Alexander stepped into his office, the door closing with a soft, decisive click behind him. The room was quiet, the city lights outside casting long, sharp shadows across the polished floor. He didn't sit immediately; instead, he leaned against his desk, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the glittering skyline below.
Noah entered quietly, tablet in hand. "Sir, preliminary traces on Kiera's access have been pulled. We're narrowing down her location."
Alexander nodded once, still facing the window. "Good. Keep me informed. I want to know the moment she moves—or speaks to anyone."
Noah hesitated. "Understood, sir."
Just then, alexander's phone buzzed sharply on the table. Unknown number.
Alexander frowned slightly but picked up.
A shaky voice answered on the other end — Mrs. Hollis, the senior housekeeper who had served the Thornes for years. "Sir—sir, it's Mrs. Hollis," she stammered. "Madam Theresa—she… she's collapsed."
Alexander straightened instantly, his entire body going still. "Collapsed?" His tone was low, steady, but a faint edge cut through it.
"She's at St. Augustine's Hospital, sir," Mrs. Hollis rushed on. "The doctors are with her now—please—"
The line went dead. Alexander was already moving.
*************************
Alexander drove like a man possessed. The city blurred past his windshield—lights, horns, motion—but he barely saw any of it. His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled, his pulse a hard, relentless beat against his ribs.
When he reached St. Augustine's Hospital, he barely remembered parking. He strode through the sliding doors, ignoring the startled glances from staff who recognized him instantly.
"Mr. Thorne," Mrs. Hollis called out, hurrying toward him from the waiting area,Her hands trembled as she clutched her bag.there were two other of his staffs also present.
"What happened?" he demanded, his voice low but edged with strain.
"She… she collapsed in her room," Mrs. Hollis stammered. "One of the staff went to call her for breakfast and found her unconcious,We brought her here right away."
Alexander's jaw tightened. He didn't speak, only ran a hand through his hair.
Moments later, the doctor stepped out, clipboard in hand. He paused when he saw Alexander and gave a slight, respectful bow. "Mr. Thorne."
Alexander's voice was steady, but barely. "How is she..what's wrong with her?"
The doctor hesitated for a beat. "She's stable for now," he said carefully. "But she's suffering from severe emotional stress—depression, possibly triggered by something weighing on her mind. She needs rest… and someone she trusts to talk to her."
For a moment, Alexander said nothing. The words depression and weighing on her mind echoed faintly in his head. Then, quietly, he asked, "Can I see her?"
"off course," the doctor replied.
--------
The sharp scent of antiseptic hung in the air. The rhythmic beeping of the monitor was the only sound filling the quiet room when Alexander stepped inside. For a moment, he didn't move — his gaze fixed on the frail figure lying beneath the crisp white sheets.
Madam Theresa looked small, too small, against the hospital bed. Her silver hair, once always perfectly arranged, was loose around her shoulders, and the IV line that fed into her arm looked wrong — fragile where she had always been formidable.
Alexander's chest tightened as he stepped closer. "Grandmother." he said quietly, voice controlled but carrying the edge of restrained panic.
Her eyes fluttered open at the sound, faintly tired but sharp with recognition. "xander," she whispered. "You came."
He stopped at her bedside, fingers gripping the rail gently, his composure cracked only by the flicker of concern in his eyes. "Of course I came. What happened?"
"Oh, nothing dramatic," she murmured, managing a weak smile. "Just my body reminding me I'm not thirty anymore."
He exhaled through his nose, the faintest sign of disbelief. "You collapsed, Grandmother. That's not nothing."
"I fainted," she corrected softly. "The staff made it sound like I'd been struck down by lightning."
He didn't respond immediately. His jaw clenched — part frustration, part fear. He reached out, adjusting the blanket higher around her shoulders. "You shouldn't be up to anything right now. No meetings. No visitors. No plans."
Her lips curved faintly, and for a moment, her eyes gleamed with that familiar mischief that always meant trouble. "That depends on the kind of plans, my dear boy."
Alexander's gaze sharpened. "You passed out a few hours ago, and you're already plotting something?"
