Chapter 6: If you are not satisfied, I won't charge you

Ava’s expression remained composed, her voice calm and measured, yet something about her quiet determination made Alexander pause—if only for a fleeting second. His sharp gaze flickered over her, searching for a hidden motive, but her sincerity made him hesitate.

Still, his features remained impassive, his presence commanding. The aura of dominance he carried made it difficult for anyone to hold his gaze for too long.

As the elevator descended, silence settled between them, thick with unspoken thoughts. Ava's mind was already racing. The studio was still in its early stages, and securing a high-profile client like Alexander Vanderbilt would cement its reputation. She had long learned that pride didn’t pay the bills—persistence did.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” she said, her tone poised yet earnest. “I’d like to understand your design preferences. I can tailor something specifically for you, and if you’re not satisfied, I won’t charge a single cent.”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed slightly. She’s persistent. Shamelessly so. Or maybe just ambitious?

He studied her in silence, searching for any hint of desperation, but all he saw was quiet determination.

“But you already have plenty of other clients, don’t you?” he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

Ava blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Is he… worried about whether I have time for him?

She quickly recovered, shaking off the ridiculous thought. “Don’t worry, Mr. Vanderbilt,” she replied confidently. “If I take on your project, I won’t accept any others in the short term. If you’re willing, we can discuss the details—just five minutes.”

“I’m not.” His rejection was swift and final.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. Without another word, Alexander stepped out, his long strides carrying him effortlessly through the lavish corridors of the 54 Club.

Ava stood frozen for a beat, watching him disappear into the crowd. His indifference was cutting, but she refused to let it faze her.

With a quiet exhale, she adjusted Kevin’s weight and pulled out her phone to check the driver’s location. Though intoxicated, Kevin maintained enough control to keep a respectful distance, his muttered complaints about his wife barely coherent.

As they exited the club, the night air was sharp against Ava’s skin, a welcome contrast to the thick, perfumed atmosphere inside.

Then, without warning, headlights flashed twice in front of her, and a sleek black car rolled to a stop.

A woman stepped out.

Clad in a form-fitting dress, her heels clicked sharply against the pavement as she strode toward them with unmistakable fury. Before Ava could react, a hand swung through the air.

Slap!

The force of it made Ava’s head snap to the side, her cheek burning instantly.

Gasps came from nearby onlookers, though no one dared to intervene.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” The woman’s voice trembled with rage, her manicured nails digging into her palms. “Always hovering around him at the studio with your little designs?”

Ava’s breath hitched, her pulse spiking in sheer disbelief.

She turned her head slowly, eyes meeting the woman's livid glare.

Susan.

Kevin’s wife.

Ava barely had time to process what was happening before Susan continued, her chest heaving with anger.

“Women like you are all the same—scheming, manipulative homewreckers! Listen carefully, you little tramp! All of Kevin’s money is with me. Even if you throw yourself at him, you won’t get a single dime!”

The sheer absurdity of the accusation momentarily stunned Ava. She had always been aware of Susan’s insecurities—her obsession with monitoring Kevin’s every move—but this?

This was beyond irrational.

Kevin, now slightly more coherent, reacted in a panic. “Susan, that’s enough!” He grabbed her wrist, but she yanked it away, her fury undeterred.

“Enough?” Her voice cracked as unshed tears burned in her eyes. “This shameless slut keeps following you around! On my birthday of all nights?”

Ava clenched her fists, the sting on her cheek fading beneath the weight of sheer frustration.

Susan’s voice turned sharp and condescending, her eyes raking over Ava’s face with disdain. “A pretty face doesn’t change what you are—a gold-digging whore.”

Ava inhaled sharply, willing herself to stay calm. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to fight back, to defend herself, but she knew better.

Kevin, desperate to defuse the situation, pulled Susan into a firm embrace. “Susan, please,” he murmured, guilt written all over his face.

His silent plea was clear: Walk away.

And Ava did.

Suppressing her frustration, she turned on her heel and walked away, refusing to engage any further. This isn’t worth it.

Susan was his wife. No matter how misguided her anger was, Ava had no intention of fueling the flames.

---

From the dim interior of a nearby car, Alexander observed the scene unfold.

His fingers tapped idly against the leather seat, his expression unreadable as his gaze followed Ava.

The way she took that slap without retaliating. The way she walked away without a word. The way she carried herself, dignified even in humiliation.

Jonathan, seated in the driver’s seat, let out a quiet sigh. “Good thing no one else is around. If that got caught on camera, the internet would’ve eaten it up.”

Alexander didn’t respond immediately. His sharp eyes flickered once more to Ava before he finally spoke.

“Drive.”

***

The next morning, Serena stood in front of her vanity, dabbing foundation over the faint red mark on her cheek. Though the swelling had gone down, a subtle soreness remained—a physical reminder of last night’s absurdity. With a quiet sigh, she grabbed her purse and left for the studio.

The building was nestled in a bustling commercial district, surrounded by sleek office towers and boutique shops. Though several small firms operated within it, Kevin’s studio occupied the prime spot—a testament to his years of dedication and skill.

Serena had only been working part-time, but she always made it a point to attend the monthly summary meetings. When she arrived, she noticed the usual buzz of activity among her colleagues, but Kevin was conspicuously absent.

Half an hour later, he finally walked in.

Dressed in the same clothes as the night before, he looked disheveled—his tie slightly askew, his shirt wrinkled. His face was pale, with dark circles framing his bloodshot eyes.

Serena stopped fidgeting with her pen, her brows drawing together. Something’s wrong.

Kevin forced a tired smile, murmured a quick apology for his tardiness, and slumped into his seat at the front of the room. The meeting proceeded as usual, but Serena could tell his mind was elsewhere.

