Celebrazione 800K * FREEBIE * 2nd * Chapter 355

The room was dimly lit, a soft amber glow from the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Alexander sat propped against a mound of pillows, his broad frame diminished by the weakness that still clung to him. His shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, unbuttoned at the collar, his chest bandaged beneath layers of gauze. He parted his lips as if to speak, but no words came.

Serena, seated at the edge of the bed, stirred a bowl of oatmeal until the steam dispersed. With quiet patience, she lifted a spoonful and held it near his mouth. He accepted it reluctantly at first, but as the warm porridge slid down his throat, some of the sharp tension in his features softened.

Bit by bit, she fed him, steady and gentle, never rushing. When the bowl was empty, she set it aside and leaned closer, her fingers deftly undoing the rest of his buttons. The faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air as she peeled the fabric back and examined the wound on his chest. Her touch was careful, almost reverent, as she cleaned the injury and replaced the dressing with fresh bandages.

Alexander’s gaze never left her. He watched the way a strand of hair slipped loose near her temple, the crease of concentration between her brows, the unspoken dedication in every small action. Hours seemed to pass in that rhythm—her wiping his skin with a warm cloth, adjusting the IV line, making sure he was comfortable.

At first, he had been irritated by her fussing. His pride bristled under the idea of being tended to. But as evening descended and the room grew quieter, that irritation faded. In its place spread a strange, disarming warmth, softening even the corners of his hardened heart.

“Serena,” he said suddenly, his voice low and gravelly.

She glanced up. “Yes?”

“Bring me the company files,” he murmured. “Read them to me.”

Her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. The hands were edging toward late evening; she still had her own matters waiting, duties she couldn’t ignore forever. But Alexander’s request, however unnecessary it seemed, was a tether. He wanted her to stay. So she rose without protest and walked toward the study, gathering the latest files from his desk.

On her way back to the bedroom, voices drifted through the hall. Jonathan’s tone was clipped, deliberate—he was on the phone.

“Justin’s been handling the recent projects?” Jonathan said, his words sharp with skepticism. “Isn’t he a bit green for that?”

Serena slowed, pausing just outside the doorway. Her heart gave a small, startled thump.

So that was why Alexander hadn’t been receiving updates, why his desk remained barren of new reports. Justin had stepped in—quietly, effectively. And from the sound of it, the board of directors had little objection. Perhaps even approval.

The Vanderbilt Group was already whispering about a successor.

Her pulse quickened. The looming bet with Vortex Automotive was nearly due, and Alexander—bedridden, absent for over two weeks—hadn’t lifted a hand. Was he… conceding?

The call ended with a sharp click. Jonathan turned, his expression dark, only to find Serena standing there in the quiet corridor, clutching the stack of documents against her chest. 

“Jonathan,” Serena asked quietly, her brows drawn together, “is the Vanderbilt Group in serious trouble?”

Jonathan hesitated, then answered with the bluntness of a soldier reporting to his commander. “The wager is about to expire. Mr. Vanderbilt’s been in the hospital, unable to make any moves. If he loses, his stake will drop by twenty percent. That would hand Justin the largest shareholding—and the CEO seat. The higher-ups are already splitting into camps.”

The words hit Serena like a hammer to the chest. She tightened her grip on the stack of documents until the edges bit into her palms. Alexander’s injury wasn’t just an affliction of the body—it was opening the gates for others to seize everything he had built. By the time he recovered, Justin could already be sitting in his chair.

She drew a steadying breath, then pressed the files back into Jonathan’s hands. “I need to handle something first. These documents—make sure Alexander sees them. But don’t mention the Group’s situation. He doesn’t need the added stress right now. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Her heels clicked softly against the marble as she headed downstairs, determination stiffening her spine.

Jonathan half-lifted a hand, wanting to call her back, but let it drop. Serena was too much like Alexander—once she made a decision, trying to stop her was like trying to halt a storm.

