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Chapter 102 : Doesn’t it bother you that I have to sleep with him?
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2025-02-26 01:08:25Alfonso’s health had been deteriorating, and yet after spending several days in the hospital, he decided to return to the Morales estate without informing anyone. Araminta had insisted he remain hospitalized for at least a week, especially since Valentina was in the ward upstairs and Josh was occupied with work at the company. Yet, despite their protests, Alfonso quietly left.
As he stepped into the grand yet eerily silent Morales estate, his brows knitted in confusion. The place was unsettlingly quiet—none of the servants were in sight. He didn’t recall giving them leave. A feeling of unease settled in his chest as he ascended the grand staircase, following the faint sound of voices from his bedroom.
Pausing outside the door, he recognized Araminta’s voice, sharp and conspiratorial.
"That old fool has liver cancer and won’t last more than a year. The doctor said at most twelve months. Once he’s gone, the company w
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Ava snapped back to reality and yanked the building door open, the chill of the night air rushing against her skin as she stepped outside.The Bentley was still there, its black surface glinting under the streetlight. Finn had just closed the passenger door and was rounding the bonnet when he saw her appear on the steps.He hesitated, unsure whether to intervene. The driver, out of courtesy, lowered the window on Alexander’s side.Ava stopped midway down the stairs, her breath steady but her heart still unquiet. “Mr. Vanderbilt,” she said clearly, her tone sharp and formal, “you needn’t waste your efforts. I’m not interested in you.”Inside the car, Alexander turned his head slightly — the faintest movement — his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard. His blue eyes found hers through the open window, cool and fathomless as deep water.“I’m interested in you,” he said simply.The words landed like a challenge.Ava opened her mouth, then closed it again, utterly at a lo
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The small convoy wound its way through the glittering London streets before finally pulling up outside a three-star Michelin restaurant—a place where every window glowed gold and every valet moved with choreographed precision.As the car doors opened, the soft hum of city noise faded into the refined hush of luxury.Alexander stepped out first, effortlessly composed, his tall frame drawing more than a few curious glances from the staff waiting by the entrance.Behind him, Ava emerged with Cello, her hand resting lightly on the boy’s shoulder. She adjusted her glasses, made certain her expression was neutral, and deliberately allowed a few paces’ worth of distance between herself and Alexander.She didn’t need proximity; she needed boundaries.The maître d’, sharp in a black waistcoat, guided them upstairs to a private dining room on the third floor. The space was softly lit, with pale marble tables, crisp linens, and an arrangement of white roses at the centre. A panoramic window frame
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Hot 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
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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
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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 from
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“Bastard—what are you doing? Let go!”Buttons scattered across the marble like startled insects, clicking and skittering before disappearing into the steam.Ava cursed under her breath, twisting in his grip, fighting the strength that held her pinned.Damn him—he was far stronger than she’d anticipated. Her fingers clawed at his wrists, but Alexander didn’t so much as flinch.Water still hissed from the broken showerhead, mist curling like smoke through the narrow bathroom as they struggled—her breath ragged, his movements taut with frustration. His hand slipped lower, gripping the hem of her soaked blouse. The fabric clung to her skin, half-translucent and slick from the spray. When he tugged, it refused to give. When she jerked away, his determination only hardened.“Stop—” she gasped, but her voice drowned beneath the sharp, tearing sound that followed.The blouse ripped clean down the back.Her ruined coat slid from her shoulders and landed on the floor with a wet slap. A rush of c
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