On her way back from the hospital, Ava caught a glimpse of a familiar car parked crookedly by a narrow alley.
It was Alexander’s.
Her heart lurched.
The windows were shattered—glass glittered across the asphalt like scattered ice.
Without thinking, she grabbed her phone and dialed his number. No answer.
Panic rising, she called Jonathan. His voice was tense.
"Mr. Vanderbilt insisted on driving back to the hotel alone tonight."
Ava didn’t hesitate. She swung her car to the curb and got out, her heels crunching against broken glass. After a beat of hesitation, she stepped into the alley, guided by instinct more than logic.
The deeper she went, the colder and damper it became. The flickering streetlights above buzzed weakly, casting fractured shadows on the cracked pavement.
Then she saw them—several men sprawled on the ground, unmoving, blood pooling beneath them in dark, glistening puddles.
Her stomach twisted. Her knees nearly gave out.
And then—crack!
A bullet zipped past her, so clo
