Chapter 7 : “I’m his wife,”

Serena vaguely remembered the details of the project Kevin had mentioned. At the time, she had been preoccupied with another client’s design, and Michael Murray’s request had slipped her mind.

Now, Kevin informed her that Michael had placed an order through the studio and was currently at the golf course. He wanted her to meet him there.

The golf course was located in the affluent suburbs, a sprawling property spanning thousands of acres—one of the most coveted private clubs in New York. Lush green fairways stretched endlessly under the clear blue sky, lined by manicured hedges and glistening sand traps.

When Serena parked her car, a uniformed assistant promptly approached her at the entrance.

“Good afternoon, Miss Morales,” the assistant greeted with a polished smile. “Mr. Murray is expecting you. This way, please.”

Serena followed the assistant through the grand entrance of the clubhouse, past towering glass windows that overlooked the expansive greens. But instead of heading straight for the course, she was led toward a changing room.

“The grass and sand on the course require careful maintenance, so all guests must wear appropriate attire,” the assistant explained. “We’ve prepared a set of golf clubs for you. Do you play, Miss Morales?”

“I do,” Serena replied modestly. “But I’m not an expert.”

“That won’t be a problem. Please change into these first. Mr. Murray is waiting for you on the course.”

Serena nodded, accustomed to adapting to various client preferences. Over the years, she had attended tennis matches, deep-sea fishing trips, and even art gallery openings to secure deals. Golf was no different.

The assistant handed her a set of pristine white sportswear, complete with a matching visor and gloves. The fabric was light and breathable, tailored for the warm afternoon sun.

After changing, Serena tied her hair into a high ponytail, picked up the golf bag provided, and made her way toward the main lobby.

Just as she descended the staircase, a commanding presence entered the building.

Alexander.

He was surrounded by a group of influential businessmen, exuding the effortless authority that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Dressed in a tailored navy polo and crisp white slacks, he blended seamlessly with the elite crowd, yet still managed to stand out.

Serena halted mid-step.

For a moment, their eyes met.

She stood in a prime spot beneath the skylight, the sunlight highlighting the delicate arch of her features. Her sports skirt revealed her long, toned legs, and despite her attempt to maintain composure, she felt exposed under his piercing gaze.

His eyes flickered briefly to the faint red mark on her knee before shifting away, his expression unreadable.

Serena clenched her fingers around the strap of her bag. Alexander barely acknowledged her before turning his attention back to his companions. The suited men around him spoke with practiced deference, their body language radiating quiet respect.

Serena forced herself to breathe and adjusted the strap of her bag. She had no time to dwell on Alexander’s presence. With steady steps, she walked past him and headed to the course.

---

Michael Murray stood near the driving range, exuding the relaxed arrogance of a man used to getting what he wanted. His designer sportswear was tailored to perfection, and as he took a smooth swing, the ball arced through the air before dropping neatly into the hole.

Spotting Serena, he handed his club to a nearby caddy and approached with an easy grin.

“Miss Alvarez, you’re finally here,” he said smoothly. “Meeting you in person is a rare treat.”

Serena returned his smile with a polite one of her own and took a seat nearby. “Mr. Murray, you exaggerate. I’m hardly a rarity.”

Michael chuckled, handing her a bottle of chilled water.

As they chatted, staff members discreetly cleared the nearby area. The subtle shift in atmosphere signaled the arrival of someone important.

Michael leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You’ve heard of the Vanderbilt Group, right?”

Serena took a sip of water. “Of course.”

“My father arranged today’s game specifically to meet Alexander Vanderbilt. If we secure this deal, we’re looking at a $3.3 billion partnership,” Michael boasted, his voice tinged with excitement.

Serena raised a delicate brow. “Impressive. But I doubt Mr. Vanderbilt makes decisions over a round of golf.”

Michael grinned. “That’s why we play the long game.”

As they walked onto the course, he continued talking, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice.

“A lot of women must be devastated now that Alexander is back,” he mused. “My father mentioned that he’s married.”

Serena’s grip on her club tightened slightly.

“Really?” she responded coolly. “He doesn’t strike me as a married man.”

Michael smirked. “Exactly. If he has a wife, where is she? A man like that wouldn’t hide his woman unless… she’s not worth showing off.”

Serena stilled. The blatant disrespect in his voice sent a chill down her spine.

She forced a neutral expression and adjusted her stance, readying her swing. “Maybe,” she said, dismissing the topic.

Her ponytail swayed as she struck the ball, the motion fluid and effortless. Sunlight cast a golden glow over her, accentuating her poised demeanor.

Michael’s gaze lingered.

“If Mr. Vanderbilt had a wife as beautiful as you,” he murmured, “he’d be parading her around proudly.”

Serena didn’t respond.

They continued playing until Michael suggested a break.

As they walked back toward the clubhouse, Serena seized the opportunity to discuss her project. But before she could, Michael interrupted.

“I’ve worked up a sweat. Let’s freshen up and change,” he suggested, flashing a sly grin.

Serena nodded, heading to the women’s changing room.

After washing up, she stepped out, adjusting the strap of her bag—only to freeze.

Michael was standing in the hallway, clad in nothing but a towel.

Her brows furrowed. The changing rooms are separate. Why is he here?

“Mr. Murray, this is the women’s changing room,” she said sharply.

Michael smirked, his eyes sweeping over her. “Has anyone ever told you how stunning you are?” he murmured, stepping closer. “I reached out before, but you kept avoiding me. But here we are. Tell me, do you need money?”

Serena took a deliberate step back. “Mr. Murray, I suggest you watch yourself.”

He chuckled. “Relax. Make me happy, and I’ll throw in an extra hundred thousand.”

Revulsion curled in her stomach. Turning sharply, she attempted to leave, but Michael grabbed her waist, pulling her back.

“I have men stationed outside,” he murmured. “You’re not walking out of here that easily.”

Serena took a slow, steady breath. “Mr. Murray, your father went to great lengths to secure this meeting with Alexander Vanderbilt. Are you really willing to risk it all over a moment’s impulse?”

Michael’s grip loosened.

She continued, voice unwavering. “One call, and this deal is off the table.”

His expression flickered with uncertainty. “And who exactly are you to Alexander?”

Serena met his gaze head-on.

“I’m his wife.”

Michael laughed, but there was a note of hesitation. “Then call him. Let’s see if he comes running.”

Serena lifted her chin. “You think I won’t?”

The confidence in her voice made him pause.

Reluctantly, he released her.

Without another word, Serena turned and walked briskly toward the hallway. But as she rounded the corner, she nearly collided with someone.

She froze.

Standing before her, exuding an unmistakable air of authority, was Alexander.

His gaze swept over her, then flickered to Michael, his expression turning dangerously cold.