She chuckled weakly, a sound that somehow both warmed and irritated him. "You make it sound scandalous. I simply made a few arrangements. You forget—just because my body tires doesn't mean my mind has."
He leaned slightly closer, voice low. "Arrangements? For what exactly?"
Her eyes softened as she reached for his hand, her thin fingers cool against his skin. "For you, Alexander. For your future. I've watched you run that empire of yours, build it from brilliance and discipline. But brilliance isn't companionship. You've built a fortress around yourself so high, no one can climb it."
He said nothing — only drew back his hand gently, his expression unreadable. "And you think you can fix that from a hospital bed?"
Her smile lingered, faint but certain. "You'd be surprised what I can do from anywhere."
He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. "This isn't how things are done, Grandmother. You can't just—"
"Decide for you?" she finished, her tone amused. "I can. I just did."
His eyes narrowed. "I won't marry just anyone, if that's what this is about."
Her head tilted slightly, calm even as her body weakened. "She isn't just anyone."
His voice hardened. "Who is she?"
Before she could answer, there was a soft knock at the door — followed by the rhythmic tap of heels against tile.
Madam Theresa's lips curved, faint satisfaction flickering through her frail expression. "You'll see," she murmured.
The door opened, and in walked a woman who seemed to bring her own kind of stillness with her. Blonde hair, precise waves catching the light. A fitted beige coat over a silk blouse, crimson heels, and the subtle scent of jasmine and powder that trailed behind her.
"Madam Thorne," she greeted smoothly, voice warm but controlled. "I came as soon as I heard."
"Clarissa," the old woman said softly, her tone filled with quiet affection. "Thank you for coming."
Clarissa smiled, moving closer to the bed. "You should be resting, not entertaining guests."
"I'm only entertaining the useful kind," Theresa replied, a spark of humor in her tone.
Alexander's eyes flicked toward the stranger — assessing, cold, unreadable. "Useful?" he repeated, voice low.
Clarissa turned to him, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Mr. Thorne," she said evenly. "I've heard much about you. I use your company's jewelry — Thorne & Co. — in my runway shows. I'm a designer."
"A designer," he repeated, expression unchanged.
She smiled faintly. "Among other things."
Madam Theresa watched the exchange, amused. "Clarissa is very talented. We've spoken a few times. I think you'll find her quite… suitable."
Alexander's brow arched slightly. "For what?"
Theresa's eyes twinkled. "For conversation. You could use one of those that doesn't involve profit margins or board meetings."
Alexander exhaled, long and slow, before stepping back slightly. "You should be resting, not arranging introductions," he said, his tone returning to that smooth, distant calm. "We'll talk about this later."
Theresa smiled knowingly. "You always say that. And yet, you never do."
He was about to respond when his phone buzzed sharply in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen — the name flashing across it was Noah.
He turned away from the bed to answer, his voice lowering. "Yes?"
Noah's tone on the other end was urgent. "Sir, we've located her. Kiera's inside the company facility. Security caught her trying to access the back exit a few hours ago. She's being held in the internal review wing."
Alexander's gaze darkened, the tension in his shoulders returning immediately. "Is she talking?"
"No, sir. She's been quiet since they brought her in."
A moment of silence. Then his voice came, cold and precise: "Keep her there. I'm on my way."
He ended the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket. His grandmother watched him, her knowing eyes softening.
"Work again," she murmured.
Alexander straightened, smoothing his sleeve. "Something like that."
He leaned briefly toward her bedside, his tone lowering. "Get some rest, Grandmother. I'll see you later."
Before she could reply, he turned and walked toward the door.
Clarissa moved slightly to the side as he passed — expecting at least a glance, a word. But Alexander didn't look at her. Not once. He walked out of the room as if she were no more than part of the décor.
Madam Theresa watched him go, her frail smile returning. "He'll come around," she said softly.
Clarissa glanced at the door he had just exited, her own smile curving, subtle and calculating. "He always does?"
Theresa's eyes gleamed. "No," she whispered, amused. "That's what makes this interesting."