Chapter 264 Madness After His Wife's Death
The bodyguard in the front seat went rigid.
Through the rearview mirror, his eyes cut back and forth several times between Alexander and that patch of nothingness before he finally put it together.
In those few seconds of silence, in Alexander's hallucination, the nonexistent "Liam" had apparently given an order.
A cold sweat prickled across the head bodyguard's forehead. He drew a slow breath, forcing himself to stay steady.
He turned around and fixed the estate security guard with a flat, expressionless stare.
"Are you opening the gate or not?"
The security guard felt his skin crawl under that gaze. Unable to make sense of the situation, he had no choice but to press on, "Mr. Hamilton, this matter... I'll need to check with Mr. Cook first. Please wait a moment."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and jogged toward the main house.
Inside, when Ralph heard that Alexander had come in person, the cigar between his fingers nearly slipped to the floor.
Alexander came himself?
That wasn't a good sign.
But the Alexander of today was no longer the man he once feared. That decisive, iron-fisted ruler had cracked apart. Ralph was genuinely curious to see with his own eyes just how far the man had fallen.
"Let him in." He tapped off some ash and sank back into the sofa, the corner of his mouth curling.
"Since Mr. Hamilton has come all this way, it would be rude to leave him standing at the gate."
Alexander was shown into the living room shortly after. Ralph glanced up to watch him enter but made no move to stand.
He stayed exactly where he was—legs crossed, cigar in hand, squinting through the curl of smoke as he looked Alexander over.
"Well, this is a surprise." Ralph exhaled slowly, finally breaking the silence. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Alexander's gaze swept across Ralph's face, then took in the rest of the room before he settled unhurriedly into the armchair across from him.
"No need for the pleasantries, Mr. Cook." He replied easily. "It is a bit grim in here, I'll give you that. Starting to make sense why my man stuck around—probably thought if he stayed long enough, he could help you find something that isn't entirely without taste."
The smile at the corner of Ralph's mouth went tight.
"Alexander." He dropped the name like a stone, all pretense gone from his voice.
"We're both men who don't like wasting time. You're here for that bodyguard of yours?"
"What else?" Alexander raised an eyebrow. "I didn't come to admire the decor."
Ralph's eye twitched. He reined in his irritation, set down his cigar, and leaned forward with his hands on his knees, his gaze locked on Alexander's face.
"Alexander, do you actually think you're still the man you used to be?"
Alexander said nothing.
Ralph let out a short, contemptuous laugh and pressed on, "Do you think you're still the CEO who had all of Grandhaven walking on eggshells? Do you think you can still walk into my house and take whoever you want with a few choice words?"
He leaned back and crossed his legs again.
"Wake up, Alexander. You're not that man anymore. You're—"
"Whether I'm the man I used to be," Alexander cut him off, his voice ice-cold, "is not something a man like you gets to weigh in on."
Ralph's expression shut down completely.
He rose from the sofa and stood over Alexander, his voice climbing.
"Have you forgotten what you looked like after your wife died? Have you forgotten how you looked wandering the streets in her clothes like you'd lost your mind? A broken-down lunatic walks into my house and raises his voice at me?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
The head bodyguard standing behind Alexander unconsciously balled his hands into fists.
Her clothes. Her death. Lunatic. Every word out of Ralph's mouth was a lit fuse.
Alexander didn't move. Didn't shift his posture. Didn't even blink.
But something changed in his eyes.
Something cold and heavy settled over them, like a sky closing in before a storm.
"My wife is not dead." He held Ralph's gaze, each word measured and deliberate.
"She's at home. Waiting for me."
Ralph went still for half a second—then burst out laughing.
"Not dead?" He doubled over like Alexander had just told the best joke he'd heard in years. "Alexander, you've completely lost it. Your wife put a gun to her own head. The barrel pressed right up against her temple—" He raised his hand, fingers shaped like a gun, and pressed them hard against his own temple in a slow, mocking demonstration. "And then she pulled the trigger."
He sneered, "And that was that."
Alexander's fingers tightened on the armrest.
The head bodyguard's heart shot into his throat.
He stepped forward immediately, placing a hand on Alexander's shoulder, dropping his voice low, "Sir. We need to go. Now."
Alexander didn't move.
The gleam in Ralph's eyes sharpened.
He'd seen it—the spasm in Alexander's fingers, the sudden contraction of his pupils, the hairline fractures spreading across that composed surface.
He'd found the pressure point.
"You think you're walking out of here with that bodyguard today?" Ralph settled back into his seat and reached for the whiskey on the side table, taking a slow sip.
"Alexander, if you make it out of my house in one piece, I'll call it your win."
He set down the glass and looked up, his gaze meeting Alexander's head-on.
"You couldn't even save your own wife. And you think you can save a bodyguard?"
Alexander stood up.
The head bodyguard's face changed. He reached out instinctively to pull him back.
Alexander shook him off hard.
"What did you just say?" His voice had dropped so low it barely carried—the sound of something being held back by sheer force of will.
Ralph watched him teetering on the edge and smiled wider.
He knew he'd won.
Alexander's mind had been fracturing for a long time. All it took was someone willing to rip the illusion apart, and he'd come completely undone. And a man with nothing left to hold onto was the easiest kind to finish off.
"I said your wife is dead." Ralph drew the words out, slow and deliberate, savoring each one.
"You drove her to it. You're the reason she's gone. Alexander—you're the one who killed her."
The room went absolutely still.
Alexander stood frozen, every muscle locked tight, his whole body shaking with the effort of containing it.
Ralph let the silence stretch, drinking in the reaction, the satisfaction almost too much to contain.
"Alexander, finally facing the truth? Your wife has been gone for—"
He never finished the sentence.
Alexander moved without warning. He drove his hand into the heavy coffee table and sent it flipping, everything on it crashing down across Ralph in an avalanche of glass and wood.
Ralph lurched back, blindsided by the sudden violence. Before he could get his bearings, Alexander had already stepped over the wreckage and closed the distance in three strides.
He seized Ralph by the collar and hauled him bodily off the sofa.
Ralph's security team snapped out of their shock, hands going to their weapons as they surged forward. But Alexander's bodyguards were just as fast—guns drawn, positions taken, the two sides locked in an instant standoff with the tension pulled wire-tight.
"Say that again." Alexander's eyes bored into Ralph's, the words ground out from somewhere behind his teeth.
Ralph's feet dangled off the floor, the collar twisted so tight it was cutting off his air—but he was still smiling.
Alexander had completely come apart. Shattering the fantasy only made the collapse worse. One more push, and this man was done.
"Your wife," he forced the words out through his constricted throat, "was killed by you."