Chapter 122
Alex's POV
We were packing up the equipment when the mountain decided to remind us who was really in charge. The rumble started low, almost subsonic, vibrating through the soles of our boots.
"Landslide!" someone screamed.
I looked up to see a wall of rock and debris cascading down the mountainside, heading straight for a small cluster of buildings below. Most of the crew scattered, running for higher ground, but I spotted something that made my blood freeze.
A child—maybe eight years old—stood frozen in the path of destruction, too terrified to move.
I didn't think. I just ran.
The world narrowed to that single point of focus: reach the kid, get him to safety. Rocks the size of basketballs bounced past me as I sprinted down the slope, my lungs burning in the thin air.
I reached the boy just as the main wave of debris hit. I threw myself over him, using my body as a shield as the mountain tried to bury us both. Pain exploded across my ribs as a chunk of granite caught me in the side, and I felt something crack.
I came to in the rubble, my face gray with pain but my arms still wrapped protectively around the child. Blood seeped through my shirt from multiple cuts, and the way I was breathing told me my ribs were definitely broken.
When Lucas knelt beside me, I managed to gasp: "Don't... don't let her know."
I knew exactly who I meant.
"Alex, you need medical attention. Grace will understand—"
"Promise me." My grip on his wrist was surprisingly strong for someone who'd just been crushed by half a mountain. The thought of Grace seeing me like this, broken and bleeding, filled me with a terror deeper than any physical pain. Not because I was afraid of appearing weak, but because I couldn't bear the thought of her worrying, of adding to the burdens she was already carrying.
She had enough to deal with—Elizabeth, Andrew, the company restructuring. She didn't need to drop everything and rush to some mountain hospital because I'd been reckless enough to get myself buried under half a mountainside.
Lucas stared into my eyes, and when I saw the exact moment he understood, only then did I let my consciousness slip away.
---
Grace's POV
The next morning, I sat in my office, absentmindedly looking at the message I'd sent Alex this morning, but there was still no reply. I had called him once, but it went straight to voicemail.
This was unusual. Alex never ignored my calls. Never.
A cold fear began to creep into my chest.
Left with no choice, I called Lucas again—several times in a row. He didn't pick up.
But half an hour later, Lucas sent me a message:
"Sorry, Mrs. Morgan. I was tied up just now. Mr. Morgan has been delayed by some matters and is temporarily unable to return or contact you. When he's available, I'll have him call you back personally."
Even after receiving his reply, the anxiety in my chest wouldn't fade.
I shook my head, trying not to let my thoughts spiral. I'd try calling him again later.
---
Laura's POV
The drive home from Emma's school felt endless. My daughter sat in the passenger seat, unusually quiet, her small fingers tracing patterns on the window.
"Mommy," she finally said, her voice small. "Is Daddy very tired? He's been sleeping for two days."
My hands tightened on the steering wheel. How do I explain this to a six-year-old?
"Daddy's not feeling well, sweetheart," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Sometimes rest is very important."
Emma nodded, but I could see the confusion in her eyes. "Can he have dinner with us tonight?"
"I hope so, baby. Just... try to be extra good, okay? Daddy would be happy."
If only it were that simple.
---
Earlier at Starport General Hospital, I found Margaret in a state I never thought I'd witness. The woman who once commanded every room she entered now sat disheveled in the waiting area, her designer clothes wrinkled, her hair unkempt. The transformation was jarring.
Holden's condition was critical. According to Margaret, he could barely speak—his words slurred and incomprehensible whenever he tried. The doctors weren't optimistic. Richard's younger brother Jason had been sent away to boarding school, shielded from the stress and media scrutiny that now surrounded our family.
But the medical crisis was only part of our nightmare.
Grace had systematically dismantled everything we'd built. She hadn't just taken control of the company—she'd obliterated our stake in it. Wilson Holdings had injected massive capital, but only to dilute our shares to insignificance. We now owned less than ten percent of our own company. Our business partners were distancing themselves. Our allies had vanished overnight.
The weight of our situation crashed over me. We were completely isolated, completely powerless.
---
Back at Harrison Manor, I climbed the stairs to find Richard, hoping to see him recovered and ready to tackle our current troubles. Instead, I found chaos.
The bed was unmade, clothes scattered across the floor. On the nightstand, prescription bottles lay on their sides—antidepressants, their contents spilled across the mahogany surface like tiny white accusations.
I tried calling him. The phone rang and rang before going to voicemail.
Where are you, Richard?
A terrible thought struck me. I grabbed my purse and rushed toward the door.