Chapter 144 Caroline Forgot About Alexander
It was a real gun.
Alexander had handled weapons his entire life. He knew.
From that single gunshot in the video, he could tell — live ammunition, not blanks.
He could picture it clearly. If Caroline had been a fraction of a second slower, the bullet would have struck her head.
Medical records could be forged. Diagnoses could be wrong. Caroline's own testimony could be dismissed as lies to save herself.
But this video — footage from a third party, captured by accident — shattered every excuse he'd been clinging to.
If this was just an act, why would Caroline use real bullets?
Didn't she understand she could actually die in that crossfire?
Even if those people were professionals, who could guarantee she'd walk away unharmed?
In that moment, Alexander remembered something. A recent night, tangled sheets. He'd glimpsed an ugly scar on Caroline's shoulder.
He hadn't thought about it then.
She had so many scars, new ones covering old ones. He'd gotten used to them.
Only now did he realize — that was a bullet wound.
No wonder her left hand was always weaker. No wonder she favored her right.
Alexander let out a guttural roar, hurled the phone to the ground, and staggered toward the car.
"Sir!" Liam rushed after him.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to the hospital. Now!"
When they arrived, Alexander practically ran into the room.
Caroline was asleep.
Alexander stood by the bed, staring at her pale, peaceful face.
For a long moment, he didn't move. Then, as if making a decision, his trembling hands reached for the buttons of her hospital gown.
The fabric fell away, exposing her thin shoulder.
The twisted scar lay bare before him.
A through-and-through. Alexander knew this kind of wound intimately.
Bone damage. Permanent disability.
He reached out, touching the scar with his fingertips.
Instantly, the image flooded his mind — the bullet tearing through her flesh, shattering bone, blood spraying.
And she'd done this, two years ago, to prove something that could never be changed.
Alexander's stomach turned.
He clamped a hand over his mouth, bent double, his knees buckling until he collapsed onto the cold floor.
He retched violently. Nothing in his stomach — just bile and acid burning his throat, choking him. Tears blurred his vision, but nothing came up.
This wasn't physical. This was his soul being carved apart by the truth.
A grief so deep that even tears had long since dried.
Just this shell of a man kneeling on the floor, trying to purge the guilt — failing.
Caroline stirred.
Her lashes fluttered. She opened her eyes slowly, her gaze drifting to the man collapsed beside her bed.
Her brow furrowed. She hesitated, then reached out, her fingers brushing his sweat-soaked hair.
"Sir… are you feeling alright?"
Alexander froze. Lifted his head. Stared at her.
"You…" His voice was raw. "You don't recognize me?"
Caroline tilted her head, studying him carefully for a few seconds, then shook her head.
"I'm sorry. My memory isn't very good. I don't remember meeting you."
She tried to sit up to get a better look at him, but pain shot through her body. She couldn't move.
She drew a sharp breath, tried again, failed.
She gave up and sank back into the pillow.
She smiled apologetically. "Sorry, sir… I'm in a lot of pain. I can't move."
She caught her breath, glancing around the room.
"But this is a hospital. There's a call button by the bed. If you're not feeling well, you can press it. A nurse will come."
Alexander's lips trembled violently.
She didn't recognize him.
The man she'd loved with everything she had. The man she'd tried to become someone else for. The man whose hatred and cruelty she'd endured. In her fractured mind, he was a stranger.
"You…" He forced the words out. "You don't even know who I am. Why do you care?"
Caroline seemed stumped by the question.
Her brow furrowed slightly as she thought for a moment. Then she said, "I just think… you look like you're suffering. Like you need someone to care. You seem upset. Did something bad happen?"
Alexander's defenses had been crumbling. This shattered them completely.
She was worried about a stranger, but she'd never worried about herself.
When she was forced to imitate Edith. When he humiliated her. Tortured her. When she woke screaming from nightmares night after night. How much had she suffered?
And who had cared about her then?
Alexander's throat worked. He tasted blood.
His voice shook. "When you were suffering… did strangers comfort you?"
Caroline thought about it, then shook her head. But she smiled.
"No. But I don't really have anything to be sad about." Her voice was soft, her gaze drifting to the ceiling, her smile gentle — as if remembering something beautiful.
"My life is happy. I have parents who love me. They take such good care of me. And I have a sister, Edith. She's like sunshine — warm and bright. When she's around, everything feels alive and joyful."
"We're twins. We look the same, but we're different too. I wish I could comfort you properly, but I can't even sit up. If Edith were here, though… if you met her, you'd feel better. I know you would."
"So my life is better than most people's. Why would I be sad?"
Alexander's nails dug into his palms. Blood welled up.
"You really… never felt sad? Not once?"
"Um…"
Caroline paused. A faint blush colored her cheeks. She looked embarrassed, her smile growing shy.
"Well… not exactly never."
She blinked, her smile softening with shyness.
"There's someone I like. Really, really like. But… I don't think he likes me back. When he looks at me, it's like… I'm not even there."