---

Back in the hospital room, Alexander was propped against the headboard, lost in thought. He had been turning over ways to bridge the distance between himself and Serena when the door opened—only for Jonathan to step inside instead.

His brows drew together. “Where’s Serena?”

“She said she had something to take care of and left,” Jonathan replied.

A dull pang rippled through Alexander’s chest, though he masked it with his usual indifference. Typical. She was always slipping through his fingers—warm one moment, ice-cold the next.

Jonathan stepped closer, lifting the documents. “Mr. Vanderbilt, do you want to review these?”

Alexander rubbed at the bridge of his nose, his voice low but steady. “Just update me.”

Jonathan complied, detailing, “Justin’s been moving aggressively in your absence. He’s already signed off on several large projects.”

Alexander’s lips curved, not in amusement but in recognition. He leaned back against the pillows, a faint arch of his brow betraying no surprise. “Of course he has.”

Jonathan couldn’t decipher his employer’s calm. Yet the quiet confidence radiating from Alexander eased some of the tension coiled inside him. Whatever storm was brewing, Alexander clearly already had a plan.

---

Back at Le Châteauesque Manor, Serena was a whirlwind of motion. Her phone never left her hand as she fired off calls, her voice sharp and unyielding, each conversation peeling away another layer of truth. She contacted every business ally she could think of, and even reached out to Caspian—someone she rarely leaned on—to gather intel.

What she uncovered made her blood run cold.

The so-called wager between Alexander and Vortex Automotive Group wasn’t just reckless—it was a trap.

Vortex wasn’t some upstart company; it was a titan. They held a portfolio of luxury car brands that dominated markets worldwide. Some of the gleaming machines in Alexander’s own garage, the ones that caught the light like predators waiting to pounce, were products of Vortex. Partnering with them would have been a dream—a leap that could have propelled the Vanderbilt Group into a commanding position within the auto industry.

But the terms of the bet were near impossible.

Alexander had to secure five percent of Vortex’s shares. On paper, it sounded feasible. In reality, it was a nightmare.

Ninety-five percent of Vortex’s shares were locked in an ironclad trust—an impregnable vault designed to prevent hostile takeovers. Without approval from the majority of the board, those shares were untouchable.

The only remaining five percent were scattered like crumbs among Vortex’s top executives. And those weren’t just numbers on a balance sheet—they were loyalty badges. If even one executive refused to sell, Alexander’s entire gamble would collapse.

It was a stacked deck, and the dealer—Eric Scott, the elusive owner of Vortex—knew it. He’d designed the bet himself, fully confident his executives wouldn’t waver.

From the moment Alexander signed his name, he’d been walking into a rigged game.

Serena sat back in her chair, her pulse hammering. The documents on her desk blurred as disbelief gnawed at her. If I could find this out in one night, Alexander must have known too. So why did he sign?

Did he truly think he could charm or pressure all of Vortex’s executives into handing over their shares?

And worse—Alexander was injured, barely recovered, his body and mind still fragile. How could he possibly fight this battle in his state?

The math was merciless: once the deadline passed, Alexander’s twenty percent stake would be diluted. No wonder Justin strutted around with that smug confidence.

Serena’s thoughts spun like a cyclone, but her instincts sharpened into resolve. If the bet was unwinnable, the only way forward was to secure Alexander’s place as CEO regardless. That meant one thing: boosting his shares.

There were two possible paths:

1. Increase Alexander’s shares.

2. Dilute Justin’s.

The second option was a fantasy unless fate—or death—removed Justin from the board entirely.

Which left only the first: acquiring the fifteen percent stake held by Cornelius. The very stake that every vulture in the Vanderbilt family was circling, waiting to snatch.

Serena exhaled, her jaw tightening. If Alexander was to stand any chance, she had to move quickly. Without hesitation, she grabbed her keys and headed straight for the Vanderbilt Villa.

The storm had only just begun.

