Chapter 49 Come to the Company to Be My Assistant
At last, after she nearly sent the egg skidding off her plate for the second time, Alexander set down his knife and fork.
His voice was cool, deliberate. "What is it, Caroline? Sitting at the same table with me makes you so uncomfortable that you forget basic manners? Or is it..."
His gaze swept over her with clinical precision, moving from the crown of her head to the tips of her shoes.
"Have you been resting so well that your thoughts have started straying where they shouldn't?"
Caroline's body went rigid.
No. No, that wasn't it. She wasn't thinking anything improper—she was afraid. Afraid of this sudden semblance of normality, afraid of the storm she knew could break through the calm at any moment.
She shook her head frantically, desperate to explain, to deny, but her throat felt locked shut. Not even a fractured whisper could escape.
All she could do was lift her eyes, wide with terror and pleading, hoping he would see the fear there, hoping he would understand that she had no hidden intentions.
Alexander only found her panic laughable. His mouth curved into a cold, mocking smile.
To him, she looked guilty. Cornered. Like someone caught in a lie.
"Isn't that so?" He leaned back in his chair.
His tone was tinged with amusement as he went on. "Then what is it? I take the trouble to sit down for breakfast with you, and you act as if you're facing an execution, picking at your food like it's poison. Caroline, when did your thoughts become so complicated?"
His eyes moved over her again with open disapproval. "Have you been so idle during your recovery that your useless nerves have started firing again?"
Caroline's stomach dropped.
She understood. This was not curiosity—it was a warning. He was telling her to keep her mind empty, to play the quiet invalid, to be the puppet he could move without resistance. No stray emotions. No stray thoughts.
But that wasn't what she meant at all.
She shook her head harder, tears spilling over.
She imagined what she must look like to him—pitiful, incoherent, her face incapable of conveying the truth she wanted him to see.
She set down her knife and fork with a clumsy urgency, her hands moving in a frantic gesture meant to communicate that she had no ulterior motive, that she was simply unaccustomed, simply afraid.
Her tear-streaked face made something flicker in his eyes—a brief, complicated shadow—but it vanished almost instantly. He turned away, picked up his utensils again, and resumed cutting into the egg on his plate.
After a moment, he spoke, "If you think you have too much free time, then it's time to change that. You're clearly not fit to return to that ridiculous clinic of yours. Starting today, you'll come to the company. You'll be my assistant."
Assistant?
Caroline froze.
Go to Alexander's company? Be... his assistant?
It was something she would never have dared to imagine—not now. Once, in the days when her fantasies were still alive, she might have longed for any role that kept her near him, even if it was only to watch from a distance.
But that was another lifetime.
Now she was the woman he despised, the one he kept under lock and key, the one he punished.
Being his assistant meant constant exposure to his gaze, his control.
It meant standing close enough to feel the chill of his authority, watching him cut through subordinates with the same precision he used on her, enduring the humiliation and cruelty that could descend without warning.
It meant being dragged into the shadowed corners of the Hamilton family business—places she did not want to see, could not bear to see.
It meant facing Celeste, and others who knew the truth, who would look at her with eyes that stripped away her skin.
No. She couldn't. It would be worse than staying locked in the apartment.
It would be torture in plain sight.
"I... no..." The words scraped out of her throat, raw and broken.
"No?" Alexander's brows lifted.
He let the question hang, then added with a deliberate edge, "As my wife, assisting me with my work is the most natural thing in the world. Or is it that you never considered me your husband? Tell me, who do you think would be a more suitable man?"
Caroline froze.
The image hit her instantly—Alexander in the hospital, finding Daniel wiping her tears, and everything that had followed.
He was still holding on to that. This was his way of reminding her. Of warning her.
Of telling her that if she refused, if he decided she was resisting because of someone else, then Daniel...
Her blood ran cold. Whatever courage she had to refuse drained away.
No. She would not drag Daniel into this.
He had only tried to help her. He could have walked past, left her to die in the frozen ravine, but he hadn't.
Caroline lowered her head, picked up the knife and fork she had abandoned, and began cutting the egg again, now stone cold.
Her silence was her surrender.
But her sudden compliance only sharpened Alexander's irritation.
What was this? He had given her every reason to agree—he had even framed it as a privilege, the duty of a wife—and she had resisted. Only when he hinted at Daniel did she yield.
What did that mean?
She would risk herself, put herself in danger, just to protect Daniel?
The thought burned through him. His hand slammed the knife and fork down onto the table.
The sound split the air, making Caroline flinch so hard the fork slipped from her fingers and clattered against the plate.
Her tears welled again, but she bit her lip until she tasted blood, refusing to let a sound escape.
Alexander stood, not sparing her a glance, and strode out of the dining room.
Caroline sagged into her chair, the tears sliding unchecked down her cheeks.
She didn't know why he had suddenly lost his temper. She only knew she had done something—again—that had set him off.
What would it be like, those coming days in his company, at his side, under his command?
She couldn't bear to imagine.
She didn't know how much time had passed before the sound of footsteps came from upstairs—steady, deliberate.
Alexander reappeared in the doorway, now dressed in a sharp black suit.
His eyes fell on her, still sitting there, her food barely touched, her gaze distant. His brows drew together.
"Why are you still sitting there?" His voice cut through the air like a blade.