Chapter 42 What's His Play?
'Check the rooms upstairs! And every other section! He can't have gone far—he's probably hiding nearby! Please, search carefully!'
Caroline's hands moved in frantic gestures, her lips parted but no sound emerged. Her eyes fixed on Alexander, desperate for him to understand.
Alexander's brow furrowed, his gaze following her restless motions. After a moment, he caught her meaning.
But his first instinct wasn't to follow her lead—it was suspicion.
She looked panicked, yet she was directing the search. Was she trying to steer them away from something?
"Enough." Alexander's voice cut through the air, cold and final.
"Keep searching. Every floor, top to bottom. Anyone on duty and anyone with clearance to access the security feeds—bring them in for questioning. I want answers before sunrise."
"Yes, Mr. Hamilton!" The head of security's forehead gleamed with sweat as he snapped to attention.
Alexander turned back to Caroline. "As for you…"
Her heart clenched, fear flashing across her face.
"If you think this place is so unsafe that even sleeping puts you at risk," he said, the corner of his mouth curling into a cold smile, "then we'll move you somewhere safer. Somewhere you can't stir up another scene and keep everyone on edge."
It hit her like a slap. He didn't believe her. He thought she was staging this—fabricating danger just to draw attention.
And he was sending her… where?
No. She couldn't go to some unknown place. This apartment was suffocating, but it was familiar. And after tonight's attack, Alexander would tighten security here. If the man in black was truly after her, would he follow? Would Alexander even assign guards to protect her?
Judging by his expression, he didn't trust her. Why would he?
She shook her head violently, reaching for his sleeve.
He stepped back, disgust in his eyes, avoiding her touch. "Take her. Gather only what's necessary. Send her to Ravenwood Manor."
Ravenwood Manor? She had never heard the name, but it sounded wrong—like a place you didn't come back from.
Fear surged. She struggled, but two guards locked her arms in vise-like grips.
A muffled cry escaped her throat, tears spilling again.
Inside, she screamed—No! Let me go!
But against sheer force, her resistance meant nothing. They dragged her toward the door.
As they passed Alexander, she lifted her head one last time, pouring every ounce of will into her gaze. "Believe me… someone is trying to kill me!"
Alexander's eyes met hers for a brief moment. His brow twitched—but he looked away.
Turning to his silent aide, he spoke in a low, hard voice. "You'll personally oversee her transfer. Double the guard at Ravenwood Manor. No one approaches without my permission. And she doesn't leave. Not one step."
"Understood, sir." The aide hesitated, then added quietly, "Mr. Hamilton… the bruises on Mrs. Hamilton's neck—they don't look self-inflicted. And given her current state, I doubt she'd risk staging something like this just to get attention or avoid you."
Alexander's head snapped toward him, eyes sharp as a blade.
"You don't understand. Acting is what she does best. Self-harm, playing insane, now this fake attack—it's always more extreme than the last." His voice was ice.
The aide shrank back, silent.
"Just because we found no trace doesn't mean there's nothing. Could be a professional. Or…" Alexander's voice dropped, his irritation flaring. "An insider. Watch them all. Find it."
"Yes, sir." The aide bowed slightly before leaving.
Alexander remained, staring down the empty hallway. He tugged at the collar of his robe, the weight in his chest refusing to ease.
He knew the aide had a point—Caroline's silence, her weakness, her complete lack of freedom made it illogical for her to orchestrate a near-strangulation. The risk was too high, the payoff unclear.
But what if that was the trick? What if she was using the illogic itself to scramble his judgment?
No. He couldn't soften.
She had killed Edith. She deserved everything coming to her.
Sending her to Ravenwood Manor wasn't just to remove her from sight—it was punishment. A warning.
He pushed down the strange unease and headed for his study.
The stretch limousine slipped through the night, leaving the glittering skyline behind as it headed for the city's edge.
Outside the window, the lights thinned, buildings giving way to dense rows of trees.
Caroline sat curled in the far corner of the back seat, wrapped in a thin coat a maid had thrown over her shoulders. She still shivered.
The bruises at her throat burned, her voice felt scorched raw. But she barely noticed anymore. Numbness had taken over.
Was Alexander sending her away to forget her—or to find a new way to break her? Would the man who tried to kill her follow? Were these guards here to protect… or to watch?
She didn't want to think. She let the car carry her into the unknown.
The drive stretched on until exhaustion blurred her thoughts. Finally, the car turned down a tree-lined lane, stopping before ornate iron gates.
The gatekeeper had clearly been briefed—the gates opened slowly.
They rolled through manicured gardens before stopping in front of a brightly lit villa.
Ravenwood Manor.
It wasn't crumbling or haunted. It was elegant. Luxurious.
Confusion flickered across her face.
What game was Alexander playing now?
The aide stepped out first, speaking quietly to the waiting butler.
Then he opened the door. "Madam, please."
Caroline moved stiffly, the guards steadying her as she followed the butler inside.
The interior was sleek, Scandinavian minimalism—nothing like the vintage opulence of the apartment. But just as cold.
The aide finished his instructions, then nodded. "Madam, you'll be staying here for now. If you need anything, speak to the butler. Mr. Hamilton's orders are for you to rest."
With that, he left with the guards.
Caroline stood frozen.
This wasn't a prison. It felt more like a place to recover.
What was Alexander's game?
Her thoughts were cut short by a sharp, familiar voice from upstairs. "It's the middle of the night and you're making a racket again, Alexander—what the hell are you up to now?"