Her Midnight Billionaire

Chapter 3: The Aftermath

The covered burglars immediately made their break, passing on the dazed group to manage the result of their assault. Grace hurried to the Count's side, her heart beating as she checked for a heartbeat.

Supernaturally, he was as yet alive, however he was losing blood quick.

"Help!" she yelled, her voice shaking with alarm. "Somebody call an emergency vehicle!"

In the disorder that followed, Grace ended up being guided out of the room alongside the other visitors.

Outside the house, an armada of squad cars and ambulances had previously shown up, their lights blazing in obscurity night. Grace looked as the Exclude was carried on a cot, his face pale and his body shrouded in blood.

"Miss Parker!" a voice yelled, and Grace went to see Alexander hurrying towards her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern scratched into his highlights. "I saw you with the Count when everything went down."

Grace gestured, her brain actually faltering from what had simply occurred. "I-I'm fine," she stammered.

"Accompany me," Alexander said, taking Grace by the arm. "We really want to get you some place safe."

Grace followed Alexander into the rear of a holding up limousine, her heart actually hustling from the tumult of the occasion. As they drove away from the scene, she really wanted to feel a feeling of disquiet.

"What simply occurred?" she asked, going to check Alexander out. "Those men...who would they say they were?"

Alexander's face was inauspicious. "I don't as yet know," he said, his jaw gripped tight. "In any case, I plan to find out."

As the limousine wound its direction through the roads of New York, Grace thought of herself as pondering the Count's strange past. Who was he, as a matter of fact, and why had he been designated by the looters?

"Do you figure the Count will be OK?" she asked, her voice little and questionable.

Alexander took a gander at her, his demeanor mellowed by concern. "I don't have any idea," he conceded. "He had taken shots at short proximity. He's fortunate to be alive by any means."

Grace nibbled her lip, recalling the chilly, thoroughly ascertaining, thoroughly search in the looter's eyes.

As the limousine pulled up to Alexander's high rise, Grace was unexpectedly loaded up with uncertainty. "Perhaps I ought to return home," she said, reluctant. "I would rather not carry any difficulty to your doorstep."

Alexander shook his head, his eyes meeting hers with steely determination. "Grace, you're undependable out there. Whoever went after the Count might in any case be after you. You want to remain in some place they can't track you down."

Grace faltered, yet she realized Alexander was correct. She was unable to gamble without jeopardizing herself.

"OK," she said at last, her voice shaking.

Alexander drove her up to his penthouse loft, the perspective on the city loosening up toward each path.

"I'll get you a difference in clothes and something to eat," he expressed, heading towards the room. "Make yourself at home."

Grace glanced around, her eyes attracted to the works of art on the walls. She perceived a portion of the specialists - Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet. It appeared to be that Alexander's desire for expertise was just about as mixed as his desire for all the other things.

She meandered over to a work of art of a lady by the ocean, her hair blowing in the breeze.

As she concentrated on the composition, she felt an unexpected chill go through her. The lady in the work of art looked oddly reminiscent, similar to somebody she had seen previously. Yet, how is that possible?

"That is one of my top choices," Alexander expressed, returning with a heap of garments. "The craft's worker is a dear companion of mine."

Grace gestured, her brain still on the lady in the composition. "She's delightful," she expressed, unfit to take her eyes off the material.

Alexander grinned. "For sure she is. She is Amelia.

Grace's heart skirted a thump. "Amelia?" she rehashed, her voice getting in her throat.

Alexander took a gander at her, his temples wrinkling marginally. "You know her?"

Grace shook her head, yet she was unable to shake the inclination that she had met Amelia previously. Perhaps it was only a happenstance, but there was something about the lady in the composition that helped her to remember herself.

"No," she said, her voice a murmur. "I don't have any acquaintance with her."

Alexander gestured, yet he didn't appear to be persuaded.

"Indeed, I'm certain you should be eager," he said, steering the conversation in a different direction. "How about you go get tidied up, and we can talk more over supper?"

Grace gestured, appreciative of the interruption. She went into the restroom and sprinkled cold water all over, attempting to clear her head.

At the point when she arose, Alexander had prepared the table for two, and the smell of natively constructed pasta swirled around.

"I want to believe that you like Italian," he expressed, signaling for her to sit down.

Grace grinned, feeling somewhat more calm.

As they ate, Grace ended up opening up to Alexander, informing him concerning her life as a crafts worker and how she had come to be at the celebration.

He listened eagerly, his eyes fixed on hers. "It seems as though you've had an intense street," he said, his voice delicate. "Be that as it may, you're obviously gifted and energetic about your work. That is an uncommon blend."

Grace became flushed, a warm inclination spreading through her chest. She hadn't anticipated that Alexander should be so steady and understanding.

"I'm happy you suspect as much," Grace answered, feeling more great around Alexander as time passed. "It's been a battle, yet I wouldn't exchange it for anything."

"That is the soul," he said, bringing his wine glass up in a toast. "To determination and energy."

Grace rang her glass against his, a grin spreading across her face. Be that as it may, as the night wore on, she really wanted to feel a sneaking feeling of fear in the pit of her stomach.

As they completed their feast, Grace wound up recalling the burglary, to the appearance of contempt in the looter's eyes as he pointed his weapon at the Count.

"What do you think they were later?" she asked, her voice low and reluctant.

Alexander's demeanor obscured. "I don't know," he said. "In any case, anything that it was, I have an inclination. It's simply the start."

Grace shuddered, her brain dashing with potential outcomes. Imagine a scenario where the burglars were after more than just cash. Imagine a scenario where they were after something that could make a huge difference.

As the night wore on, Grace thought of herself as developing increasingly fretful. She thrashed around in the visitor's room, unfit to shake the inclination that she was in harm's way.

At long last, incapable of resting, she crawled out of the room and into the parlor. There, she found Alexander sitting on the lounge chair, a book in his grasp.

"Couldn't rest?" he asked, gazing toward her.

Grace shook her head, her brain actually dashing. "I...I'm sorry. I'm just...I don't have any idea what to do."

Alexander put his book down and motioned for Grace to sit close to him. "It's alright, Grace," he said, his voice quiet and consoling. "You're protected here. You don't need to stress over a thing."

Grace gestured, feeling improved. However, her psyche was as yet loaded up with questions. "Do you think we'll at any point figure out what the looters were later?" she inquired.

Alexander took a gander at her, his eyes loaded with concern. "I trust her in this way, Grace," he said.