In his study, Alexander was pacing.
He had given Mrs.
Ahn more than enough time to examine Kelly.
Fifteen minutes.
Twenty, maybe.
What was taking so long?
How many injuries could one woman possibly have?
He was about to head back to his room when his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen.
‘Gate Security.’ “What is it?” he answered, his voice clipped.
“Mr.
Morrowgate, sir.
Your brother, Mr.
King, has just arrived.
He says he’s here to see you.” Alexander’s jaw tightened.
“Now?” “Yes, sir.
He’s already on his way to the main house.” Alexander ended the call without another word, his mind racing.
‘King?
Here?
Now?’ It was barely nine o’clock.
Just three hours ago, they had faced off in that grimy bar, with King handing over Kelly like a cat offering a wounded bird to its owner.
And now he was here?
In Alexander’s home?
At nine o’clock at night?
This was unprecedented.
Alexander and King had an unspoken agreement—they avoided each other.
They moved in different circles, attended different events, breathed different air.
When they were forced into the same room, the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
But they never ‘visited’ each other.
Never crossed the threshold of each other’s homes.
So why now?
Alexander ran a hand through his hair, frustration building in his chest.
He had planned to go back to his room, to check on Kelly, to find out from Mrs.
Ahn what the hell was happening.
But now his brother was here, and Alexander knew that if he didn’t go greet him, King would use it as ammunition—proof that Alexander was rude, uncivilized, unfit to lead the family name.
‘Fine.
I’ll deal with King first.
Then I’ll deal with Kelly.’ He straightened his jacket, schooled his features into a mask of cold indifference, and walked out of his study.
****** King had already made himself comfortable.
He was lounging on the leather couch in the living room, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of Alexander’s finest whiskey in his hand.
He looked like he owned the place—like he belonged there more than Alexander did.
His charcoal suit was immaculate, not a single wrinkle, his dark hair perfectly styled, his smile infuriatingly serene.
“Alexander,” King said, raising his glass in a mock toast.
“So good of you to join me.
Your whiskey collection is impressive, as always.
I helped myself.” Alexander didn’t sit.
He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, his eyes cold.
“What are you doing here, King?” King took a slow, deliberate sip of his whiskey, savoring it before answering.
“Is it a crime to visit my only brother?” “Don’t play games with me.” Alexander’s voice cracked through King’s smug act like a whip.
“You and I both know we don’t do family visits.” His gaze never left his brother’s.
“You haven’t set foot in this house for months.
The only time you show up is when Grandfather drags you here.
Otherwise, you’d rather be anywhere else.” He took a slow step forward, his expression hard as stone.
“So I’ll ask you one last time…” His jaw tightened.
“What are you doing here?” King’s smile didn’t waver.
He set his glass down on the coffee table, the clink of crystal against wood echoing in the silent room.
“Can’t a man be concerned about his future sister-in-law?” “She’s none of your concern.” “Oh, but she is.” King leaned forward, his eyes glinting with something dark and knowing.
“You see, I found her first tonight.
I held her in my arms.
I felt how light she was, how fragile.
And I couldn’t help but wonder…” He paused, letting the silence stretch.
“How did she get those bruises, Alexander?
Did you give them to her?” The accusation hung in the air like poison.
Alexander’s fists clenched at his sides.
“How dare you.” “I’m just asking questions, little brother.
You have a temper.
Everyone knows that.
And she’s your fiancée—a woman no one has ever seen or heard of until a few days ago.
It makes a man wonder what goes on behind closed doors.” “She fell,” Alexander said through gritted teeth.
“She tripped and fell.
It happens.” King raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.
“Tripped and fell.
On what?
A set of brass knuckles?” “That’s enough.” Alexander’s voice dropped to a dangerous low.
“I don’t have time for your mind games today, King.
I have important things to do.
So if you’re not going to tell me why you’re really here, then I suggest you finish your drink and leave.” King stared at him for a long moment, his expression hard to read.
Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.
“Always so direct.
It’s one of your most charming qualities, Alexander.
And one of your greatest weaknesses.” He stood up, smoothing the front of his jacket.
“Very well.
I’ll go.
But before I do…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object, tossing it to Alexander.
Alexander caught it instinctively, glancing down at what lay in his palm.
It was a earring.
A small, silver hoop with a tiny crescent moon charm dangling from it.
“What is this?” Alexander asked, his voice flat.
“Ask your fiancée,” King said, his smile widening.
“She dropped it when I was holding her.
I thought you might want it back.” Alexander’s blood ran cold.
He stared at the earring, then back at his brother.
‘When had Kelly worn earrings?’ He didn’t remember seeing them.
But more importantly—’how did King know she had dropped it unless he had been paying very close attention to her?
Very, very close attention?’ Alexander’s grip tightened around the small silver hoop until the edges bit into his palm.
He wanted to lunge at his brother, to wipe that smug smile off his face, to demand to know what game King was playing.
But he held himself back.
Barely.
“Get out,” Alexander said, his voice low, his teeth gritted.
King chuckled softly, shaking his head as if Alexander were a child throwing a tantrum.
“Always so dramatic, little brother.” Alexander’s jaw clenched harder.
At this point he really wanted to strangle his brother and be done with him.
****** Meanwhile, in the master bedroom, Kelvin was waking up.
The first thing he registered was the pain.
A dull, throbbing ache that pulsed through his face, his ribs, his shoulder.
Every breath was a reminder that someone had used him as a punching bag.
The second thing he registered was the ceiling.
This wasn’t the stained ceiling of the dingy little bar where he’d been drinking.
Instead, an impossibly high vaulted ceiling stretched above him, framed by intricate crown molding.
A crystal chandelier hung at its center, catching the soft light and scattering it across the room in countless shimmering flecks.
Kelvin’s eyes snapped open.
He was in a bed.
A massive, luxurious bed with dark silk sheets and pillows so soft they felt like clouds.
The room around him was enormous—larger than his room at the Morrowgate estate—with dark wood furniture, heavy velvet curtains, and paintings on the walls that probably cost more than he would earn in a lifetime.
‘Where the hell am I?’ To be continued…