Chapter 4: But I was not satisfied with your... service

Serena followed quietly behind Alexander, the soft click of her heels echoing against the cool, polished marble. The hallway of the 54 Club was cloaked in a gentle, amber glow from the overhead sconces, casting elegant reflections across the gilded paneling and velvet-upholstered walls. A faint trace of expensive cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the subtle scent of aged oak and polished brass.

Every detail of the club screamed exclusivity and power. Even the staff stationed at the main lounge entrance stood at perfect attention, their faces blank masks of deference.

At the entrance, a biometric scanner let out a discreet chime as Alexander swiped a sleek, black membership card. Instantly, the staff bowed deeply, their spines almost rigid with respect. It was clear from their eyes—no one dared to cross him.

Serena paused a step behind, watching. He moved with a natural, unspoken command that made others shrink back without him needing to say a word. Even in a simple, flawlessly tailored black suit, with a crisp white shirt accentuating the severe cut of his frame, Alexander radiated a forbidding magnetism.

Then he stopped abruptly, pivoting to face her. Under the warm lighting, his sharp eyes seemed even colder, trained on her with an intensity that cut straight through. Serena met his gaze evenly, smoothing her expression into a polite, practiced calm.

“How much did Raphael pay you?” His voice was low and biting, each word clipped.

Serena froze, momentarily thrown. “What?”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed, suspicion clouding his features.

She tried to steady her breath. Over the years, she had carefully stayed out of the Vanderbilt family’s chaos, refusing to involve herself in Alexander’s ruthless world. If Raphael was tangled in it somehow, that was his burden to bear—not hers.

“My boss mentioned the order might be worth a few hundred thousand,” she replied carefully, her voice measured but confused.

Alexander’s jaw tightened. “You even have a boss?”

His disbelief stung, lodging itself like a splinter under her skin.

Of course he wouldn’t know—he’d left right after their marriage, vanishing abroad without a backward glance. She had been a footnote in his life, nothing more, and now he was looking at her as if she were some puzzle piece that didn’t fit.

She hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal.

Alexander, meanwhile, recalled something Raphael had mentioned in passing—whispers that the 54 Club catered to “special services” for its most powerful clients. It was a rumor he’d never cared to investigate. But after last night, waking up to find Serena in his bed, and now seeing her appear here unannounced, the theory seemed far less far-fetched.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked deeper into the club, a shadow cutting through gold and velvet toward his private suite.

Serena trailed behind, heart pounding, her confusion growing with every step. 

Then, without breaking stride, Alexander flung another sharp-edged remark over his shoulder.

“Raphael said you charge high fees, and your clients always leave satisfied. Is that true?”

There was a cold amusement in his tone, threaded with a biting hint of accusation, as though he was testing her.

Serena, who had dealt with the worst kinds of entitled, powerful clients, didn’t so much as flinch.

Over the years, she’d faced all types — rich men convinced their money bought absolute control, powerful women who demanded the impossible, and even clients who expected her to pull miracles from thin air.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, satisfaction is subjective,” she answered smoothly, her voice calm as polished marble. “It depends on what each client values.”

Alexander came to a halt then, pivoting to face her. For a heartbeat, he only stared, the muscles in his jaw visibly tightening before he let out a dry scoff.

“Well,” he sneered, “I wasn’t satisfied with your service.”

Serena’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around the strap of her bag, though her expression stayed serene.

What the hell is he talking about?

Alexander tilted his head, eyes narrowing as if studying her.

She was awkward in bed, he thought with a flash of contempt. I had to take control from start to finish. If this is her supposed profession, shouldn’t she know how to please a client?

Sure, she was beautiful, but hundreds of thousands for that? Ridiculous.

Serena, oblivious to the barbed direction of his thoughts, only lifted a brow, unbothered.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, if you could clarify your preferences,” she replied crisply, “I’d be happy to make adjustments next time.”

The dim corridor light spilled across her features, sharpening her high cheekbones, catching the soft line of her jaw, and making the faintly amused curve of her lips stand out.

That unruffled poise — that cool, collected presence — only stoked Alexander’s irritation more.

He found his gaze lingering on her, unwillingly recalling the dawn when her arms had trembled around his neck, her lips parted and soft, her breath coming in tiny, broken gasps against his cheek. That fragile mix of pain and pleasure had burned itself into his memory, more vivid than he cared to admit. But it was her eyes — deep, dark, glimmering like rain over a still lake — that had haunted him the most.

Serena, noticing his stare, lifted her chin a fraction higher, confident and calm.

“Most of my clients return,” she added, a quiet pride in her voice. “They’re satisfied.”

Alexander’s brows shot up.

“You have other clients?” His voice was a whipcrack, sharper than he’d intended, his expression hardening. “Wasn’t I your first time providing…this service?”

Serena blinked, briefly confused by the strange choice of words.

“Of course not,” she replied evenly, though a faint frown touched her brow. “I’ve been in the industry for three years.”

His jaw clenched, something inexplicable stirring in him — a frustration that sat low and hot, souring his mood. The thought of her giving the same attention, the same soft smiles, to others clawed at him.

“Fine,” he bit out. “Don’t follow me anymore. We’re done here. Don’t expect anything else from me.”

Serena paused, momentarily thrown off by the sudden chill in his tone.

What on earth just happened?

His irritation had come out of nowhere, and she couldn’t for the life of her understand why.

“Should I go find Mr. Richardson, then?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

The question, harmless as it was, seemed to strike Alexander like a slap. His scowl deepened, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“Is he also your client?”

“Sort of,” she admitted, puzzled by the way his face darkened even more.

Alexander’s gaze turned as hard as slate. Without answering, he turned on his heel, striding away with long, determined steps, leaving only the echo of his anger behind.

Serena stood there for a beat, stunned.

What just happened?

She replayed every word in her head, but the conversation had twisted in ways she couldn’t follow.

After a moment, she sighed softly and turned in the opposite direction, letting her shoulders relax.

Whatever was going on with Alexander Vanderbilt, she had no intention of letting it derail her.

She had work to do.