MasukHot water cascaded over her skin, washing away the exhaustion that had clung to her bones since morning. Steam filled the bathroom, blurring the edges of the mirror until the world around her became little more than warmth and haze.Still, no amount of heat could melt the image that flickered before her closed eyes—Alexander’s face.His voice, low and deliberate, seemed to echo against the tiles:“Was it you that night, seven years ago?”The memory struck like a ripple through still water. She’d thought—no, hoped—that he had forgotten that night completely. Seven years should have been enough to bury it, to erase every trace. Yet his words earlier proved otherwise.Ava drew a sharp breath and ran a trembling hand through her wet hair.“Enough,” she whispered to herself, voice echoing faintly in the steam.She pressed her palms against her face, wiping away both water and thought, as if she could rinse him from her mind just as easily. Then, with mechanical precision, she reached for
Ava stood in the corridor, watching the assistant’s silhouette vanish around the corner, her expression unreadable. The fatigue from the day hung heavy on her shoulders, but she barely had time to breathe before Mr. Whitby approached, his face creased with worry.“Miss Vega,” he began, lowering his voice as if afraid someone might overhear, “I really must ask a favour of you tonight.”Ava’s tone was even. “Mr. Whitby, I already told you, I’ve plans this evening.”“Ava!” he blurted, almost pleading now. “I know this whole business has been unfair on you, and heaven knows I’d spare you if I could. But we truly cannot afford to offend that gentleman.” His voice softened into coaxing desperation. “If you’ll oblige me—just keep him happy tonight—I’ll see to it that you’re promoted to permanent manager of the Presidential Suite. How about that?”Her gaze didn’t so much as flicker. “Mr. Whitby, you know I don’t care about the title.”“I know, I know,” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nos
Ava barely managed to pull her dress together, the fabric clinging damply to her skin as she hastily tied her wet hair into a loose knot. A towel wrapped around her body, water still dripping from her shoulders, she stood there fuming—her pulse unsteady and her irritation simmering from what had just happened with that infuriating man.That guy… She clenched her jaw, recalling the faint smirk on Alexander’s face before she stormed off. The memory made her cheeks burn—not entirely from embarrassment.“Hey there!” A sharp, mocking voice cut through the hallway. “Miss Vega, who are you trying to seduce with this wet-body routine?”Ava froze briefly, then lowered the towel she was using to wipe her face. Across the corridor, leaning casually by the elevator doors, was Imogen Harlow—her expression laced with derision.Ava’s gaze cooled instantly. “I’m not as idle as Manager Harlow,” she replied evenly, her tone calm but edged with quiet authority. She pulled out her wireless microphone fro
“Bastard—what are you doing? Let go!”Buttons flew in every direction, clattering against the marble floor like startled insects. Ava cursed under her breath, twisting and pulling against the iron grip around her waist.Damn it—his strength was far greater than she’d imagined. Her fingers clawed at his wrists, but Alexander didn’t budge an inch.Water still hissed from the broken showerhead, mist curling through the narrow bathroom as the two figures struggled—her breath ragged, his movements sharp and urgent. His palm slid down, grasping the hem of her soaked blouse. The fabric clung stubbornly to her skin, half-translucent and slick from the spray. When he tugged, it refused to come free; when she jerked away, his effort only grew clumsier.“Stop—” she gasped, but the sound was drowned by a sudden tearing noise.Her blouse gave way down the back, the fabric ripping cleanly with a soft, brutal sound. Her coat, already ruined, slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor with a we
Dear Gentle Readers , Have you been enjoying the story thus far?The mystery will be revealed in time, why Alexander was unable to recognise Ava Roselle-Vega as Ava Alvarez/Serena Morales, and why he only remembered spending a passionate night with a mysterious woman whose name he did not know... This author hopes you will continue enjoying this story, the 1st branch, the one that most readers wanted (with less complicated plots and loose ends). This author must admits that at first, he did not enjoy writing Chapter 161-165 of the 1st branch however, after taking some time and truly thinking about the story, the author finally came up with the plot that he actually enjoys writing and he hopes that you, Gentle Readers, will also enjoy reading it. Yours, Ethan *********At Hawthorne Court, London, the afternoon light poured softly through the tall windows of Ava’s office, gilding the polished mahogany desk and the contract spread open upon it. The faint scent of lilies from the lob
Inside the sleek glass-walled audition room of VE (Vanderbilt Enterprises), the atmosphere buzzed with quiet intensity. A row of cameras stood poised, lights glowing softly as the production crew whispered among themselves.On the oversized black leather sofa, a small boy in a perfectly tailored miniature suit sat with poise well beyond his years. His feet dangled just above the floor, yet he carried himself like a young monarch presiding over his court—back straight, hands resting on the armrests, expression calm and faintly regal.Even seated, Cello exuded an almost magnetic self-assurance. The camera adored him; every tilt of his chin and blink of his long lashes seemed deliberate, natural, and effortlessly photogenic.Just then, the heavy oak door of the audition room swung open.Alexander Vanderbilt stepped inside. His tall figure cast a shadow across the glossy marble floor as he took in the scene with his usual sharp, assessing gaze.The company had recently decided to acquire







