Chapter 85 The Gift Only She Can Open
The memory of the bathroom crashed into Alexander's mind like a sudden blow.
When he'd withdrawn from her body, he'd looked down to see her face pale as death, drained of all color. Dark crimson spread through the water pooling on the tile, unfurling like a grotesque bloom.
Alexander's heart seized. The reckless hunger driving him froze solid in his veins.
He went rigid, still poised over her in a predator's stance, but unable to move forward another inch.
Beneath him, Caroline convulsed—stiff, jerking movements born of agony and air starvation. Alexander released his grip on her throat and yanked himself back, pulling out of her completely.
Air rushed into her lungs. Caroline curled into herself, coughing violently.
Alexander quickly zipped his pants, fastened his belt, and stood by the bed, looking down at the figure curled into a tight ball. Something unfamiliar and uncomfortable stirred in his chest—a sensation he couldn't name.
Caroline's coughing gradually subsided. When she finally came back to herself, she grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her body as if it were armor, retreating to the farthest corner of the bed. Only her eyes were visible above the fabric, watching him with the wariness of a cornered animal.
That look was like ice water poured over him, instantly extinguishing whatever strange emotion had flickered to life.
Rage reignited in his eyes. He pulled his lips into a cold smile.
He stepped forward and patted her head, the gesture mockingly gentle.
"So repulsed by me? One touch and you vomit. One touch and you bleed... Do I disgust you that much? Or are you thinking of someone else, feeling dirty because I'm the one touching you?"
His touch made Caroline flinch, her body instinctively trying to shrink away.
That fear-soaked reaction pleased Alexander immensely.
He straightened, satisfied.
"Good." He adjusted his rumpled cuffs. "Looks like you still have enough energy to be disgusted."
He turned toward the door, pulled it open, and addressed Kenna waiting in the hallway. "Get her dressed. Clean her up. Bring her down to the basement. I have a gift to be unwrapped—and she's going to do it herself."
Half an hour later, Caroline descended into the basement.
Ravenwood Manor's basement was nothing like the one in the apartment—it was clean, organized, almost civilized in appearance.
But it was noticeably colder than upstairs, and the chill instantly resurrected the dark memories of her imprisonment in that other basement. Hunger. Cold. Endless pain. The rank stench of the dogs as they'd circled closer.
Yet the familiar terror didn't consume her as it once had. Instead, it was held at bay by a shell of numbness, with only the cold seeping through the cracks. It traveled through her veins toward her heart, feeding a poisonous seed named hatred. It grew wild inside her, curling around her shattered soul like thorned vines.
When she saw the weapons displayed on the metal rack before her, a single thought drifted through her mind with eerie detachment: Is he finally going to end this?
Fine.
Death would mean no more guilt over Edith. No more of Alexander's endless torment. No more of this strange, overwhelming hatred that had taken root inside her.
Alexander sat on a leather sofa across the room, lifting his gaze to Caroline.
There was no curiosity in her eyes as she looked at the promised "gift." No fear. Just emptiness.
Alexander's expression darkened instantly.
Not afraid?
He set down his glass, rose to his feet, and moved behind her with deliberate slowness. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look at the displayed items.
"Choose one." Alexander's voice was a low murmur against her ear. "Your gift needs unwrapping. You have to do it yourself. Pick whichever one you like."
Caroline's gaze drifted across the weapons with mechanical detachment. She stepped forward and reached for a matte black handgun.
She lifted it. Cold. Heavy.
Alexander watched her movements, his lips curving into something dark and unreadable.
He approached from behind, pressing against her back like a lover, circling her in his arms. His hand covered hers on the weapon, guiding her fingers to pull back the slide.
A bullet chambered with a metallic click.
"Good choice. Very efficient." His voice was silk hiding steel.
"Now, pull the trigger. It's simple. Just aim at whatever you want to eliminate, like this..."
His finger rested lightly over hers on the trigger.
Caroline followed his guidance, slowly raising the gun. Then, with steady hands, she pressed the barrel against her own temple.
Alexander's smile vanished.
"Caroline!"
He seized her wrist in a crushing grip. In the split second before she could pull the trigger, he wrenched the gun away from her head with all his strength.
The bullet tore past her temple, so close it singed the fine hairs there, and slammed into the floor across the room. Tile exploded. Fragments scattered like shrapnel.
The recoil jolted through Caroline's arm, leaving her hand numb and useless.
"Have you lost your damn mind?!" Alexander ripped the gun from her grip and hurled it across the floor.
His other hand clamped down on her shoulder, shoving her to the ground.
"You want to die that badly?!"
Caroline blinked mechanically, her gaze falling to her reddened hand, still trembling from the shock.
He... wasn't going to kill her?
Then why bring her here? Why display all these weapons? Why tell her to choose?
Alexander saw the confusion in her eyes, and it stoked the fire in his chest to an inferno.
He grabbed her hair again, wrenching her head toward the sealed iron door on the opposite side of the basement.
"Look at who's here."
The door swung open. Several men were dragged out—bound, bloodied, and thrown onto the concrete floor like butchered livestock.
Their faces were ashen. Blood caked their clothing. But the most horrifying injuries were at their wrists and ankles—tendons severed, flesh peeled back, wounds festering with infection.
Caroline's gaze moved slowly across their faces.
She recognized them.
The two men who'd knocked her unconscious in the alley behind Ravenwood Manor and shoved her into a car. The three who'd burst into her prison room, intending to assault her before deciding to sell her instead.
And one more. Despite the blood and filth, his tailored designer suit marked him as someone who'd once held power.
The nightclub owner.
Alexander waved his hand. Immediately, his men cleared away the weapons display, leaving only a single military-grade combat knife. They placed it on the floor in front of Caroline.
He crouched down, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a blade wrapped in ice. "Think I'm disgusting? Fine. But you need to remember who started all of this."