CHAPTER 165: ALEX’S LAST ATTEMPT

Alex watched the entrance silently as Jean, Logan, and Henry exited the hospital building. The trio lingered at the edge of the lot for a moment... serious expressions, hushed conversation. Then, after a nod between them, they climbed into Logan’s car and drove off into the night.

Alex didn’t move until their tail lights disappeared around the bend.

Then slowly, purposefully, he stepped out of the shadows.

His hand reached into his hoodie pocket, pulling out a disposable surgical mask. He slipped it over his face, hiding what little was visible. His eyes, cold and burning with unfiltered rage, never left the glowing windows of the hospital room upstairs.

Her room.

Emma Adams.

"She should have stayed out of it," he muttered, voice low and tight with fury. "You just couldn’t mind your own business, could you, cousin?"

A slow, cruel smile crept over his face as he moved through the side door, blending in with the night staff leaving their shift. No one paid him any mind. No one looked closely.

That was their mistake.

He checked the floor directory. He already knew where she was, but confirmation gave him calm.

ICU. Room 314. End of the corridor.

Alex didn’t plan to be noisy this time. No dramatic speeches. No warnings. No loose ends.

Her story ends tonight.

He vanished into the elevator just as the security camera at the entrance glitched for a second... preparation he had taken care of earlier.

The last thing that could stop him... was time.

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The room was silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the faint whoosh of the oxygen flowing through the mask. Emma lay still... her body bruised, arms wrapped in bandages, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead beneath a mess of hair.

The door creaked open with an eerie quiet.

A shadow slipped in.

Alex stepped closer, step by step, like a predator stalking a sleeping prey. The pale light illuminated just enough of his eyes to reveal the cold detachment in them. He didn’t pause. He didn’t hesitate.

He reached down and gently, almost tenderly, brushed the hair from Emma’s face.

"You always thought you were smarter than me," he whispered near her ear, voice laced with venom. "But now look at you... pathetic and broken."

His hand reached up.

Gripped the edge of her oxygen mask.

One pull.

Just one pull and it’s over.

But the moment the mask slipped halfway off her face, a piercing alarm shrieked from the monitor. Her oxygen levels plunged in an instant. The beeping turned into a desperate, continuous siren.

Red lights flashed on the hallway monitor.

"No..." Alex hissed, startled, backing away.

Footsteps. Running. Voices shouting.

"Room 314! We’re losing her!"

"Get the crash cart!"

Panicked, Alex shoved the oxygen mask roughly back onto her face and ducked toward the other side of the bed, just as two nurses burst into the room, followed by a doctor.

"Her vitals are crashing... fix the mask!"

"Who opened the door? Was someone in here?"

Alex was already gone.

A side door opened for staff entry... barely used. He slid through it and disappeared into the emergency stairwell, sprinting downward, his heart pounding in his ears, not from guilt or fear... but from rage.

So close.

Back in the room, the team stabilized Emma’s oxygen and checked her vitals. One nurse swore she saw something... someone moving... when they entered.

"Call security. Check the cameras. Something’s wrong."

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The iron gates of the Adams estate slowly creaked open as Logan’s black SUV rolled in. The sky hung heavy with clouds, casting long shadows over the immaculately trimmed hedges and polished marble steps.

Jean sat silently beside Logan, her fingers clutched tightly in her lap, knuckles white. Henry was in the backseat, unusually quiet... his gaze flickering between Jean and the looming mansion.

As the car came to a stop, Jean exhaled slowly.

Henry was the first to speak, "You sure about this?"

Jean looked out the window at the estate, her lips pursed. "I need answers. Emma tried to tell me something... and nearly died for it."

Logan’s jaw tightened. "We’re not separating. Not even for a second. If this goes sideways, we leave."

Jean didn’t argue. For once, she didn’t have the strength.

They stepped out.

The butler waiting at the door bowed his head stiffly. "Mr. Morris is in the drawing room. I’ll let him know you are here."

Jean didn’t listen, "no need, I want to talk to him now."

The butler hesitated with a flicker of fear in his eyes, "But Ms Adams..."

"It’s Mrs. Kingsley! For you and for the world." Jean shut him up. She hates it now... to be called an Adams.

Logan smiled and as if to give Jean more power he put his hands on her back.

As they entered, the warmth of the house felt suffocating. The scent of aged wood and fresh orchids clashed with the suffocating tension in the air.

Jean remembered the last time she was here... it was all fake pleasantries and cold smiles. Now, there were no masks left.

Morris Adams stood at the fireplace, drink in hand, his back to them. He didn’t turn even as the butler announced hurriedly in panic, "Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley and guest." And quickly left.

"You brought a whole entourage?" Morris said bitterly, swirling his drink. "What for, Jean? Moral support? Or bodyguards for the snake inside you?"

Jean’s breath hitched. Logan stepped forward calmly, voice cold, "We’re here because we want the truth. About Emma. About everything."

Morris finally turned.

His eyes... once always calm with false charm... now burned with grief, red rimmed and heavy. "You want the truth? Then start with your wife!" he spat. "She brought chaos to my daughter’s life the moment she showed up!"

Jean stepped forward, controlled. "Emma got into that accident because she knew something. Something you’re still protecting. If you really loved her, you’d help us uncover it."