Once the meeting concluded, her colleagues slowly filtered out. Serena gathered her belongings but hesitated when she noticed Kevin rubbing his forehead, his exhaustion evident.

“Is everything okay?” she asked gently, stepping closer to his desk.

Kevin exhaled deeply, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Something happened to Susan’s family. It’s… complicated.” His voice was hoarse, as though he hadn’t slept at all.

Serena remained silent, waiting.

After a long pause, he admitted, “I’m considering selling the studio.”

Her eyes widened. The studio has been thriving. Why sell now?

“But why?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

Kevin hesitated before answering, as if weighing how much to reveal. “I need at least three million dollars. If we had landed Alexander’s deal last night…” He trailed off, rubbing his temples in frustration.

Serena didn’t need him to finish—she understood.

“I’ll try again with Alexander,” she said firmly, already formulating a plan. “Just don’t tell anyone about selling the studio yet.”

Kevin gave her a tired smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. And about last night… I’m sorry. Susan wasn’t herself.”

Serena merely nodded before leaving the office. Apologies didn’t matter—what mattered was fixing this.

---

The Vanderbilt Group headquarters loomed over the city skyline, its glass facade reflecting the crisp morning light. The towering structure was a symbol of wealth and influence, rumored to be one of the most valuable commercial properties in New York.

Inside, the marble floors gleamed under recessed lighting, and the air smelled of fresh coffee and polished wood. Serena approached the front desk, where a sleek, well-dressed receptionist greeted her with a neutral expression.

“Good morning,” Serena said politely. “I’d like to meet Mr. Vanderbilt. Do you know if he’s available?”

The receptionist barely spared her a glance before responding coolly, “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I’m here for business,” Serena explained, keeping her tone professional.

“For all business matters, please contact our Business Department. Without a prior appointment, Mr. Vanderbilt won’t be available,” the receptionist replied crisply.

Serena clenched her hands slightly, frustration creeping in. I can’t exactly announce that I’m his wife… but I can’t just leave either.

Just then, her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Hello, Miss Morales. I’m Mr. Vanderbilt’s personal lawyer. I’ve attempted to deliver the divorce agreement twice, but you weren’t home. Do you have time now?

Her chest tightened slightly. She glanced up at the towering building, then back at her phone.

Serena: Can I meet Mr. Vanderbilt in person first?

A few seconds later, a response came.

Unknown Number: We’ll negotiate. Wait for further instructions.

On the top floor, behind a sleek black marble desk, Alexander flipped through a stack of documents, his sharp gaze scanning each page with practiced efficiency.

Jonathan entered quietly. “Mr. Vanderbilt, Miss Morales is downstairs. She’s asking to see you.”

Alexander’s expression remained unreadable as he turned a page. “That won’t be necessary,” he said coolly. “Have the lawyer deliver the divorce agreement to her family.”

She’s just stalling. It won’t change anything.

Jonathan nodded, taking note of the irritation underlying Alexander’s voice. “Also, George Murray has invited you for golf this afternoon. Shall we leave now?”

Alexander adjusted his tie and stood. “Let’s go.”

---

Serena waited in the lounge for over an hour, watching as impeccably dressed executives came and went. Despite maintaining a composed exterior, unease gnawed at her.

Then, her phone rang.

Her father.

She inhaled slowly before answering.

“Serena, what happened? Why does Alexander suddenly want to divorce you?” Alfonso’s voice was tight with anxiety, his words rushed.

Serena gripped her phone a little tighter. “Dad, do you remember that Alexander left for abroad right after our marriage?” she said, her voice even but tinged with exhaustion. “He did it to stay away from me. Now that he’s back, it’s only logical that he wants to finalize things.”

A heavy silence followed before Alfonso’s voice returned, now edged with desperation. “Serena, you can’t get a divorce now! This is a critical time for the Morales family. We’re approaching the second round of financing, and if news of a divorce breaks out, it’ll be disastrous. Our stocks will plummet, and investors will back out.”

Before Serena could respond, another voice cut in—sharp, dripping with disdain.

“I told you this would happen,” Araminta snapped. “She’s never truly sided with the family. If she had, we wouldn’t have a lawyer showing up at our doorstep with divorce papers! Now look at us—we’re a joke!”

Serena closed her eyes briefly, swallowing back a bitter laugh. Of course, Araminta cares more about the family’s image than anything else.

Alfonso hesitated, then softened his tone. “Serena… I’m doing this for your own good. Finding another husband after a divorce is difficult, especially for a woman in your position. Let’s go see Cornelius. He’s always liked you—maybe he can change Alexander’s mind.”

Serena’s chest tightened, suffocation creeping in. Is he worried about me… or the company?

She exhaled slowly, keeping her voice steady. “Cornelius isn’t in New York, Dad. He went abroad to recuperate and hasn’t returned yet.”

Alfonso cursed under his breath.

“Don’t worry,” Serena continued. “I’ll figure something out.”

She reassured him with a few more words before ending the call.

Leaning back in her seat, she stared at the ceiling, her mind racing.

Alexander didn’t just dislike their marriage—he loathed it. He wanted out so badly that he wouldn’t even meet her in person. Sending his lawyer straight to her family was a clear message.

A lump formed in her throat, but she pushed it down.

With a sigh, she slid into the driver’s seat of her car. In her distracted state, she misjudged the doorframe and knocked her knee against it. A sharp sting shot up her leg, but she barely reacted, too lost in thought.

Just as she reached for the ignition, her phone buzzed again.

A message from Kevin.

Kevin: Did Michael Murray, son of Murray Ltd’s CEO, contact you previously?

Serena frowned. Michael Murray?

Something about Kevin’s message felt off, and unease settled deep in her stomach.