Chapter 90 You Must Atone in the Way I Like
Alexander froze mid-motion. He lowered his head slowly, his cold gaze settling on Liam's shoulders, which trembled violently with fear.
"What did you just say?" Each word fell like shards of ice.
Liam's body jerked as if winter's blade had carved down his spine.
He knew he shouldn't have said it. But in that split second, those words had been the only thing his mind could produce—the only truth his instincts recognized.
He thought that no matter whether Alexander's regret came from genuine remorse or twisted hatred, regret would come eventually.
"Liam." Alexander rested cold fingertips on Liam's head, a mockery of tenderness. "You've been working for me since you were sixteen."
Liam lifted his head, trembling, and met Alexander's eyes—dark, predatory, unfathomable.
Alexander turned the knife in his hand, using the flat of the blade to wipe the tears from Liam's face. The cold metal traced across his skin.
"The first day you came to me, I told you something. Never try to read my mind. It will be the death of you."
Liam squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the blade to open his throat.
Then, from deep in the hallway, came the faint rasp of wood against wood.
Caroline's door cracked open from the inside. A slender hand gripped the doorframe, hesitant and pale.
A moment later, half of her face appeared in the gap—just as pale, just as fragile.
She opened her mouth. It seemed to take all her strength to force out the words. "Darling… are you going to kill me?"
Alexander's fingers, still pressed against Liam's cheek, stilled.
He turned his head and stared at her.
After a few seconds, he let go.
Liam collapsed to the floor, his body still shaking uncontrollably.
He forced his head up, looking toward those frightened eyes at the end of the hall.
Inside, he screamed. 'No… don't look. Go back. Close the door.'
He knew he shouldn't feel this way.
But whether it was instinctive concern for Alexander or an irrational pity for Caroline, something drove him to make a choice.
He opened his mouth and mouthed a single, silent word. "Run."
But to Liam's horror, Caroline didn't retreat. Instead, she pushed the door open.
Barefoot, she stepped into the hallway.
Then, under Alexander's unreadable gaze, she sank to her knees in front of him.
She lifted her pale face, gazing up at him with a devotion that unsettled him.
"Darling, if I die… will you forgive me?"
Alexander stared down at her in silence.
That look in her eyes—the worshipful love he'd seen so many years ago—had returned.
Suddenly, he laughed. Low and bitter.
"Forgive?" he repeated softly.
Forgive what?
Forgive her for running to that dock?
Forgive her for being so consumed by her own grief that she'd put Edith in danger?
Or forgive Edith for taking the bullet meant for her—dying in the crossfire of a gang war?
He lunged forward and grabbed her chin, hard.
"What do you think?"
Caroline flinched at the pain, her body curling inward slightly.
But what filled her eyes wasn't the fear Alexander expected. It was something far worse—grief so deep it felt like drowning.
She was mourning the loss of his love. Mourning it so completely it was suffocating her.
In the next instant, she shot her hand up and tore the knife from his grip. Without hesitation, she set the tip to her throat.
The sharp edge pierced her skin immediately. A single drop of blood welled up, spreading across her pale neck like a stain.
"I'd rather die…" She tilted her head back, tears streaming down her face. "Than let you spend the rest of your life hating me. Darling, I'm sorry."
Alexander stood frozen.
It hit him all at once—she wasn't apologizing for the violation she believed had happened in her fractured memory.
She was apologizing for that day at the dock. For watching the woman he loved bleed out in his arms.
Alexander's heart lurched violently in his chest.
The next second, his control shattered.
"Caroline!" He roared her name, ripping the knife from her hand and yanking her up by the wrist. He dragged her toward the bedroom, his grip bruising.
"Get out! All of you—get the hell out!"
He didn't look back as he shouted.
The door slammed shut behind them. Caroline hit the floor hard, and the impact sent a fresh wave of agony through the wounds on her back. She let out a soft, broken whimper.
Alexander turned slowly, looking down at the woman curled on the carpet.
"This is how you atone?" His voice was ice.
Caroline flinched, then struggled to push herself upright. Under his gaze, she knelt again.
Alexander walked over and crouched in front of her. His cold fingers traced the blood still wet on her throat.
"So obedient…"
Then his hand shot out and gripped her chin. His thumb grazed her lips.
"You think you've been violated. Think you're dirty now. Think you owe me an apology. Is that it?"
Caroline looked up at him through her tears and nodded, trembling.
Alexander stared at her for several long seconds. Then he let go.
He stood and took a step back.
"If you feel so filthy. So guilty." His voice was flat, emotionless. "Then atone the way I want you to."
Caroline looked up at him, confused.
Alexander's gaze was heavy, unreadable. He tilted his chin slightly.
"Take off your clothes."
Caroline's body went rigid. Her eyes widened in disbelief.
But the look in her eyes burned him. It forced him to take another step back.
There was no resistance in her expression. Only the devastation of someone who'd been violated—and now, instead of comfort from the man she loved, was being subjected to further humiliation.
But she moved.
Her hands rose, shaking, and began to undo the buttons of her nightgown. One. Two.
The thin fabric slipped from her shoulders, revealing pale skin marred by bruises and scabbed-over cuts.
Her chest, where her ribs pressed too sharply against her skin from weight loss. Her nipples, stark against the pallor. Her waist, so narrow a single hand could encircle it. And her most private place.
Alexander's breathing grew heavier.
With every button she undid, the weight in his chest grew.
It was a kind of shock he couldn't name—realizing, only now, that the love she'd hidden for so many years had been this absolute. That she would endure even this degradation willingly, for him. And he had never seen it.