Chapter 13: The Night He Came Home Broken

It was nearly two in the morning when Alexander returned, and I knew something terrible had happened before he even stepped through the door.

I had spent most of the evening watching the security cameras from the small screen in the sitting room. Victoria had assured me that the guards were handling everything, but she hadn't explained why Alexander had left in such a hurry.

I had tried calling him twice.

He hadn't answered.

The photograph of him with Sebastian was still open on my phone. I had looked at it so many times that I could almost remember every detail.

Ask Alexander what happened to Evelyn.

The message had made me uneasy, but I hadn't replied.

At 1:47 a.m., headlights swept across the windows.

I stood immediately.

A car stopped outside the entrance. A moment later, the front door opened.

Alexander walked in.

His jacket was missing, his white shirt was untucked, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. His dark hair was messy, and there was a small cut above his right eyebrow.

He looked exhausted.

But it was his eyes that caught my attention.

They were empty.

“Alexander?”

He looked towards me.

“What are you doing awake?”

“Waiting.”

“You shouldn't have.”

I glanced at the cut on his forehead.

“Are you hurt?”

“It's nothing.”

He walked past me towards the staircase.

“Your face is bleeding.”

“I said it's nothing, Amelia.”

His voice was sharp, but it lacked its usual strength.

I followed him.

“What happened tonight?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Someone was watching the house. You left without explaining anything, and now you've come back looking like you've been in a fight.”

He stopped on the stairs.

“Do you ever stop asking questions?”

“Not when people keep giving me reasons to ask them.”

He turned around.

For a moment, I thought he was going to shout.

Instead, he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

“Please, Amelia. Not tonight.”

The quietness in his voice surprised me.

I stepped back.

“Okay.”

He continued upstairs.

I watched him disappear down the hallway.

For a few minutes, I remained where I was.

I remembered what he had told me.

Don't mistake my kindness for affection.

I wasn't supposed to care whether he had slept, eaten, or returned home safely. We had an agreement. Nothing more.

Still, the sight of him struggling to walk up the stairs stayed in my mind.

I went to the kitchen.

I found him in the sitting room outside his bedroom.

He had removed his shirt jacket and was sitting on the sofa with his head resting against the back cushion. His eyes were closed, and one hand covered his face.

A glass of untouched water sat on the table.

“Have you eaten?” I asked.

He opened his eyes.

“Amelia, go to bed.”

“I asked a simple question.”

“And I gave you a simple answer.”

I placed a small plate on the table. It held two slices of toast and a sandwich I had asked the kitchen staff to prepare.

“You haven't eaten, have you?”

He looked at the plate.

“I'm not hungry.”

“That's fine. You can leave it there.”

I noticed his hand was trembling slightly.

“Your forehead needs cleaning.”

He straightened.

“I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

“Clearly.”

His eyes narrowed.

I sighed.

“Look, I'm not trying to interfere. You have a cut, and I have a first-aid kit in my room. Let me clean it, then I'll leave you alone.”

He stared at me.

“Why?”

The question caught me off guard.

“Why what?”

“Why are you doing this?”

I looked at him for a moment.

“Because you're hurt.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“It's the only one I have.”

He looked away.

I wasn't sure whether he would agree, but eventually he gave a small nod.

“Fine.”

I returned with the first-aid kit and a clean cloth.

Alexander sat still while I opened the small box.

“Turn your head slightly,” I said.

He obeyed.

The cut above his eyebrow wasn't deep, but there was dried blood around it. I wet the cloth and gently cleaned the skin.

He flinched.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“It's fine.”

I looked at him.

“You say that a lot.”

“Because most things are fine.”

“Your forehead would disagree.”

He almost smiled.

It was such a small movement that I might have imagined it.

I continued cleaning the wound.

There was a faint bruise along his cheekbone, and his shirt had a small tear near the shoulder.

“Did someone hit you?”

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I don't want to talk about it.”

I placed the cloth aside.

“Then I won't ask.”

He looked at me.

Perhaps he had expected another argument.

I opened a small packet of antiseptic and applied it carefully.