---

Cornelius seemed to have anticipated her arrival. When Serena stepped into the study, he greeted her with a warm smile, his voice gentle yet steady.

“Serena, feeling better?”

Seeing the old man in good spirits, Serena’s tense shoulders finally eased. “Mr. Vanderbilt, how about a game of chess?”

Cornelius arched a brow, then chuckled, amused. “A game of chess? Why not.”

At his signal, the butler swiftly laid out the polished ebony-and-ivory chessboard on the carved oak table. The faint clink of pieces being set echoed in the quiet room.

Serena lowered herself into the chair across from him, her fingers steady as she made the opening move.

Cornelius, an old master of the game, studied her carefully. He knew she wasn’t here just for pleasantries. His gaze lingered on the board, then flicked to her face. “So,” he asked casually, “you’ve made up your mind this time?”

Serena didn’t answer. Her eyes remained fixed on the board, her focus sharp, every move deliberate.

Minutes passed in a silent dance of strategy, until she captured one of his pieces and softly declared, “Check.”

Cornelius immediately shifted his remaining pieces, blocking her path. His expression grew more intent, the air between them thickening with concentration.

Piece by piece, their armies dwindled, until only five remained on each side. Serena placed her final move, then lifted her gaze. Her voice was calm but firm.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, I want to ask you to give Alexander the fifteen percent of shares you’re holding.”

For a long moment, Cornelius simply studied the board. Then, with a faint smile, he tapped one of his surviving pieces.

“Serena, you lost.”

Her eyes swept across the few scattered pieces. She exhaled, lips curving in a resigned smile. “Yes. I lost.”

Cornelius leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you realize that even Alexander himself has never dared to ask me for those shares?”

“I know.” Serena’s voice dropped, steady but quiet. She began to gather the pieces one by one, returning them to the box with deliberate care, as though buying herself time. Finally, she drew in a breath and continued.

“My company has taken shape. I know my request is bold, but I’m willing to trade fifty percent of my shares in E.A. Corporation for them. Compared to the Vanderbilt Group, E.A. is insignificant—but I will make it the top entertainment company in this country. Within a few years, those shares will hold as much weight as the fifteen percent of Vanderbilt Group you’re offering me now.”

From her bag, she withdrew a folder. The share transfer document was already signed in her flowing script. She slid it across the table with composure, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of determination.

“And I promise,” she added, her voice unwavering, “within six months, I’ll make E.A. swallow Ruiz Star Entertainment.”

The boldness of her words hovered in the air. Ruiz Star, despite its recent decline, remained a household name, its reach and network leagues beyond Serena’s fledgling company. To many, her vow would have sounded naïve—foolhardy, even. But her expression was iron-clad, devoid of hesitation.

Cornelius studied her, his weathered fingers brushing over the document. Instead of signing, he set it back down with a deliberate slowness.

“I have one more condition.”

Serena’s heart skipped. Her eyes lit up, a rare eagerness slipping through. “What condition?”

Cornelius’s smile deepened, though his tone softened to something almost tender. “Within two years… give me a great-grandson.”

The words landed like a stone in still water. Serena’s lips parted, but no sound came. Her smile froze, faltering as her throat tightened. Slowly, she closed her mouth again, her expression unreadable.

The butler appeared silently, placing steaming cups of tea between them. Cornelius’s voice gentled further, like an elder coaxing a child.

“Think carefully. E.A.’s shares are just promises on paper. No one knows how your company will grow. But what I’m asking is very simple. I am old, Serena. Before I leave this world, I want to hold my great-grandson in my arms.”

Silence stretched. Serena didn’t answer. Her gaze dropped to the chessboard again, to the scattered remnants of the battle they had fought there. Her fingers traced the edge of a pawn absentmindedly, but her thoughts were far away, tangled in knots no game could untangle.

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Dear Gentle Readers, it seems that our wish align with Mr. Vanderbilt Sr.’s ...