Alexander, you made it!

Isabella Rossi's voice was a shaky whisper, her body trembling against his. Her eyes were wide pools of residual terror. I was so frightened. I truly believed that was the end. Oh, Alexander... I'm just so relieved you're here.

Alexander Blackwood pulled her quivering form closer. A wave of profound sorrow darkened his gaze.

My apologies for not arriving sooner, he breathed, the words a soft murmur near her ear.

His fingers gently swept a stray strand of hair from Isabella's forehead. I should never have left your side, he stated, the weight of his guilt evident in his tone.

Isabella clung to him desperately. Silent, relentless tears soaked into the fine fabric of his shirt.

Alexander adjusted his hold, his attention sharpening as he noticed her tightly clenched fist. Isabella, your hand. What happened?

Her grip only tightened. Her voice was raw. They drugged me. I had to stay conscious. I used a knife. I cut my palm.

A violent rage ignited in Alexander's eyes. He envisioned tearing Margaret Blackwood apart with his bare hands.

He deeply regretted ever allowing Isabella to assist with Margaret's birthday preparations.

But self-recrimination would have to wait. Isabella's needs were paramount.

Hold on, Isabella. We're leaving for the hospital immediately, he commanded.

A surge of protective urgency propelled him into action. He lifted her effortlessly into his arms and moved swiftly from the lounge.

Isabella rested her head weakly against his chest. His familiar scent enveloped her, a calming anchor in the storm of her fear. Her eyelids fluttered. Alexander... she whispered.

Just speaking his name brought a fragile sense of security.

Alexander looked down, his brow furrowing deeply. His concern spiked when he saw her pupils beginning to lose focus.

Isabella! Stay awake! Look at me! We're going to the hospital now! His voice was sharp, laced with desperate urgency.

Despite her struggle, a profound exhaustion pulled at her. Her eyelids became impossibly heavy.

Resistance was futile. She surrendered, darkness claiming her consciousness.

Her muddled thoughts failed to register the astonishing fact: Alexander, who was always confined to his wheelchair, was now walking with strong, determined strides.

Explations were a luxury for later. Her safety was his only mission.

Cradling her protectively, Alexander hurried through the lavish lower corridors of the banquet hall.

As they passed, he saw Margaret and her accomplices. They were now restrained and subdued by his security team. Their vile scheme had been彻底 thwarted.

When Margaret saw Alexander striding past, holding the unconscious Isabella, her face contorted with disbelief.

Her eyes scanned Isabella's clothing, searching for any telltale signs.

Despite the smears of blood, the dress showed no disarray. It hadn't been removed.

You retrieved her already? Margaret sneered, her voice dripping with bitter venom. What happened? Didn't Mr. Vance put up a fight? What is wrong with that man?

Wasn't Theodore Vance desperate to get his hands on Isabella?

She had delivered Isabella, drugged and helpless, directly to him.

Any man consumed by lust would have seized the opportunity instantly.

How could his plans have possibly failed?

Mr. Vance? Alexander's voice dropped to a dangerous, low pitch. Which Mr. Vance would that be?

Margaret let out a cold, scornful laugh. Who else could it be but Theodore Vance?

A dark shadow fell over Alexander's features. His brow furrowed in a stormy frown.

The night's sinister events were indeed leading back to Theodore.

A disturbing question surfaced: Did Theodore know he was the secret founder of Aethelgard Industries?

Unfazed by Alexander's growing fury, Margaret continued her taunts. Alexander, don't be naive enough to think this is over because you saved her today. Theodore Vance is not a man who gives up easily. He wants her, and he has no qualms about how he gets her. With the Vance family's power in this city, Isabella doesn't stand a chance of escaping him.