Chapter 92 Why Treat Her This Way?
Alexander's breath caught in his chest. That heavy, alien weight in his chest flashed into a searing rage with nowhere to land.
He lunged forward, his hand clamping brutally around her throat, yanking her forward until she stumbled.
"Pathetic." The word scraped out between clenched teeth.
He couldn't even explain the fury coursing through him. Couldn't find a single rational reason for it.
His mind felt shrouded in fog, his thoughts sluggish and chaotic.
Without meaning to, he found himself following the twisted logic she'd laid out for him.
"Is that what you are? Shameless? Someone else touched you, and now you're offering yourself to me? You think this pleases me?"
Caroline's neck burned where his fingers dug in, forcing her face upward. Tears spilled over, and beneath them lay something deeper—a grief so profound it seemed to fill her completely.
After a long moment, she forced her lips into something resembling a smile. It was the most degrading expression he'd ever seen.
"You can say anything you want to me…" Her voice cracked. "Hit me, punish me… just don't leave me. Darling, please… don't send me away…"
That smile drove straight through his chest like a blade.
He released her throat and shoved her backward. She hit the floor hard.
"Enough!" The word tore out of him as he staggered back a step, turning away from her.
He wanted her to be selfish. Wanted her to lie, to glare at him with cold hatred.
At least then he could hate her back without guilt. Could torture her, could pour out all the agony of losing Edith and feel justified doing it.
But instead, she was offering him this—the same devotion he'd thrown away years ago, now stripped clean by her fractured memory. Pure and overwhelming and impossible to bear.
Alexander dragged his hands through his hair, but nothing could settle the storm inside him.
He couldn't look at those eyes, brimming with sorrow and love in equal measure.
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He spun around and bolted from the room like a man escaping a burning house.
Caroline's body gave out. She collapsed onto the carpet, curling into herself, arms wrapped tight around her middle. She buried her face against her knees as silent tears streamed down.
She didn't understand.
Before… if she'd gotten even the smallest bruise, Alexander would gather her up, hold her close, murmur soft reassurances while he tended to her himself.
He'd smile and call her "silly girl." He'd kiss her forehead and promise, "I've got you. You're safe."
Why had everything changed?
She'd been through something terrible—kidnapped, violated in ways she could barely process. She was terrified, drowning in shame, convinced she was ruined and unworthy of him.
But she still craved his arms around her. Still needed him to tell her it wasn't her fault.
Instead, he'd given her nothing but disgust. Rough hands. Words sharp enough to draw blood.
Had she really disappointed him that badly?
Was it because she hadn't listened when he told her to stay home? Because her stubbornness had brought this nightmare down on both of them?
If she'd just been obedient, would none of this have happened?
Yes. It was her fault. Of course Alexander was angry—angry that she'd disobeyed, angry that she'd let this happen to herself, angry that she'd… embarrassed him, maybe.
She couldn't blame him for that.
She needed to fix this. Do something that used to make him happy.
Caroline forced herself to stop crying. She scrubbed at her face with the back of her hand, then struggled to her feet. She picked up the discarded nightgown and fumbled with the buttons, her fingers clumsy and shaking.
Then, barefoot and unsteady, she made her way to the door. Gripping the wall for support, she descended the stairs one slow step at a time.
"Ma'am? What are you doing down here?"
Kenna looked up from her work, eyes widening. She hurried over immediately. "You need to be resting. Your body hasn't recovered."
"I'm… fine." Caroline managed a weak smile. "It's almost dinner time. I want to cook for Alexander. I always used to. He works so hard—coming home to a hot meal makes him happy."
Kenna stared at Caroline's bloodless face. Her throat tightened, eyes burning with unshed tears.
She opened her mouth to say Alexander probably wouldn't be home. To tell her she didn't need to push herself like this. To tell her… the truth wasn't what she thought it was.
But looking at the determination in Caroline's eyes, all those words lodged in her throat and came out as a heavy sigh.
She couldn't bring herself to shatter that fragile illusion.
Maybe this was better—remembering wrong, forgetting, stumbling through in confusion. Better than carrying the full weight of what had really happened, suffering through every endless night.
"Then… let me help you." Kenna looked down, hiding the moisture in her eyes, and took Caroline's trembling arm. "We'll do it together. Mr. Hamilton will love it."
Caroline stood at the counter, handling the ingredients with obvious difficulty.
She realized her body wasn't cooperating. In her hazy memories, these motions had been second nature. Now they felt impossible. Even holding the knife made her hands shake, and she nearly cut herself several times.
Kenna watched with growing alarm and finally took over. "Ma'am, please. Just tell me what to do. You can direct me."
"No. I need to do it myself," she said with quiet stubbornness.
She took the knife back, focusing intently on the cutting board. "He said he loved the way I cooked. That it tasted different when I made it."
But she couldn't concentrate. Between her distraction and physical weakness, the blade caught her fingertip during one clumsy motion.
She hissed in pain. Blood welled up and dripped onto the counter.
"Ma'am!"
Kenna grabbed her hand and thrust it under the faucet, then quickly retrieved the first aid kit and wrapped the cut with a bandage.
"See? Let me take over. You're hurt."
"It's nothing. Just a scratch." Caroline stared at her bandaged finger, her voice flat and empty. "I'm useless, aren't I? Can't even cook anymore."
Why had everything changed when she woke up? The whole world felt wrong. She felt wrong.
"That's not true, ma'am. You just haven't recovered yet." Kenna squeezed her hand gently. "I'll help you. We'll do this together. And we'll… wait for Mr. Hamilton to come home."