Chapter 286

Alexander cradled Isabella in his arms as he stepped into the sleek black car. Olivia, ever the reliable driver, maneuvered the luxury vehicle away from the Windsor Estates with practiced ease.

Inside, Alexander held Isabella close, his fingers tracing through her soft hair. His chest ached with a pain so sharp it stole his breath.

He had planned to meet Nathaniel for drinks tonight. But the moment he walked through the door, the scene that greeted him shattered his composure.

The words Margaret had spoken—the cruel, cutting accusations—played over in his mind. The sight of those scars on Isabella's arms, fresh and angry, sent a wave of icy fury through his veins. It was as if his blood had turned to shards of glass, slicing through him with every heartbeat.

This pain was different.

When he had lost Seraphina, it had hurt. But that was a dull, distant ache compared to this.

He exhaled sharply, resting his jaw against the top of Isabella's head, his burning eyes closing briefly.

I promised you, Isabella. I swore I'd protect you.

And Alexander Kingsley never broke his promises.

"Mr. Kingsley," Olivia's voice was quiet but firm as she glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "Where to next?"

Alexander hesitated.

Yes, he had declared in front of Gabrielle that he was taking Isabella away. But that didn’t mean he could just bring her back to his penthouse like this.

If Nathaniel found out, he’d skin him alive.

"Isabella," he murmured, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "I can take you to see Nathaniel. Or maybe your sister—Lillian. You could stay with her tonight. How does that sound?"

No response.

Her brow was pinched in pain, her fingers pressed tightly against her left ear.

"Isabella? Isabella?"

He called her name again, but she didn’t react.

"All I hear is... pain," she whispered.

"Where does it hurt?"

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his. The imprint of Gabrielle’s slap still marked her cheek, her tear-filled eyes wide and heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Alexander," she said softly. "I’m sorry. I know you’re speaking to me, but I can’t hear you."

"You can’t hear me?" His pulse spiked. "Why not?"

She uncurled her fingers from her ear—revealing a smear of blood on her palm.

Alexander’s blood ran cold.

"Olivia," he snapped. "Hospital. Now."

Back at The Regal Palace, in one of the private suites, Nathaniel lay on the bed, surrounded by Reginald, Mr. Lockwood, a private physician, and Seraphina. Dominic, who had just finished his shift, had rushed over the moment he heard. He was still in his sleepwear, slippers on despite the winter chill.

The room was thick with tension.

Finally, Seraphina broke the silence. "Well? Take off your shirt."

"In front of everyone?" Nathaniel arched a brow.

"What are you afraid of?" she shot back, her sharp gaze unflinching. "Unless you’ve got something to hide?"

Dominic snorted.

Nathaniel’s lips twitched. "It’s not that. I just don’t think this requires an audience. A little medicine, and you by my side—that’s more than enough."

Seraphina’s fingers curled into fists. If there was a school for shamelessness, Nathaniel would be its founder.

"Right," Reginald interjected smoothly. "We’re just crowding him. Dr. Lockwood and Seraphina can handle this. The rest of us should step out."

Nathaniel smirked. "Exactly. Dr. Lockwood, you can leave the supplies. I only need Seraphina."

The knowing glances exchanged around the room made Seraphina’s blood boil.

When they were finally alone, the air between them was heavy.

"Take it off," she ordered.

Nathaniel obeyed, wincing as he tried to peel the blood-soaked fabric from his wounds.

A performance.

This pain was nothing compared to what he’d endured in the field. But if a little theatrics earned him even a shred of her concern, he’d play the part.

"Stop." Seraphina reached out, her fingers brushing his. "Let me."

Nathaniel immediately covered her hand with his, warmth seeping into her skin.

"As you wish."

She pulled away sharply. "Why do you listen to me? We’re not—"

"Lie down."

He complied, stretching out on the bed.

The sight of his torn shirt, the wounds beneath crusted with blood, made her stomach twist. Her vision blurred.

"Does it scare you?" he asked quietly, watching her.

"It’s fine. Stay still."

She grabbed the scissors from the bedside table, carefully cutting away the ruined fabric. Nathaniel’s gaze darkened as he studied her—the way her hands moved with precision, the way her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Seraphina," he murmured.

She ignored him, applying antiseptic with more force than necessary.

He hissed but didn’t pull away. "You remind me of someone."

"Who?"

"I don’t know."

"How can you not know?"

"Because I truly don’t remember."

His eyes drifted to the window, lost in memory. A figure from his time in the peacekeeping forces—stubborn, relentless.

Seraphina’s pulse hammered in her throat.

Luckily, he couldn’t see her face.

"We were given an impossible mission," he continued. "Extract hostages from a Zenithia stronghold and escort them to the Windhelm Embassy. A hundred men against an army. A suicide run."

He laughed bitterly. "If it wasn’t for Paloma—if she hadn’t dragged me back to camp, if she hadn’t forced me to keep fighting—I wouldn’t be here."

"Paloma?" Her voice wavered.

"Yes. I never learned her real name. She wore a white coat, a mask covering most of her face. Only her eyes were visible."

Seraphina liked the name.

"When I woke up, she was gone. Vanished."

Nathaniel exhaled. "I’ve searched for her ever since. But no matter what connections I used, no trace."

Her hands trembled as she smoothed ointment over his wounds.

He remembered.

"Just now, when you were tending to me," he said softly, "it felt familiar. Like her."

"Sounds like you’ve had plenty of women on your mind over the years," she forced out, teasing. "Weren’t you still with Cassandra back then?"

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened.

"Military life must’ve been lonely. I’m sure you found ways to cope."

"Seraphina." A warning.

"Maybe if you’d found this Paloma sooner, you could’ve had a little wartime romance."

"Don’t mock her." His voice turned sharp. "I owe her my life. My feelings for her are nothing but respect. You can insult me all you want—but not her."