Chapter 238 I Heard He Went Crazy
"Did you hear? The Hamilton heir... has completely lost his mind."
The charity auction's banquet hall buzzed with conversation and the clink of champagne flutes.
A cluster of well-dressed guests had gathered in a corner, voices low and conspiratorial.
"Absolutely," a woman in a purple gown pressed a handkerchief to her mouth, barely concealing her smirk. "My husband's company has been working with them. They say he shows up to board meetings every day in women's clothing, with makeup that... God, he looks like something that crawled out of a grave. All to look like his dead wife."
"More than just looking like her. I think he's completely unhinged. Think about it—before, who didn't treat him with the utmost respect? And now? This is karma. He deserves it."
"Exactly. I heard Mrs. Hamilton was tortured to death by him. Now he's playing the grieving widower? I think he did too many terrible things and his conscience finally caught up with him."
"Shh... keep your voice down!" the woman in purple hissed, though her eyes gleamed with malice. "But speaking of which, will he actually show up today? To this kind of event..."
"So what if he does?" the man who'd started the gossip sneered. "He's a lunatic. Are we supposed to be afraid of him?"
Mark accompanied Alexander to the entrance of the banquet hall and caught every vicious word.
His face darkened. "Shut your mouths! Is Mr. Hamilton someone you can gossip about?"
The animated conversation died instantly, as if someone had grabbed them all by the throat.
Everyone slowly turned toward the entrance, then froze.
Alexander was actually wearing a gown, complete with a wig and even high heels, walking toward them.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
He really had lost it—he'd actually shown up to an event like this in women's clothing.
But what shocked them most was his face.
Some master makeup artist had completely transformed Alexander's features into those of a woman.
Even the faint weariness in his eyes bore an uncanny resemblance to the late Caroline.
"My God..." someone breathed, unable to help themselves. "He... he looks just like her..."
Mark's cold gaze swept over the crowd, and everyone immediately dropped their eyes, not daring to stare anymore.
Alexander completely ignored the looks—like he was some kind of freak show—and walked straight to a single sofa in the lounge area.
Mark bent slightly and asked quietly, "Sir, would you like something to drink? Champagne?"
Alexander slowly shook his head. "Orange juice. With ice."
When Caroline was alive, she'd almost never touched alcohol at social events, always ordering orange juice instead.
"...Yes, sir." Mark's throat worked as he turned to get the drink.
Before leaving, he glanced back worriedly and whispered, "I'll be right back. Please wait here."
Alexander nodded slightly, then focused all his attention on his skirt.
He smoothed it carefully, and his gestures actually carried a certain grace, which only made people stare harder.
Suddenly, a figure reeking of whiskey stumbled into the lounge area and dropped onto the sofa across from Alexander.
"Well, well, who do we have here?" came the man's mocking drawl. "If it isn't our great, all-powerful Mr. Hamilton! What's this—your wife died, so you're so heartbroken you're turning yourself into a woman? Into your dead wife? Pathetic."
Alexander's hands stilled on his skirt.
He slowly raised his head, his brow creasing slightly.
It was a pot-bellied middle-aged man who looked vaguely familiar.
"What? Too important to remember little people like me?" The man sneered when Alexander didn't respond. "Back at that club, I was the one who brought Dr. Cortes in! If I hadn't agreed, you think he could've 'rescued' your wife? Dream on!"
Harry.
Alexander remembered.
But what surfaced in his mind was Harry standing before him back then, looking at the desperate Alexander with pure condescension, as if he'd saved Caroline and Alexander owed him the world.
And that day, the woman he'd witnessed being violated.
In an instant, all the blood in his body rushed to his head.
Harry had bad intentions.
If Daniel hadn't saved Caroline that day, the one publicly whipped and violated would have been Caroline, and the perpetrator would definitely have been Harry.
Alexander's body began to shake uncontrollably.
Harry mistook his trembling for guilt and grew even more smug.
"Look at yourself now! For a woman—a woman you killed with your own hands—you've turned yourself into this freak who looks like he escaped from an asylum! Let me tell you, Alexander, this is karma! You deserve it!"
He was working himself up now, spittle flying.
"That bitch Caroline deserved it too! Who told her to choose you? Her early death was a mercy! Saved her from..."
A loud crash—Alexander suddenly lunged forward and flipped the coffee table.
Caught off guard, Harry took the edge of the table to the chest and cried out as he fell backward.
Everyone gasped.
Alexander had already pounced, kicking Harry hard in the stomach.
"Ah!" Harry screamed, hitting the ground hard and curling up in agony.
Alexander dropped a knee onto him, his hand clamping around Harry's throat.
"Sir!"
"Oh my God!"
"Someone call security!"
The banquet hall erupted into chaos, shouts of alarm echoing, but no one dared approach.
Harry's eyes rolled back as he was strangled, finally feeling real terror, and he quickly begged, "Let... let go... Mr. Hamilton... please..."
Alexander slowly lowered his head, leaning close to Harry's suffocating, twisted face.
"I remember... back then, I shot and shattered one of your legs."
Harry coughed violently, tears and snot streaming down his face, nodding frantically.
"Which leg?" Alexander asked.
Harry shook like a leaf, trembling as he raised his hand and pointed to his right leg. "Right... right leg..."
Alexander stared at him, then suddenly his lips curved into a strange smile.
"Right leg, is it?"
The next second, he suddenly raised his knee and slammed it into Harry's abdomen.
"Ugh!"
Harry's stomach heaved, and he vomited on the spot.
The filth splattered all over himself and also stained Alexander's expensive gown.
Alexander's face twisted in disgust. "Say it clearly—which leg are you lame in?"