Chapter 223 He Went to Seek Death
He curled up on his side on the cold floor, touching the empty space beside him.
He had been here, holding her hand, spending countless sleepless nights, speaking belated confessions and desperate words of love to someone who would never respond.
Now even that cold body had been buried in the ground.
He had nothing left.
Alexander stretched out his arms, embracing the emptiness as if his beloved still lay there.
"Caroline..." he whispered.
"Caroline... Caroline..."
He kept calling until his throat was raw and he was completely spent, his consciousness finally sinking into endless darkness.
When he woke again, daylight was streaming in.
Alexander slowly opened his eyes, staring blankly at the elaborate carvings on the ceiling above.
A dreamless night.
She really wasn't coming to his dreams anymore.
After lying there for a long while, Alexander finally stumbled to his feet, walked into the bathroom, washed up, shaved, changed into a clean suit, and put on a tie.
"Sir," Mark's voice came from outside the door.
"What you asked for has been taken care of. That apartment building in the city center—the entire building's ownership has been transferred to your personal name. All the original residents have been compensated for relocation and have moved out."
Alexander silently fastened his last cufflink.
"Good. Get the car ready. I'm heading over there."
"Yes, I'll immediately—"
"No need," Alexander cut him off.
"I'll drive myself. You go back to the company and handle other matters."
Mark hesitated. "Sir, that building is basically empty now. It's not very safe. I should still—"
"I'll go alone," Alexander repeated.
He walked out, picked up the car keys from the table, and left.
Grandhaven's streets were never short of people, always bustling.
But Alexander felt like he was covered in a layer of fog.
He couldn't see the world, and the world couldn't see him.
He was like a ghost who had wandered into the living world by mistake.
Finally arriving, he looked up at the window on the top floor.
Behind that window, there had once been a figure, day after day, year after year, waiting silently.
Alexander entered the apartment.
No one had lived here for a long time, though servants came daily to clean.
The apartment was still spotless, but cold and lifeless.
Alexander wandered through the rooms, where Caroline's shadow seemed to linger everywhere.
In the kitchen, he seemed to see that slender figure standing at the stove, day after day, making meals for him that she didn't know if he would even eat.
He walked to the center of the living room and seemed to see that pale, haggard woman sitting on the carpet with an elaborate cream cake in front of her—a cake she didn't even like.
She held a fork, mechanically stuffing the sweet cake into her mouth, bite after bite, eating until her face turned white, then running to the bathroom to throw up violently, wiping her mouth clean, and coming back to continue eating.
All because Edith liked sweets, and he had once mocked her for not even being able to copy Edith's preferences properly.
He walked to the door of Caroline's pitifully small bedroom and seemed to hear the frightened gasping and suppressed crying that came from inside late at night.
The bodyguard had reported, "Mrs. Hamilton seems to have had a nightmare. She kept crying and calling for help, saying she wanted to get out."
And he hadn't even realized that Caroline was already sick then.
He thought she was faking it, trying to avoid punishment, so he only replied, "Don't bother with her. Let her calm down."
Alexander's tears fell silently.
Finally, Alexander came to the end of the hallway, to the master bedroom he had carefully prepared for Edith.
A fire had destroyed this place, yet he had stubbornly restored it.
But this time, the vision he saw was no longer of Edith living here.
Instead, it was himself rushing into the fire, just to rescue those belongings of Edith's that he had foolishly kept.
Alexander walked to the window and slowly took out a small bottle of gasoline from his coat pocket.
Expressionless, he splashed the gasoline on the curtains and pulled out a lighter.
The lighter clicked.
A pale blue flame leapt up, illuminating his lifeless eyes.
He didn't want to keep this place. Not a trace of it.
Yes, Caroline had lived here for five years. But those five years, for her, were hell, an execution ground, a slow death.
Every inch of air here had been soaked with her tears, every object reminded her of past despair.
He couldn't keep these things.
He couldn't let these painful memories follow her into the grave and disturb her peace.
The flame licked at the gasoline-soaked curtains, instantly spreading, igniting the surrounding ceiling, wooden trim, floor, and then the bed...
Thick smoke rose, heat waves hit his face.
Alexander stood in the sea of fire, motionless.
The leaping flames reached for Alexander's wrist, but Alexander still didn't move.
He watched as his skin rapidly reddened, blistered, and blackened in the heat, making faint crackling sounds, and then he smelled burning flesh.
Alexander suddenly pulled at the corner of his mouth and smiled, laughing louder and louder.
"So... being burned alive... hurts this much... hurts this much! Caroline... back then, did you hurt like this too?"
"Sir?! Mr. Hamilton! Are you in there?!"
Anxious shouts, cutting through the piercing sirens of fire trucks, reached inside.
Mark had been worried after all, sensing that something was off about Alexander today. Afraid something might happen, he rushed over as soon as he finished the work at hand.
Just arriving downstairs, he saw thick smoke billowing from the top floor window, flames shooting high, and the fire department already there.
His face went white with fear, and he hurried in with the firefighters.
The locked door was forced open, thick smoke rolling out, choking Mark until tears streamed down his face.
He covered his nose and mouth and forced his way in.
"No one here!"
"Not here either!"
The firefighters searched each room but found no one.
"The fire inside is too intense," a firefighter said. "Sir, do you know the layout of this apartment? Are there any escape routes inside? Is it possible the person you're looking for has already escaped?"
"Impossible!" Mark said immediately.
There was one—Alexander had designed it himself—but he wouldn't have used it.
Mark knew Alexander too well. Everything he cared about, everything that could hold him back, was already gone. He really wanted to die!
Suddenly, Mark remembered that master bedroom!
Right, Alexander hated Edith most now, and this place still had the room Alexander had kept for Edith.
He set the fire himself, so what he most wanted to destroy must be there!
"The master bedroom! He might be in the master bedroom!" Mark roared, charging through the smoke toward the end of the hallway.
The master bedroom door was ajar, the fire inside the fiercest—clearly the source—heat waves pressing forward.
Mark kicked the door open. Through the thick smoke and flames, he saw a figure lying near the window, motionless.
It was Alexander!