The War God Alpha's Arranged Bride (Evelyn and Alexander) novel Chapter 150

**Steps Along Forgotten Roads**
**By Sophia Reed**
**Chapter 150: Letting The Tears Fall**

[Third-Person’s POV]

Alexander resolved to give Evelyn the space she needed, waiting patiently for the sedative to wear off, allowing her to awaken on her own terms. Until that moment arrived, however, he was determined to remain vigilant, watching over her like a hawk, ensuring she drifted peacefully through the night. The sun was teasing the horizon, its first light threatening to break through at any second, and he knew their time in this wretched place was drawing to a close.

It gnawed at him, the thought that they had endured an entire night in that hellhole, but the circumstances had been beyond their control. The Alpha felt a sense of relief wash over him as he stood within the familiar confines of his own territory, where he could finally breathe without the weight of danger pressing down on him.

While he awaited the return of the staff with the chair he had requested, Alexander found himself wandering over to the windows, adjusting the blinds in a futile attempt to shield them from the encroaching dawn. Despite the exhaustion that clung to him like a heavy cloak, sleep was a distant thought—his mind was racing, too cluttered with thoughts and emotions to allow him the luxury of rest.

He felt a bubbling rage within him, a thirst for vengeance that simmered just beneath the surface. Yet, overshadowing that anger was a feeling he had long buried, one that clawed its way back to the forefront of his mind with relentless tenacity.

Pure anguish.

The sound of a gentle knock at the door broke through his spiraling thoughts, and he turned to see the staff entering quietly, placing the chair beside the bed with utmost care. He locked the door behind them, ensuring their solitude, and in that moment, he granted himself permission to do something he hadn’t dared to do in years.

Tears streamed down his face, unrestrained and wild. The pent-up sorrow he had been suppressing came crashing forth like a dam bursting, flooding his eyes and spilling down his cheeks in hot, painful trails. Each drop felt like a dagger, piercing the hollow ache in his chest where his heart resided.

He made no move to wipe them away; it would have been a futile gesture, as the tears continued to flow, eroding the walls he had built around his emotions.

Alexander had earned a reputation far and wide as the Ruthless Warlord, a figure of unyielding confidence and cold determination. He had tasted victory many times, each conquest adding to his legacy. Yet, in that moment of vulnerability, he found it impossible to identify with the fierce persona he had cultivated.

He felt as if he had been struck down in the most painful of ways, haunted by his failures like a restless spirit.

He viewed himself as a failure.

He hadn’t reached her in time, and for that, she had paid the ultimate price.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered through his tears. “Please, forgive me.”

Desperation laced his voice as he begged for her forgiveness, even though he questioned whether he truly deserved it. Through the haze of his tears, he observed Evelyn’s serene form, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. It was a soothing sight, almost hypnotic, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe she was safe.

She’s safe now. Nothing can hurt her.

But the reality loomed like a dark cloud overhead. Once she awoke and began to recount the horrors she had endured, the truth would be a merciless adversary, and there was nothing he could do to soften the blow.

His gaze fell to the stark white gauze that encircled her head, a painful reminder of her suffering.

His heart ached for her deeply. He feared that these quiet, peaceful hours would merely be the calm before an inevitable storm. He had no way of knowing how Evelyn would react once the medication wore off and her mind returned to the harsh reality of what had transpired.

Evelyn had never been one to obsess over her appearance. Her beauty was innate, often enhanced only by a touch of makeup when the occasion called for it. She was not one to dwell on vanity like so many others.

But would that perspective change when the bandages were finally removed?

Then, a familiar voice broke through the chaos. “Evelyn.”

I turned my head, struggling to locate the source of the comforting sound. The mattress shifted beside me, and I was enveloped in a warm embrace—Alexander.

“W-What’s going on? What h-happened? Oh, God,” I whimpered, panic rising within me. “W-Why can’t I see?”

“It’s alright,” he reassured me gently, his voice soothing. “It’s going to be alright. Just hold on; I’m going to get you some water.”

I felt the bed shift again as he moved, the sound of his footsteps echoing softly in the room. Moments later, he returned, carefully placing a glass of water in my good hand. He guided the rim to my lips, coaxing me to take a sip.

The cool liquid felt like a miracle against my parched throat, and I drank greedily, finishing half the glass before pulling away to catch my breath.

“Tell me what happened,” I urged, my voice shaky. “Why can’t I see out of my other eye?”

As my vision began to clear, I caught sight of Alexander’s face, contorted with distress and guilt. It did little to calm the storm of nerves churning in my stomach.

“Evelyn, when I found you in that dreadful room, you were barely clinging to life,” he explained, his voice heavy with emotion. “I had my doctor come to tend to you as best as he could. He found that you have a badly sprained wrist, a few broken fingers, and at least two broken ribs. But the worst injury is on the right side of your face.”

My hand instinctively moved to my right cheek, only to find it encased in a thick layer of gauze. A wave of nausea washed over me as the horrifying memory of Fiona looming over me with that wicked blade surged to the forefront of my mind.

My expression twisted into a sneer. “Fiona.”