Love Unspoken

Alexander's words were calm and measured. "It's all a misunderstanding," he said.

Wayne scoffed, his voice laced with derision. "Misunderstanding? Seems like you're getting too big for your boots!" With a disdainful flick of his sleeve, he brushed past Alexander and ascended the stairs.

The glance he cast back at Alexander was devoid of any fatherly warmth. It was a frigid stare, as it had always been. Wayne was a man who rationed his praise, even when their business was thriving, he would not utter a word of commendation. Yet, when troubles surfaced, he was quick to lay the blame squarely on Alexander's shoulders, greeting him with nothing more than icy glares and furrowed brows.

Alexander, however, remained unfazed by these harsh words. He watched Wayne's retreating figure with an indifferent gaze before turning away.

He moved towards the two servants who were still kneeling in punishment, their faces contorted in barely endurable pain.

As Alexander approached, they pleaded for mercy. "Sir, spare us, please! We were only following orders; we're not to blame..." "Yes, Sir, please, let us go!"

"Stay kneeling," was all Alexander said before he turned and walked away, their pleas for clemency falling on deaf ears.

...

Quinn had a restless night, her sleep disturbed by the throbbing pain in her knee and a stinging sensation on her face. By midnight, the pain had intensified, especially under the covers where the wounds felt hot and itchy.

In a fit of restlessness, she threw off the blanket and opened a window, letting the cool night air soothe the burning sensation on her knee.

However, this act brought on a cold the following day. No fever, just a persistent runny nose.

Alexander had not returned. Quinn, dragging her painful knee, made her way downstairs and was surprised to find breakfast on the table.

A casserole bowl sat heavily on the table, a note scrawled in Alexander's handwriting tucked beneath it. His handwriting was as decipherable as hieroglyphs, but after careful scrutiny, she made out the message: Eat well and rest, and don't go outside.

The note advised against venturing outside, but in her current state, she had no intention of leaving the house anyway.

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Quinn sat down at the table, tasting the food and recognizing the familiar flavor of restaurant cuisine.

After eating, she had nothing left to do but curl up on the couch and watch TV.

Ever since Alexander had begun promoting Getty, she was everywhere on the screen: endorsements, entertainment news with other celebrities.

Flicking through the channels, Quinn found that the only way to escape Getty's pervasive presence was to switch to cartoons.

As she sat bored at home, the doorbell rang in the afternoon. Quinn's first instinct was to answer it, but remembering Alexander's words, she stayed seated. After a while, she received a message.

Dr. Hughes: [Quinn, are you home? Alexander sent me to check your wounds.]

Upon seeing the message, Quinn pursed her lips, and finally, she rose to let the doctor in..

Dr. Hughes greeted her with a warm smile. "Good afternoon, Quinn."

Quinn nodded and stepped aside to let him in.

Doctor Miller entered, carrying his medical bag. "Quinn, where did you get hurt this time? You can't keep pushing your body like this," he said as he walked towards the couch. Setting down his bag, he glanced at Quinn's face. The swelling had subsided, but several red scratches and inflamed skin remained.

Assuming it was Alexander's doing, he frowned in disapproval. "This Alexander... perhaps I should lay your situation out for him!" Unable to contain his concern any longer, Doctor Miller reached for his phone to call Alexander.