“This is your room, ma’am. If you need anything, you can reach us by phone over there,” the maid said, pointing toward the telephone on the nightstand.
Aleandra nodded in understanding. “All right, thank you.”
The maid returned her nod with a smile before taking her leave and exiting the room.
Once the door closed, Aleandra was left alone in the spacious, magnificent room filled with luxurious furniture—yet none of it was enough to make her feel safe or comfortable.
She sat on the edge of the bed, still thinking about what Lucy had said when she welcomed her earlier.
“Or could it be that Issac really isn’t interested in you?”
Aleandra let out a quiet breath. For some reason, her thoughts returned to Issac.
To what had happened at the hotel when things had suddenly turned urgent, and to Issac’s condition.
Aleandra blinked, then slowly shook her head.
“Why am I thinking about him?”
She was used to worrying about other people before thinking about herself. It wasn’t because Issac was her husband. Their marriage was too foreign to make her feel any real bond with him. Yet Aleandra found herself remembering the chain of events that had followed their wedding.
The hotel lights that had suddenly gone out. Ben, who had looked rushed. The helicopter that had already been prepared. Then Lucy. All of it was starting to make Aleandra feel that something was wrong.
“I can’t care too much.”
She rose from the bed. “Especially not about this family.”
After taking a deep breath, Aleandra went into the bathroom to clean herself up. Some time later, she emerged with her hair still wet. Her body was wrapped only in a white bathrobe. She walked while drying her hair with a towel.
But then she heard the door. The woman stopped at once. The bedroom door opened.
She turned quickly.
“Sir?”
The man entered and closed the door behind him. But it wasn’t his arrival that made Aleandra freeze in place. It was the state he was in.
Issac was still wearing his white shirt. But now it was covered in red stains. Blood.
Before Aleandra could say anything, Issac suddenly lowered his hand. That was when she saw it. Fresh blood was slowly dripping from between his fingers.
“You… you’re hurt?”
Issac didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on Aleandra instead—from her still-wet hair, to her face, and down to the bathrobe she was wearing.
Aleandra immediately pulled the front of her robe tighter.
“Good.” That was the only word Issac said, and Aleandra couldn’t even understand what he meant.
“What?” Aleandra instinctively adjusted her robe, as if trying to cover the parts of her body it left exposed, though the effort was futile since the robe only reached her knees.
Issac remained silent. His expression was impossible to read.
“What’s wrong with you, Sir?” Alea asked again. “Where did all that blood come from?”
Issac finally stepped closer, but Aleandra took one step back.
Still, Issac kept approaching until only a few steps separated them.
Alea held her breath when he stopped in front of her. They were so close now that she could smell the faint scent of blood mingling with Issac’s distinctive body fragrance.
“Wh-why are you looking at me like that?” Aleandra asked, trying to keep herself composed.
“Thank God you’re not hurt,” Issac finally said. “But why are you still awake?”
Aleandra frowned. “That’s what you wanted to ask? Look at yourself.”