Love Unspoken

Without a backward glance, Alexander departed. The doctor released a weary sigh, sinking into a chair. His gaze fell upon Quinn, who remained unconscious, and a look of pity crossed his face.

Upon reaching the club, Alexander headed straight for the ladies' room, where he placed a call to Getty. A few minutes later, Getty emerged, her steps unsteady. The sight of Alexander brought a rush of relief, and she flung herself into his arms, tears welling in her eyes.

"Alexander, thank God you're here," she sobbed. "I might not have made it back tonight without you. If you hadn't come, I'd be too ashamed to face you again. I'd have rather died."

Alexander held her upright, his voice stern. "Stop talking nonsense. I'll take you home."

Clinging to his neck, Getty asked in a coy tone, "Are you afraid of me dying?"

Alexander looked down at her. Getty's makeup was impeccably done, her lips a vibrant red. She looked enchanting yet not gaudy, like a mischievous fairy. But all Alexander said was, "Don't wear such heavy makeup when you're out late at night."

Getty's mood deflated at his words. She buried her face in his chest. "Alexander, I feel awful."

"Stop fussing," he replied, asking, "Where did you park?"

Without waiting for an answer, he carried her to the parking lot and gently placed her in the back seat. As he was about to walk away, Getty impulsively grabbed his tie and pulled him back. "Alexander..." Her gaze was intense, her eyes bewitchingly magnetic.

Alexander remained impassive. Gathering her courage, Getty leaned in closer, but Alexander firmly grasped her hand and pulled his tie free.

"Alexander!" Getty's heart pounded in her chest.

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Alexander had already stepped out of the car, adjusting his tie. His eyes held a warning. "Don't stoop to such low tactics."

Having made his point, he shut the car door sharply and moved to the driver's seat.

Getty lay in the back, her mind a whirl. 'It's true that the producer was interested in me, but he hadn't slipped me anything-it was all my doing... I just wanted to use the opportunity to get to Alexander, and I had planned to let the producer take the fall if needed.'

She hadn't expected Alexander to see right through her. The realization filled Getty with a mix of hatred, annoyance, and most of all, heartache.

To others, it might seem unbelievable. Alexander was always doting on her, holding her close, showering her with public affection, and even occasionally staying over at her place. He would turn down other women, saying his girlfriend would get upset. Getty would spitefully turn them away, and he would indulge her every time.

Even when it came to high society ladies, Getty had the audacity to hit them, and Alexander would later personally apologize. To outsiders, he seemed utterly smitten with her.

But Getty knew the truth-over the years, he hadn't laid a hand on her. Not once.

Although she knew that he loved no one but himself, Getty couldn't comprehend how much, if any, he cared for her aside from his self-love.

Perhaps it was the alcohol hitting her, but Getty couldn't help but start crying in the back seat. Her tears turned into a tantrum.

"Alexander, do you even love me?" she cried. "Why are you so cold to me?! I hate you. You're such a jerk! Falling for you was the worst luck of my life!"NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

As she sobbed and pounded on the back of his seat, Alexander remained unmoved, driving calmly as she wept behind him.

"Say something..." Getty's crying turned to desperation. "Do you love me?"