Chapter 207 Stop Putting on the Young Lady's Airs
When Alexander woke again, he had already been moved to the bed in the bedroom.
His first thought was that someone was trying to take Caroline away from him.
Alexander immediately tried to sit up.
The moment he moved, his whole body ached as if his bones had been dismantled and reassembled. His throat was so dry it felt like it might catch fire, and sharp pains throbbed in his head with every movement.
"Sir, you are awake."
Mark's voice came from beside the bed.
Seeing Alexander open his eyes, he leaned closer.
"You have a fever, and it is quite serious. Last night you fell asleep by the open casket and caught a chill. When we found you, your whole body was burning up and we could not wake you no matter how hard we tried. Everyone was terrified. The doctor just gave you a fever-reducing shot."
But Alexander ignored him completely.
Supporting his lead-heavy body, he tried to sit up abruptly.
The dizziness made his vision go black, and he fell heavily back onto the pillow.
He gasped for breath, his eyes locked on Mark.
"Where is Caroline? Where is the baby?"
Mark quickly said, "Sir, do not worry. Della is taking care of Mrs. Hamilton and the baby, doing a great job."
Only then did Alexander relax slightly.
After a moment, he slowly sat up.
"The people—did you bring them?"
Mark had wanted to persuade him to rest longer, but seeing the stubbornness etched across his pale face, he knew it was useless and could only nod.
"They are here, in the basement. But sir, your condition—"
"Take me there."
Alexander cut him off, getting out of bed without room for argument.
He pushed away the glass of water Mark offered, stepped barefoot onto the cold floor, and dragged his weak, unsteady steps toward the bedroom door.
Mark watched his swaying but determined figure, knowing more words were useless, and followed silently.
The second floor of the villa's basement was bone-chillingly cold.
In the dim room, a single yellow bulb hung from the low ceiling, barely illuminating the harsh space.
Celeste and Edith were inside.
Celeste was chained to a rusty water pipe in the corner with heavy iron links. She was curled up on the ground, her disheveled hair covering most of her face.
Hearing footsteps, she jerked violently, looked up in terror, revealing the scar on her face from when a stray bullet grazed her during the confrontation with Alexander and Linus at the warehouse.
Seeing Alexander walk in, she looked as if she had seen a demon, scrambling backward on her hands and feet.
"Alex! No... Mr. Hamilton! Please spare me! I know I was wrong! Really wrong! It was all Edith, Linus, Isabella—they forced me! I just... I just loved you too much! I did not think it would turn out like this! Please, for the sake of all the years I have loved you, spare me! I can do anything! I can—"
Alexander did not even glance at her, walking straight past and stopping at the other end of the basement.
Edith was sitting against the cold wall.
Unlike Celeste's hysteria, she was unusually quiet, head lowered, her withered, messy hair hiding most of her face.
Alexander looked down at this unsettlingly silent woman.
He watched for a long time before slowly speaking.
"Long time no see."
"Edith."
Celeste, huddled in the corner, suddenly stopped sobbing, staring in disbelief. She struggled to lift her head, staring hard at the opposite side.
"Edith? You are really still alive?"
"You are really Edith?"
Edith finally lifted her head to look at Celeste, revealing a face so disfigured by fire it was almost unrecognizable, with only a pair of weary eyes still showing traces of the past.
Celeste froze.
After a moment, she began laughing in a neurotic way.
"Edith!"
She laughed while pointing at her.
"Look at yourself now! Who would have thought that the once high-and-mighty young lady who had everyone wrapped around her finger would end up like this? A monster burned beyond recognition, neither human nor ghost!"
She laughed until tears came.
"And me? Look at me!"
Celeste tugged at her torn dress. Though damaged, it still faintly showed the refined style Edith once favored.
"I have played you for so many years! Copied your tastes, learned your tone, wore the clothes you liked—even Alex once mistook me for you! I am more like the old Edith than you are! I am the one who should be standing by his side, enjoying everything! But you became a complete failure, faked your death to escape, survived, but turned into an ugly freak hiding in the shadows, afraid to show your face!"
The silent Edith finally spoke.
"Fake."
The single word made Celeste lose control.
"What gives you the right to call me a fake?!" Celeste struggled to lunge at Edith but was held back by the chains.
She could only scream at her.
"You think acting calm now means you have won?! You do not know, do you? I am also Isabella's biological daughter, your own sister! What gives you the right to call me a fake? I was supposed to be a Neville Family young lady too!"
"I know." Edith's cold words cut her off.
"But you are wrong. You are not a Neville Family young lady. You are just the daughter of Isabella and your father who thought his youth and good looks could get him somewhere—an illegitimate daughter who cannot see the light of day."
Edith lifted her chin. Though disfigured and in tattered clothes, traces of her former glory remained.
She was still proud, proud enough to intimidate, proud enough to make people angry.
"Wake up. Whether or not you are my replacement, you will never deserve the things you want. As for me, I have always been myself. Beautiful or ugly, alive or dead."
"And you, Alexander..."
She finally turned her gaze to his face.
"Bringing me, the real thing, and that ridiculous fake here together—what are you trying to do? Watch us tear each other apart? Or have you finally remembered that you need to get revenge for your beloved Caroline, and that short-lived child?"
Alexander said nothing, simply watching her.
Celeste could not hold it in and screamed.
"Shut up! You disfigured monster, stop putting on your young lady airs! You are not who you used to be anymore!"