Chapter 135
Grace's POV
The gratitude of these simple villagers pressed against my chest like something tangible. I watched Alex's face, pale as winter moonlight, as the village elder approached with calloused hands clutching a silver pocket watch.
"Mr. Morgan, this belonged to my grandfather," the girl's father said, his voice trembling with emotion. "It's all we can offer, to thank you for saving our daughter."
Alex responded without hesitation, though I could see even speaking required great effort. "What I did was basic human decency. Anyone would have done the same thing."
But the child's father shook his head firmly. "No, sir. You risked your life for a stranger's daughter. Please let us express our gratitude."
Watching Alex maintain his humility even in his weakened state, I felt a surge of pride. "This is what any person would do," he repeated, his voice carrying that quiet strength that had first drawn me to him.
The crowd murmured disagreement, their faces glowing with admiration. I stood beside his wheelchair, my hand instinctively resting on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles—he was struggling to stay upright.
"Perhaps," Alex said, showing his diplomatic training even through exhaustion, "you could help promote Morgan International's charitable projects. That would mean more to me than any gift."
The villagers agreed enthusiastically, praising him as "a truly socially responsible young entrepreneur." I caught sight of Violet standing at the edge of the crowd, her face wearing an expression of devastation as she watched it all unfold. The isolation in her expression was almost painful to witness.
Alex ultimately accepted only their handwritten thank-you letters and a handmade frame, his gracious smile never wavering despite the obvious strain.
After the last resident left, I felt Alex's carefully maintained composure begin to crumble. His already pale face seemed to lose what little color remained. I immediately moved closer, my hands gripping the wheelchair's armrests.
The adrenaline that had carried him here was clearly fading, leaving behind the brutal reality of his injuries.
"Alex," I said softly, approaching his wheelchair. "You need to rest."
He gripped my hand, his fingers cold but steady. "I'm fine. These people came all this way..."
But I could see the tremor in his jaw, his eyelids fluttering with exhaustion. "You've done wonderfully. Now let me take care of you."
Violet approached hesitantly. Her usual confidence had evaporated, replaced by something almost fragile.
"Alex," she said quietly, "I'm so glad you're awake. I was terrified..."
Alex's response was polite but distant. "Thank you for your concern, Violet."
"Lucas has arranged a private jet to take you back to Starport," Alex said. "I believe your work here is finished."
Violet's gaze moved between Alex and me, searching for any crack in our united front. Finding none, she nodded stiffly. "Of course. I understand."
As she walked away, Alex gripped my hand almost imperceptibly tighter. "Grace..."
"I know," I whispered, kneeling beside his wheelchair.
His head fell back against the chair, and for a moment, the strong mask slipped completely. "I wanted to see you. When I woke up... you weren't there."
This quiet confession broke something inside me. "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."
By the time we reached the room, Alex's composure had finally collapsed. The moment the door closed, his breathing became shallow and rapid.
"Damn," he said quietly, pressing against his ribs. "I think I pushed too hard."
"Should I call a doctor?"
I helped him move to the bed, tucking the covers around him. I could see the relief that flooded his face as he finally lay flat.
"Better?" I asked, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed.
He nodded, his eyes already beginning to close. "Much better. Just need a moment..."
I brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, marveling at how fragile he looked despite his determination. "Rest now. I'll be here when you wake up."
He found my hand in the gathering dusk. "Promise?"
"Promise."
As Alex's breathing evened into sleep, I settled into the chair beside the bed.
I watched his peaceful face. Not a game, not a power struggle. Just this—being here when he needs me.
---
The next morning, I helped Alex into the bathroom, my hands trembling slightly as I turned on the shower. Warm water cascaded down, steam filling the space, and I saw him wince in pain as he tried to move.
"Let me help you," I said softly, reaching for the hem of his shirt.
He gently caught my wrist. "Grace, you don't have to—"
"I want to." The words came out more determined than I'd intended. "Please. Let me take care of you."
His eyes searched mine for a moment, then he nodded. When I carefully helped him remove his shirt, I gasped. His back and waist were covered with angry purple bruises, some edges already yellowing. But what truly made me hold my breath were the scars—old wounds that told stories I'd never heard.
I cleaned his body with a damp cloth, especially avoiding his wounds, my fingers barely daring to touch his skin. "I don't want these to get infected," I murmured, focusing on practical concerns to control my emotions.
Alex noticed my tension, the way I held my breath every time I touched him. His hand stroked my hair. "Does this bother you? These scars?"
I looked up at him, water droplets clinging to my lashes. How could he think that? "I care deeply about every mark on your body," I whispered. "Every trace on you matters to me."
The vulnerability in his eyes nearly broke me. This powerful man, needing my help, entrusting his broken body to me.
After I helped him dry off and get dressed, he sat on the edge of the bed, still breathing heavily. "Grace," he said quietly, "there's something you should know about this scar."
He guided my hand to touch his shoulder blade, where a perfect circular scar marred his skin. It was old, but unmistakably a gunshot wound.
"Your father," he said, his voice barely audible, "Robert Wilson. He once saved my life. This bullet was meant for me, during an overseas joint meeting that turned violent. He stepped in front of me."
I stared at him, speechless. My father?