“You're very quiet,” he said.

“I can be.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

I smiled faintly.

“Don't get used to it.”

For a moment, the room felt less tense.

Then his eyes drifted towards the window.

“Sebastian was there tonight,” he said.

I stopped.

“Where?”

“At the place I went.”

“Were you meeting him?”

“No.”

“Then what happened?”

Alexander leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“He knew about the investigation. He knew which records we were looking for and who had been helping us.”

I lowered the cotton pad.

“Someone inside your company told him?”

“That's what I'm trying to find out.”

“Did you confront him?”

His jaw tightened.

“He denied everything.”

“Do you believe him?”

“No.”

The answer came immediately.

I sat on the edge of the opposite chair.

“Then why don't you remove him from the company?”

“Because things aren't that simple.”

“Why not?”

He gave a tired laugh.

“Because Sebastian isn't just an employee I can dismiss. He's my brother.”

I looked at him.

For the first time, I understood that his anger towards Sebastian wasn't only about business.

There was history between them.

A lot of it.

“Did he hurt you tonight?” I asked.

Alexander stared at the floor.

“He said something.”

“What?”

“That I should stop digging into the past. That some people were better off forgotten.”

I thought of the photograph in the library.

Evelyn.

“Was he talking about her?”

Alexander's head lifted.

“Who?”

“Evelyn.”

His face changed immediately.

I regretted asking.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have”

“No.”

He looked towards the dark window.

“She was there tonight.”

My heart skipped.

“Evelyn?”

He nodded slowly.

“Not in person. I found something she left behind.”

He reached into his trouser pocket and removed a small folded piece of paper.

His fingers held it tightly.

I didn't ask to see it.

He stared at it for a long time before putting it back.

“She was the only person who could tell when I was lying,” he said.

I watched him carefully.

“What happened to her?”

His eyes closed.

“I should have listened to her.”

The words were barely louder than a whisper.

I didn't move.

He rubbed both hands over his face.

“Everyone thinks I have everything under control. The company, the money, the people around me. They think I can fix anything if I decide to.”

He looked at me.

“But there are things you can't fix.”

For once, I had no clever response.

I picked up the glass of water and placed it closer to him.

“Drink something.”

He looked at the glass, then at me.

After a moment, he took it.

“Thank you.”

The words sounded unfamiliar coming from his mouth.

I glanced at the clock.

“You should try to sleep.”

He nodded, but he didn't stand.

I began putting the first-aid supplies away.

“Amelia.”

I turned.

“Why didn't you leave when I told you to?”

I considered the question.

“Because you looked like you needed help.”

He gave a faint, humourless smile.

“You really should be more careful about helping people.”

“Perhaps. But I don't think a little kindness makes me responsible for your secrets.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then his gaze moved towards the photograph he had placed on a shelf near his bedroom door.

It was the same woman.

The same bright smile.

“I was supposed to protect her,” he said.

I slowly turned towards him.

“What?”

“Evelyn.”

His voice became rough.

“She trusted me. She warned me about what was happening, and I told her she was imagining things.”

He swallowed.

“Three days later, she was gone.”

My stomach tightened.

“Gone where?”

He shook his head.

“I don't know.”

I stared at him.

“Do you mean she disappeared?”

His eyes remained fixed on the photograph.

“Everyone told me she was dead.”

“Everyone?”

He gave a slow nod.

“Her family. The police. Even Sebastian.”

I felt a chill move through me.

“Then why do you say you don't know?”

Alexander looked at me.

His eyes were tired, but there was something frightening beneath the exhaustion.

“Because nobody ever showed me her body.”

I couldn't speak.

He stood slowly, using the back of the sofa for support.

Then he looked towards the photograph again.

“I blamed myself for what happened to her for fifteen years,” he whispered. “And tonight, Amelia, I found something that makes me think I may have been blaming myself for the wrong reason.”

My heart began to pound.

“What did you find?”

He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw fear without any attempt to hide it.

“A photograph of Evelyn,” he said. “Taken three days ago.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“Three days ago?”

He nodded.

“She may still be alive.”