Chapter 265

At Alexander's insistence, Daniel and Sebastian transferred him to another hospital.

The private room was silent except for the steady beep of monitors. Alexander lay on the pristine white bed, an IV drip feeding into his veins.

Overnight, he'd become gaunt, shadows carving hollows beneath his striking cheekbones. Yet even now, weakened and pale, his beauty was infuriating—enough to make Daniel grind his teeth.

"You're a menace," Daniel drawled, slouching in the visitor's chair with arms crossed behind his head. "Even half-dead, you'd probably seduce Death herself. Some men are just born sinners."

Alexander cracked one eye open, his dark gaze simmering with irritation. "If I wanted a eulogy, I'd have hired a poet."

"You're welcome. I'm the only friend brave enough to mock you while you're bedridden."

A dry chuckle escaped Alexander's lips before dissolving into a wince. He pressed a hand to his ribs. "Remind me why I tolerate you?"

"Because no one else puts up with your brooding." Daniel leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Seriously though, you scared the hell out of me. I've already called in the top specialists. If they can't fix you, I'll drag every doctor from here to Zurich. Money moves mountains—I'll buy you a new set of lungs if I have to."

Alexander exhaled sharply. "Dramatic."

"Damn right. And if you end up paralyzed? Congrats, you'll be my new arm candy. Wife or not, you're stuck with me."

Alexander's eyebrow twitched. "I'd rather haunt you as a ghost."

Daniel grinned, but the levity didn't reach his eyes. Beneath the banter, fear lingered. "Just don't die, Kingsley. Your family's pack of vultures would pick your empire clean—and take me down with them."

A shadow crossed Alexander's face.

He remembered the moment blood filled his mouth, the world narrowing to two faces: his grandfather... and Isabella.

His chest tightened.

Was she awake? Had her fever broken? Did her injuries from the cliff ache as much as his?

Every thought led back to her.

Alexander clenched the sheets, fighting the urge to bolt from this bed and find her.

Had he truly fallen for her?

The realization hit like a bullet.

His pulse stuttered.

"Whoa." Daniel frowned. "You're flushed. Running a fever?"

He reached out, only for Alexander to smack his hand away.

"Ow! Still got fight in you, huh?" Daniel rubbed his knuckles, grinning.

A sharp knock interrupted them.

Before either could respond, the door flew open.

Sebastian rushed in, breathless. "Sir—"

A cold, crystalline voice cut through the room.

"Alexander Kingsley. You nearly die saving me, then vanish without a word?"

Isabella strode in, a vision in ice-blue silk and a tailored white coat. Her cheeks were flushed with health, her gaze sharp as shattered glass. No trace remained of the woman who'd trembled in his arms last night.

Alexander's throat went dry.

She stopped at the foot of his bed, arms crossed. "Well? Cat got your tongue?"

Sebastian cleared his throat. "Ms. Sinclair, we transferred Mr. Kingsley to avoid worrying you during your recovery."

"Worry?" Isabella scoffed. "About him?"

Sebastian dared a smile. "Yet here you are."

Her glare could've frozen lava.

Alexander hid a smirk.

"Out," she ordered.

Sebastian hesitated.

"All of you."

Like scolded schoolboys, the men filed out.

The door clicked shut.

Isabella marched to Alexander's bedside. "Your medical report says blunt force trauma. Delayed treatment could've killed you."

"But it didn't." His voice was rough velvet. "I've survived worse."

Her fingers twitched. Memories of Zenithia—gunfire, adrenaline, his body shielding hers—flashed between them.

"I don't need your martyrdom," she snapped. "If you're hurt, tell me. Hiding helps no one."

"Sebastian explained—"

"Your back." She cut him off. "Show me."

Alexander arched a brow.

"Now," she demanded. "Unless the great Alexander Kingsley is shy?"

A slow smile curved his lips. "You've seen me shirtless before."

"And you refused to let me touch you then." The words slipped out. Pink stained her cheeks.

The air thickened.

Alexander unbuttoned his gown with deliberate slowness, revealing sculpted muscle and old scars.

Isabella's breath hitched.

"Lie down," she ordered, voice uneven.