"Alexander, man, enough with the booze," Hugo said, stepping in and eyeing the half-empty bottle in his friend’s hand. "You keep going like that, and you're gonna be completely hammered."He looked around the dimly lit lounge, hoping for some backup. "Come on, guys, a little help here? Don’t leave me to play babysitter alone."Colton didn't even glance up from the tablet where he was scrolling through playlists. He shrugged, his tone indifferent. "Never had my heart broken. Can’t relate. Let him drink—maybe blacking out will help him forget."Mikhail, seated quietly in the corner with a glass of untouched whiskey, gave no reply. He was always the silent one, too busy with classified missions and international chaos to be bothered with romance.Out of the four of them, none had truly been in love.Colton lived for strategy and control, never letting emotion interfere with power.Hugo played the field, charming and nonchalant, the type to flirt shamelessly at a gala and forget the girl’
The hospital room was quiet, the sterile air tinged with the faint scent of disinfectant. Serena stood by the window, her gaze distant, lost in the gray stretch of sky outside. After a moment, she turned back to Simon, her expression firm.“This is a mess,” she admitted, her voice low but steady. “Beatrice is gunning for me—and you and Whitney are caught in the crossfire. I’ll handle it. You just focus on getting better. Don’t do anything reckless.”She glanced pointedly at the sling around his arm, a silent reminder of how close things had already come.“Otherwise,” she added with a wry edge, “the hand that wasn’t injured this time might not be so lucky next time.”Simon lifted his eyes to meet hers. Despite the dull ache in his arm, his voice remained sharp. “Ms. Morales… can you actually handle it?”Serena straightened her spine. Her eyes, cool and luminous, held an edge of steel. “Even if I can’t, I’ll find a way.”---Back at Le Châteauesque Manor, dusk had begun to settle, casti
Inside the softly lit hospital room, the scent of antiseptic clung to the air like static. Simon lay back against the pillow, his right arm in a cast, propped carefully on a cushion. The pale blue sheets were rumpled from Whitney’s restless movements. She had been crying non-stop for nearly two hours.“Simon, it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry,” Whitney sniffled, her voice cracking.Simon winced—not from the pain in his arm, but from the relentless pressure in his head. Her sobs had drilled into his skull like a slow, aching pulse since the moment she stepped in.“It’s nothing,” he murmured, trying to sound dismissive, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed his discomfort.Whitney shook her head and climbed onto the edge of the bed, unable to hold back. In a surge of emotion, she flung herself into his chest. Her arms wrapped around him with desperate familiarity, and he stiffened instantly.Her soft curves pressed awkwardly against his torso, and the heat from her body seeped through the
"The painting is done, Grandpa. Would you like to see it?"Cornelius Vanderbilt looked up from his recliner, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No need,” he said, waving his hand lightly. “Let’s go downstairs and admire the flowers. The garden’s in full bloom.”Outside, spring had unfurled her colors in full glory. The garden, meticulously kept and bursting with vibrant tulips, hyacinths, and peonies, was alive with bees humming and petals dancing in the breeze. At his age, Cornelius found simple joys in nature—in the warm sun, the scent of fresh blooms, and the tranquility of growing things. It brought him peace.Serena nodded with a smile. “Alright, let’s go.”As she moved toward the stairs, Alexander followed silently behind her like a shadow. Cornelius’s gaze flickered toward him, brows twitching with a mixture of amusement and irritation. He opened his mouth, intending to poke fun at Alexander’s brazen presence—after all, the invitation had been for Serena, not hi
The atmosphere in the car was heavy with unspoken tension.Serena sat silently in the back seat, her eyes fixed on her phone. She hadn’t said a word since they got in. Jonathan drove up front, quiet as always, while Alexander sat beside her, their legs barely brushing—yet the warmth of that subtle contact radiated through the thin fabric of her trousers like a live wire.Outside, the city lights flickered past the windows, casting soft, shifting shadows that played across Serena’s face. The dim interior of the car only amplified the contrast between her stillness and the occasional flicker of emotion that crossed her features.Ten minutes passed.She hadn’t even looked his way once.Alexander’s initial frustration gradually morphed into helplessness. He studied her profile—the tight line of her lips, the way her hand rested on her knee, her posture slightly rigid. She looked as though she were lost in thought, weary from whatever had burdened her day. Her eyes eventually fluttered clos
At the same time, Serena remained completely unaware that the actress Whitney had slapped on set belonged to the powerful Whitehall family. She had tried calling Whitney several times, but each call went unanswered. Whitney was clearly sulking, refusing to engage.Left with no choice, Serena dialed her agent instead.The young woman on the other end answered with a trembling voice, fully aware of Serena’s status. “Ms. Morales…”“Where is she?” Serena asked calmly, though her voice carried a steely edge. “What’s Whitney doing right now?”“She’s… sleeping,” the agent said hesitantly. “I knocked on her door a few times, but she wouldn’t open it.”“As her agent, you should at least know why she hit someone,” Serena said, her voice still cool but pressing.The girl let out a breath, then confessed, “Yes, I know. The director suddenly brought in a new second female lead—without informing us—and made Whitney reshoot an entire sequence. It was that slap scene. The new actress had to slap Whit