The pressure around Serena’s throat stole the air from her lungs.
Alexander’s grip was ironclad—unyielding, merciless. Panic surged through her as her vision blurred and black spots danced across her sight. The sweat on her brow beaded and rolled down her temples, cold against her burning skin. Her hands flew up, clawing at his wrist.
He didn’t even flinch.
There was no trace of hesitation in his eyes—only ice. The way he looked at her now, it was as if she wasn’t even human.
“Is this a game to you?” he bit out, his voice low and furious, his forearm tense and corded with restrained rage.
Serena wanted to scream, but her throat burned. Just days ago, this same hand had cradled her waist, held her face with tenderness. The same voice that now tore through her like a blade had whispered sweetness against her neck. How had it all twisted into this?
Her nails scratched at his skin, and she gasped out what breath she had left.
“Serena,” he
The following days blurred into a haze of overwork. Serena pushed herself past exhaustion, staying late in the office two nights in a row, her desk littered with files and half-finished coffee cups.No matter how many times she tried, she couldn’t reach Alexander. Each call rang into silence, and she had no idea he’d flown to Italy.She tried Jonathan too—again and again—hoping to catch some news about Rex. But his answers were always the same: Rex wasn’t at Manhattan Villa. No matter how she pressed, Jonathan gave nothing away.Left with no answers, Serena buried herself in work. But when night fell and the office lights went dark, the silence pressed harder. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind replayed one moment over and over—the night she had been rescued.That voice.Even though it had sounded slightly different, distorted somehow, it tugged at something deep in her memory. Too familiar to dismiss. The first time, she’d convinced herself it was her imagination, a produ
Italy glittered under the night sky, the streets alive with golden lights and restless energy. From the rooftop terrace, Alexander had the city spread out before him like a jewel—crowded piazzas pulsing with laughter, distant cathedral domes gleaming under the moon, and winding streets that never truly slept.He ended a call and tossed the phone aside, lifting his glass of deep red wine. The alcohol burned slightly as it slid down his throat, doing little to steady the restlessness coiling inside him. His gaze drifted over the pool beside him, the water shimmering in sapphire ripples beneath the soft glow of lanterns. A platter of fruit and chilled drinks sat untouched at the table’s edge.The scene was picture-perfect. The kind of setting made for two.If Serena were here, it would’ve been more than perfect.He could imagine her slipping into the pool, the reflection of city lights dancing across her skin. Maybe he’d steal a kiss, or two… and if she didn’t stop him, things could easi
The underground arena trembled as Alexander stepped onto the stage, his face hidden behind the cold steel of a mask. The lights above glared down, catching the edge of the black iron, casting him as both myth and menace.For a beat, the crowd was hushed. Then a deep, guttural shout split the air.“God! God!”The voice came from a hulking man in the front row, and in seconds, the chant spread like wildfire.“God! God! God!”The walls shook with the roar. Sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke thickened the air until it felt like everyone in the room was breathing the same feverish madness.Alexander’s masked figure was a legend here. Every rare appearance burned into the memory of the men who worshipped him, the women who wanted him, and the gamblers who cursed his name while losing fortunes. He never lost. Not once.Years ago, in his first notorious match, he had faced two lions at once. The crowd had bet on the beasts, their odds stacked against him. Alexander bet only on himself. By th
Serena’s lips parted, ready to snap back, but the words stuck in her throat. She remembered her promise to Lucca—his warning, his favor she had already accepted. Wes was far away in Hollywood, yet here she was, caught in a room with Alexander Vanderbilt, his presence looming over her like a storm cloud.A sharp pang of guilt twisted in her chest. She gripped the bedsheet so tightly her knuckles whitened, her nails digging into the fabric as if she could claw herself out of the moment. For a fleeting second, she hated herself—hated how torn she felt, how powerless.But no matter what, she knew the truth: she could never beat Chiara.Her voice came out low, almost defensive. “You don’t know him.”Alexander’s gaze darkened. His tone was cold enough to chill the air. “You haven’t slept with him, right?”Serena shook her head faintly. “No.”The ice in his eyes didn’t melt. He studied her as if he were peeling away her layers, searching for a lie beneath her skin. His jaw flexed, then he sh
Before Serena even opened her eyes, the sharp tang of disinfectant stung her nose, dragging her halfway back to consciousness. Voices echoed faintly in her ears—one voice in particular, sharp, furious, impossible to ignore.Alexander.“Didn’t you say she’d wake up soon? Why is she still unconscious? Are you a quack?” His words cracked like a whip, laced with panic that no amount of authority could disguise.The doctor, caught in the storm, stammered nervously, “Mr. Vanderbilt, Ms. Morales suffered severe hypoxia. Her brain and body need time. It isn’t unusual—please, give her a little longer.”Alexander’s glare could have set the room ablaze. “If she dies,” he hissed, his voice cold enough to freeze blood, “this hospital is finished.”The doctor froze, lips parting but no words finding their way out.How could Alexander calm down? His chest still felt hollow, his pulse raw from the terror he’d endured. He could still see it—the image of the submerged car on the live broadcast, the lic
When Serena returned to her office, she froze. For a moment, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her.“Jonathan?”The man standing stiffly outside her door gave a curt nod, his expression serious. Without a word, he reached into his coat and produced a check, sliding it across the desk as if it were a weapon.“Ms. Alvarez, please accept this. Mr. Vanderbilt requests that Ms. Black be cast as the second female lead in E.A. Corporation’s upcoming production.”Serena’s gaze dropped to the glossy profile paper tucked beneath the check. The face staring back at her was instantly recognizable—Layla Black, the woman who had made her presence so obvious at Manston Manor the night before.Serena said nothing, her expression unreadable. Jonathan, mistaking her silence for hesitation, pressed forward.“Name your price. Ms. Black is in high demand right now. She wants to act, and Mr. Vanderbilt cannot refuse her.”Serena’s fingers twitched on the desk before she leaned back, a faint, cool