The silence in the Sterling mansion the next morning was profound, almost deafening. Alexander had already left, his presence a fleeting memory, marked only by the faint scent of his cologne in the grand, empty spaces. Claire came downstairs feeling the phantom ache in her legs, a physical reminder of the previous night's ordeal. Her first instinct, overriding all else, was to call the hospital. Her fingers trembled slightly as she dialed Evelyn's number.
"Mom?" Claire asked, her voice tinged with anxiety. "Is everything alright?"
"Oh, Claire, dear," Evelyn's voice, though still weary, held a distinct note of relief, and even a subtle pride. "Your father is stable. And Brenda, just finished arranging for a special, private room. It's truly marvelous, like a suite. The doctors are very pleased with his progress this morning."
Claire let out a long, shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. A wave of profound relief washed over her, light and expansive. Her father was truly okay. Brenda's efficiency, and by extension Alexander's unseen influence, was undeniably impactful. While the thought of being indebted to Alexander chafed, the immediate relief outweighed the resentment. Feeling lighter than she had in days, Claire quickly dressed, opting for comfortable but neat clothes. She then arranged for a Sterling driver to take her back to Florine Hospital.
Upon arriving, she was led to a spacious, sunlit private room. There, her father lay, looking significantly better than he had the previous night. His eyes fluttered open as she approached, a weak but genuine smile touching his lips.
"Dad," Claire whispered, tears welling in her eyes as she gently squeezed his hand.
"Claire, my dear," he murmured, his voice hoarse but steady. "I'm fine, really. You shouldn't have worried." His concern for her, even in his own weakness, warmed her heart, a stark contrast to the coldness she often felt elsewhere. She spent the next few hours simply being there, a silent, comforting presence. She watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the slow, steady drip of the IV, and felt a quiet, fragile sense of peace. It was a comfort to be able to offer him this small measure of care, despite her own swirling anxieties.
Later that afternoon, Evelyn found Claire at her father's bedside. "Claire, could we step out for a moment? Perhaps grab a coffee in the hospital café?" Her tone was unusually solicitous, almost hesitant, a warning bell in Claire's mind.
In the sterile, brightly lit hospital café, Evelyn ordered two coffees, her gaze sweeping over Claire with an unsettling intensity. She took a sip, then set her cup down with a delicate clink.
Evelyn was quiet for a while, stirring her tea slowly. Then, with a glance that tried too hard to seem casual, she spoke.
"You know, Clarie… marriage isn't always about feelings. Sometimes, it's about keeping things in place."
Clarie arched a brow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Evelyn hesitated, then forged ahead, "men like Alexander don't settle unless they see a long-term benefit. If you want to secure your place, you need to give him something to hold on to — something that keeps him tied to you. I was wondering. Have you and Alexander discussed... plans for a child?" Her eyes, sharp and calculating, bored into Claire's. "An heir, you know. The Sterling family expects it. It secures your position, truly. It's how one truly lures a husband, dear."
Claire almost choked on her coffee. The abruptness, the sheer impropriety of the question, and the chilling implication of 'luring' a husband, stunned her. The idea was absurd, terrifying. Their marriage was a contract, a shell. The thought of bringing a child into such a cold, loveless arrangement twisted her stomach. It felt like another sacrifice, another piece of herself she was expected to give away for this alliance.
Evelyn clicked her tongue, a sound of profound disappointment. "Claire, you are being very foolish," she admonished, her voice hardening. "Alexander is a powerful man, and a child would ensure your future. Don't throw away this opportunity with your... idealism."
Her words were a chilling reminder of the transactional nature of their world, and her stepmother's relentless ambition. Claire felt a cold knot tighten in her stomach, a bitter taste in her mouth. She saw Evelyn not as a concerned stepmother, but as a strategist, eager to leverage Claire's body for their family's gain.
The rest of the day was a blur of quiet bedside vigil, hushed conversations with the nurses, and Evelyn's increasingly pointed remarks about her "future duties." By the time Claire finally decided to head back to the mansion, the city was dark, and the night was deep. Brenda, Alexander's assistant, was waiting to drive her. Claire was thankful for the ride, but couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. "Thank you so much, Brenda," Claire said softly, as they drove through the quiet streets. "I feel terrible that you had to come all the way out here so late." Brenda merely offered a polite, professional smile, used to Alexander's demand.
