. Shouting. The whole nine yards."
"What about the woman?" Alexander's voice was low.
"Her?" The manager frowned, thinking back. "She ran against the crowd. Like she was looking for someone. Running fast, as if she didn’t care whether she got shot. I thought they were filming a movie at first. Otherwise, with all those bullets flying, why would she run like that? I was hiding off to the side. Scared out of my mind."
Alexander's heart skipped.
Running against the crowd?
If she was recreating that night, she should have been running away. Escaping. Why would she run toward the danger?
The manager continued. "Then this other woman came out from behind the shipping containers — white dress, same build as the first one. Could have been twins. The one in white kept running. The other one chased her, hard. Finally caught up, grabbed her hand, and tackled her to the ground."
Alexander froze.
That night, wasn't Edith supposed to have saved Caroline?
Why did this sound like Caroline was the one chasing — the one saving Edith?
"Then..." Fear crossed the old man's face.
"One of the guys with a gun fired. Hit the one on the ground, right in the shoulder. I saw the blood spray. That's when I realized this wasn't a movie. This was real. My legs went weak. I was about to run when the fighting just... stopped. Everyone pulled out. Left the woman lying there bleeding."
"I was afraid someone died. Worked up the nerve to go over. She was just lying there. Flat on her back. Not screaming. Not moving. Eyes staring at the sky. Muttering something under her breath, like she wasn't all there."
"When she arrived, she was dressed nice. Expensive clothes. Looked like some rich man's wife. Who knew she had this weird hobby? Hiring people to stage a shooting just so she could get shot."
"What did she say?!" Alexander ignored the speculation, grabbing the manager's arm, his voice a snarl.
"Hey, easy! I'm an old man! These bones can't take it!"
Alexander didn't let go. The manager saw the look in his eyes and realized this man was dangerous. He scrambled to remember.
Suddenly he slapped his forehead.
"I got it! She said — 'So this is what a gunshot feels like. Just the shoulder and it hurts this much. How much did she suffer?' Yeah. That's what she said!"
Alexander felt like he'd been struck by lightning. His whole body went rigid.
The manager kept talking. "Later, another woman showed up. Drove in. Panicked. Helped her into the car. Kept saying, 'Why would you do this to yourself?'"
"You're sure?" Alexander's voice was hoarse.
He stared at the manager, eyes bloodshot.
"Every word you just said. You're sure? Stake your life on it?"
The manager flinched, waving his hands frantically. "Sir, why would I make this up? Oh, wait. I thought they were filming at first. Thought it was interesting. I recorded some of it on my phone."
He pulled out his phone and started scrolling.
A moment later, he held it out.
"Here. See? I figured if it was some celebrity shoot, I could sell the footage."
Alexander snatched the phone.
The video was shaky, blurry — the docks at night under dim lights. But he could still make out the figure in dark clothes running against the crowd. Caroline.
Then the woman in white appeared.
For a split second, even Alexander was disoriented.
They looked so alike.
If the timestamp hadn't said two years ago, he might have thought this was footage from that night.
The moment the white figure appeared, Caroline's eyes lit up in the video. Then panic flooded her face.
She ran harder, threw herself forward, tackled the girl in white, and covered her with her own body.
A gunshot cracked through the audio. The camera jerked violently.
Blood blossomed across Caroline's shoulder. Her body convulsed.
A tremor ran through Alexander's hands.