As Ava lay beneath the plush hotel duvet, a fleeting thought passed through her mind—did Alexander want the sixth time tonight?She didn’t have the energy to find out.Before the notion could fully form, sleep swept over her like a wave crashing against a weary shore. Her body surrendered without resistance, curled instinctively into the warmth of the blankets.By the time Alexander approached the bed, she was fast asleep, her breathing soft and rhythmic, her expression serene. He stood over her for a moment, the pale moonlight from the curtained windows casting gentle patterns across her face.He lay down beside her, though sleep didn’t come to him as easily. His body was still, but his mind stirred with unease. Why had he come all the way to Charleston? Had it truly been about business? Or had it been the idea of her here, alone?He glanced down at his hand, at the small blister between his fingers—red, taut, faintly stinging. The ointment she had applied still lingered, its coolnes
Meanwhile, over on Alexander’s side of town, a cold shadow had taken root in his chest ever since he learned Ava had traveled to Charleston. The city’s name alone stirred a bitterness he couldn’t quite name.That night, he paid a visit to Westchester Manor.Mrs. Vanderbilt greeted him with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Though she clung to his arm as if in a show of maternal affection, her gaze often drifted elsewhere—as if peering through him in search of someone who wasn’t there.Alexander had never been close to his grandmother. That much was evident from the strained familiarity between them. Her favoritism toward his older brother, Marken, had always been blatant—etched into every word and every comparison.“Marken was brilliant in every way,” she said that evening, sighing wistfully as she swirled her wine glass. “He had poise, heart, character. If only you had half his temperament, Alexander, the Vanderbilt name would truly shine.”Alexander said nothing. He didn’t h
After Alexander left, Ava stood alone in the living room, dazed. The silence in the apartment seemed louder than ever, pressing down on her like a weighted blanket. She didn’t move, didn’t think—just stared blankly at the closed door for a long while, as if expecting it to open again.Only when her stomach let out a low, insistent growl did she come back to herself. Her cheeks were still flushed, burning hot, as though seared by the intensity of what had just happened. Flustered, she patted her face with both hands, then rushed to the bathroom to splash herself with cold water. It helped a little, but not much.In the dim kitchen, she opened the refrigerator, only to find a half-used box of dry spaghetti. No sauce, no sides, no real plan. But hunger trumped elegance tonight. She boiled the noodles, ate them plain, and tried not to think.When she crawled into bed afterward, her mind refused to rest. Alexander’s final words lingered like embers in her chest, smoldering.Ava had always
Ava sat still, her thoughts tangled in the echo of Alexander's words from the underground parking lot—the offhand comment about having an affair.The weight of it clung to her like humidity in the summer air. The thought twisted uncomfortably in her chest. She couldn’t shake the growing suspicion that she was indeed entangled in a secret, shadowed romance… not just with her boss, but with the very man who had exiled her husband to Charleston under a perfectly veiled promotion.But why? Why would Alexander do such a thing?Surely, she wasn’t naïve enough to believe that her beauty—modest, unremarkable in a city flooded with allure—was what captivated a man like him. Alexander Vanderbilt was a towering figure in New York’s elite. He moved in circles where charm and polish were prerequisites, and women of ambition and pedigree orbited him like moths around a flame. His reputation preceded him: powerful, precise, and emotionally impenetrable.And more than that—everyone knew Victoria Laur
Alexander was idling at a red light when his phone rang. The week had been chaotic, one meeting bleeding into the next, but his mind kept circling back to the same thing—the ring. That glint of metal, and the quiet sting of rejection, still clung to his thoughts like smoke.As he turned his head, something outside the window caught his eye.Ava.Her car was pulled over on the side of the road, just beyond the Westchester Manor exit. She sat slumped behind the wheel, pale and visibly shaken. The light turned green, but Alexander remained still, his eyes locked on the scene.Inside her car, Ava was unraveling.She had driven straight from Westchester Manor, her chest tight, emotions coiled like wire beneath her skin. Once she found a quiet spot beneath a tree, she parked and leaned forward, pressing her hand to her mouth. Her stomach churned violently, but nothing came. The sensation was dry and hollow—an echo of exhaustion and disgust.She curled onto the passenger seat, dizzy and naus
Mrs. Vanderbilt’s arrival was greeted with formality and finesse. Cordelia welcomed her at the door, her smile poised and refined as always, though Alexander and Mr. Vanderbilt Sr. were noticeably absent.Dressed in an elegantly tailored gown of smoky mauve silk, Mrs. Vanderbilt carried herself with the commanding grace of old money and long-standing prestige. Her every step spoke of discipline, refinement, and a keen awareness of her place at the top of society’s ladder.Cordelia, ever the attentive hostess, handed her a glass of finely aged red wine. The stemware caught the soft chandelier light, throwing ruby reflections across the polished oak floor."And what about the woman Alexander married?" Mrs. Vanderbilt asked casually, as if referring to a footnote in a long and complicated novel.Cordelia offered a demure smile. "Don’t worry, Mother. I’ve spoken to her. She knows not to harbor any illusions."Mrs. Vanderbilt took a slow sip, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Five years, and