It was almost two in the morning when the limousine pulled up to the Sterling estate. The mansion was dark, save for a few soft security lights. Claire quietly let herself in, the vast halls echoing her soft footsteps. She moved towards her bedroom, her steps slow and heavy. As she passed Alexander's private study, she noticed a sliver of light beneath the door. It was slightly ajar, a faint, almost melodic sound drifting from within. She realized the study window must be open, allowing the music to spill into the quiet hall. Curiosity, mixed with a strange, unbidden concern, urged her closer.
She pushed the door open gently, peering inside. Alexander was there, exactly as she had suspected. He was sprawled on the plush leather sofa, still in his crisp suit, his tie loosened, a discarded glass of amber liquid on the table beside him. His head was tilted back, eyes closed, in what looked like a deep, exhausted sleep. The faint, rhythmic beat of a classical piano piece, low and soothing, drifted from unseen speakers. He had fallen asleep with music on.
Claire hesitated, her gaze softening as she took in his vulnerable pose. Even Alexander Sterling, the unyielding titan, succumbed to exhaustion. The music was a quiet, intimate detail she hadn't associated with him before. A flicker of something akin to empathy stirred within her. She walked further into the room, her footsteps barely audible on the thick carpet. She stood over him for a moment, observing the subtle rise and fall of his chest.
Her hand, almost without conscious thought, reached out towards his shoulder. She gently touched it, a light, tentative pressure intended to rouse him. "Alexander," she whispered, her voice soft, almost hesitant, "Alexander, you should go to bed.... "
Alexander's eyes snapped open instantly, his body tensing, his gaze, sharp and accusatory, fixing on her. He looked startled, almost attacked.
Claire quickly withdrew her hand, startled by his intense reaction. "I'm sorry," she stammered, scrambling to explain. "Your door was a little open, and the music was on. I just... I came to turn it off for you."
Her eyes flickered towards the stereo system. "And I also remembered something. This is for you." She moved to his imposing, dark wood bookshelf, reaching for a slim, official-looking file she had tucked there the previous day. She retrieved it and offered it to him. "Ethan gave this to me yesterday. He said Grandpa asked him to give it to you."
Alexander, however, ignored the file. His eyes, still narrowed, were fixed on her, cold and distant. "Who told you to enter my study when I was not here?" he snapped, his voice low and dangerous, a clear reprimand.
Claire frowned, genuinely taken aback by his question, especially given the circumstances. "Ethan told me it was important," she explained, her voice gaining a touch of indignation. "So, in case you weren't back and it was urgent, I thought it best to place it in your study, where it would be safe."
Alexander, without another word, abruptly turned and walked towards the study door. But as he reached it, he didn't simply exit. He paused, his shoulders hunching slightly, and his right hand reached down, gripping the edge of the doorframe, his knuckles white with visible strain. His breathing seemed to deepen, a subtle tremor running through his powerful frame.
Seeing his unusual behavior, the sudden rigidity and the unexpected show of vulnerability, Claire felt a fresh wave of concern. Her annoyance evaporated, replaced by a genuine fear that something was seriously wrong. She quickly walked a little faster, reaching out and gently touching his left shoulder, her concern overriding her apprehension.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice soft, laced with worry.
Alexander pushed her hand away slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he straightened up, the moment of weakness vanishing. He turned and walked directly to a hidden drawer in his large desk. He pulled it open, revealing a small, discreet compartment, and quickly took out a blister pack of pills. He popped two into his mouth, swallowing them dry, his movements swift and practiced.
Claire watched him, bewildered and worried. "Are you sick?" she asked, the question escaping her lips before she could censor it.
But Alexander ignored her, turning and walking towards the door, past her, intent on leaving the room. Claire, however, stood her ground, blocking his path.
Alexander paused, looking down at her, his face pale, his dark eyes shadowed with a profound weariness. "Claire Hayes," he said, his voice flat, tinged with obvious fatigue, "what do you want?"
Claire swallowed, the lump in her throat returning. The raw exhaustion in his voice was undeniable. "Are you feeling unwell?" she repeated, her voice gentle, persistent.
Alexander sighed, a short, impatient sound. "Is that what you want to know?" he retorted, his voice clipped. "Yes. I am feeling a headache. Is there a problem with that?" His tone implied that her inquiry was an unnecessary intrusion, a weakness he didn't appreciate having exposed. He then walked away, his stride regaining its usual purposeful speed, leaving Claire standing alone in the study.
Claire watched him go, a mix of concern and lingering annoyance swirling within her. She shook her head slightly, murmuring to herself, "Why is he so sensitive like a girl?" The question was an instinctive, frustrated thought, a testament to Alexander's enigmatic and often contradictory nature.