Chapter 71
The elevator climbed toward the penthouse of Pierce Tower, each floor ticking by on the digital display as my stomach tightened with a mix of anger and nervous anticipation. I wore a simple black dress, nothing flashy, nothing designed to impress, and carried the folder containing evidence of Alexander’s secret involvement in my
revenge.
When the doors opened, I stepped into a space unlike anything I’d expected. Not the cold, modernist showcase typical of billionaire penthouses, but a warm, wood–paneled sanctuary with floor–to–ceiling bookshelves and comfortable leather furniture. Classical music played softly in the background. The wall of windows offered a breathtaking view of Manhattan at sunset, the city transformed into gold and shadow.
Alexander stood by a small bar cart, his back to me. He’d removed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, looking more approachable than I’d ever seen him.
“Scotch? Wine? Something else?” he asked without turning
“Answers,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.
He turned then, a slight smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Straight to business. One of the many things I admire about you.”
I tossed the folder onto his coffee table. Papers spilled out, financial records, surveillance reports, market manipulation evidence, all documenting his shadow campaign against Rose and Stefan.
“Explain this,” I demanded, remaining standing even as he gestured toward a seat. “Explain why you’ve been secretly helping destroy Rose and Stefan for the past year without telling me.”
Alexander studied me for a long moment, then moved to a bookshelf and pulled out a small wooden box. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning.”
He placed the box on the table between us and finally, I sat down across from him. He opened it carefully, removing what looked like a hospital ID bracelet, faded and worn.
“Boston Memorial Hospital. Five years ago.” He set the bracelet gently on that changed everything.”
What
top of the red papers. “The night
s have to do with Rose and
I stared at the plastic band, confusion replacing some of my anger. does Stefan?”
“Everything.” Alexander sat opposite me, his eyes never leaving my face. “Five years ago, I was in a car accident on the Massachusetts Turnpike. Multiple vehicles. Three fatalities. I was trapped in the wreckage of my car, overlooked by first responders dealing with more visible victims.”
A chill ran through me as fragments of memory stirred, a rainy night, flashing emergency lights, a medical conference in Boston I’d attended alone because my parents was too busy with work and perfect Rose.
“I was bleeding internally,” Alexander continued. “The doctors later said I had minutes left, at most. Until someone insisted they check the less damaged vehicles. Someone who refused to leave until every person was accounted for.”
My breath caught. “That was you? In the black sedan?”
Alexander nodded, something soft and vulnerable crossing his face. “That was me. And you were the one who found me. Who rode in the ambulance. Who gave her information as emergency contact when no family came forward.”
+25 BONUS
Chapter 71
The memory crystallized, the barely conscious man, face bloody and unrecognizable. The hospital forms I’d filled out while waiting for news of his condition. The nurses telling me he had no visitors, no one asking about him.
“I stayed in Boston three extra days,” I whispered, the past rushing back. “I visited your room. Read to you while you were unconscious.”
“RISING EX WIFE: Love Me Again Mrs Graves,” Alexander said softly. “You said it was your favorite and the Author Annypen, was also your favorite”
Tears stung my eyes unexpectedly. “I never knew your name. The hospital just had a case number. And when I had to return to New York, to my family, I…”
“You left flowers. And a note.” Alexander reached into the box again, removing a faded piece of hospital stationery. “Whoever you are, I hope you heal completely. Someone is thinking of you, even if you’re alone right now.‘!!
My throat tightened at the sight of my own handwriting from years ago. “I don’t understand. If that was you, why didn’t you tell me when we met?”
Alexander moved to the window, gazing out at the darkening city. “After I recovered, I tried to find you. All I had was a name, Camille Lewis, and the knowledge that you’d attended a medical conference in Boston. It took months, but I finally tracked you down.”
He turned back to me, his expression both tender and pained. “I came to New York, intent on thanking the woman who’d saved my life. But when I arrived…”
“I was married,” I finished for him, understanding dawning.
“To Stefan Rodriguez. Living what seemed to be a perfect life with a successful husband and budding design career.” Alexander’s smile held no bitterness, only a gentle resignation. “It didn’t seem right to intrude on that life, to complicate it with a stranger’s gratitude.”
“So you left?” The thought of how different things might have been made my heart ache.
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