The Wife You Buried Is Back from Hell novel Chapter 1302

Alexander's footsteps were heavy and uneven. As she guided him to the sofa, it felt as though every last drop of energy had been siphoned from his body.

He lifted a hand to massage his throbbing temples, his voice gravelly and rough. "I had to wrap up the fallout from the Jamison family, then coordinate with the feds on the foreign intelligence leads. It took longer than expected."

Danielle's heart broke at the sheer exhaustion pooling in his eyes. She reached out to completely pull the tie from his neck, but the moment her fingertips brushed against his skin, she froze.

"You're burning up. Are you running a fever?"

Alexander shook his head, offering her a strained, unconvincing smile. "I'm fine. Just exhausted."

He was a man who absolutely refused to show an ounce of vulnerability to anyone.

Not even to her.

But seeing him like this now, Danielle felt a suffocating weight settle heavily over her chest.

His gaze drifted toward the dining table. The savory aroma of the hot meal made him suddenly realize he hadn't eaten anything but a single cup of black coffee since dawn.

"Go take a hot shower first. I already have the water running for you."

Danielle gently gripped his arm, helping him stand. "Come eat when you're done. The soup is still warm."

Alexander gave a sluggish nod. He accepted the clean sleepwear she handed him and trudged toward the master bathroom, every step looking like a monumental effort.

Danielle watched him disappear down the hall, her frown deepening.

Between the Jamison family's pathetic implosion, the looming threat of the foreign operatives, and the tense dynamics with his grandfather, the pressure on his shoulders was astronomical. He was a bowstring pulled so terrifyingly taut that he was on the verge of snapping.

She turned back to the kitchen to quickly reheat his plate and ladle out a fresh bowl of soup, her eyes repeatedly darting toward the hallway.

The steady drum of the shower echoed from the bathroom, muffled only slightly by the heavy oak door.

The minutes ticked by in agonizing slow motion. Before she knew it, over half an hour had vanished.

The sound of the running water had stopped entirely, but there was still no sign of Alexander.

A knot of pure dread began to form in Danielle's stomach.

She abandoned the soup ladle and hurried down the hall, rapping her knuckles lightly against the bathroom door. "Alexander? Are you almost done? Your dinner is going to get cold."

Only dead silence answered her.

Her heart plummeted as a wave of terrible panic crashed over her.

She pounded on the wood, her voice rising in sheer panic. "Alexander, can you hear me?"

Still nothing.

Abandoning all hesitation, Danielle grabbed the handle and shoved the door open.

A thick cloud of steam instantly rolled out, carrying the crisp scent of his body wash.

Through the haze, she spotted Alexander slumped motionless on the tile floor next to the glass shower enclosure.

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