* FREE - Appreciation for our Readers * Chapter 91: Call your husband to come pick you up

(From here, Ava will be referred to as Serena, as Aunt Torres and the Vanderbilt staff recognize her as “Serena” or “Miss Morales,” Alexander’s wife.)

Serena had spent the morning finalizing paperwork at the agency before heading to her new house. The previous owner had left it in pristine condition, already renovated and furnished. All she needed to do was move in with her bags.

Determined, she returned to Le Châteauesque Manor, gathering her scattered belongings. The grand estate, with its imposing architecture and sprawling gardens, felt suffocating rather than luxurious. It was too intertwined with Alexander’s presence.

Aunt Torres, noticing her efforts, couldn't help but voice her concern.

"Miss Morales, is this really a good idea? You’ve never lived in Le Châteauesque Manor before, and now that the old master is back, he might come by unexpectedly. He’s not easy to fool. Last time, he even went into Mr. Vanderbilt’s room and didn’t look happy. If he notices your belongings missing, he will certainly ask questions."

Serena sighed, rubbing her temples. Grandfather Vanderbilt’s return to New York had complicated things. The last thing she needed was him prying into her and Alexander’s nonexistent marriage.

Reluctantly, she dropped half of her luggage. "I’ll move some things over first and still come here regularly. But I can’t let Rex stay locked up any longer. I’ll bring her with me."

At the mention of Rex, the large husky wagged her tail, sensing the excitement in Serena’s voice. Le Châteauesque Manor was ideal for a dog—expansive, safe, and filled with hidden corners to explore. The only drawback was Alexander.

The house Serena had bought was nice, but it lacked the grandeur of Le Châteauesque Manor. Still, it was hers, and that meant everything.

Aunt Torres studied her for a moment, then sighed. She could see that Miss Morales had no attachment to Mr. Vanderbilt whatsoever. If Alexander realized this, she wondered how he’d react.

Serena packed half of her luggage and left.

---

(From here, Serena will be referred to as Ava, as Raphael recognizes her as “Ava,” the designer.)

Arriving at her new home, Ava carefully unpacked, placing her clothes neatly in the wardrobe before letting Rex explore the house, sniffing every corner curiously. The fresh scent of polished wood and new furniture filled the air, a stark contrast to the cold elegance of the Vanderbilt estate.

Later, she met with Raphael and his new girlfriend, Brigitte, who had moved into the apartment across from hers.

Back inside, feeling restless, Ava scrolled through her phone’s gallery and stumbled upon a candid shot of Alexander. The lighting had been perfect—moody, atmospheric.

For an artist, inspiration sometimes came from the most inconvenient places.

Ava grabbed her charcoal and sketchpad, quickly translating the image onto paper in sharp, fluid strokes. She only used black and white, capturing the stark contrast of shadows against his angular features. The result was hauntingly elegant—Alexander, a noble figure against the darkness.

Satisfied, she placed the painting near the floor-to-ceiling window to dry.

Just as she was about to order supper, Brigitte knocked on her door, holding a homemade meal.

"Ava, I made this for you. I know you’re busy and often skip meals. You might get a stomachache. Try it?"

Brigitte was well-intentioned, though a little too trusting.

While Ava tended to Rex, Brigitte noticed the painting and snapped a photo, intrigued by Ava’s talent. She quickly texted Raphael.

> Raphael, you were right! Ava is really talented—not just in interior design but in portrait art too!

Raphael, seeing the photo, raised an eyebrow. Without hesitation, he forwarded it to Alexander.

---

Meanwhile, Alexander was riding in his car when he received the forwarded message.

The moment he saw the sketch, he recognized the composition. Not only had she taken his picture, but she had also drawn him.

Raphael’s text followed:

> Cousin, I’ve been meaning to ask—why does Ava bring you soup and now secretly draw you? Does her husband know?

A flicker of irritation crossed Alexander’s face. Without responding, he locked his phone.

At that moment, Ava had no idea her sketch had already made its way to him.

---

Later that evening, Ava left her house for a studio meeting when someone knocked on her car window.

Patty.

Ava hesitated. She didn’t like Patty—she was selfish, cutting with her words, and prone to drama. Still, refusing her now would create unnecessary tension at the studio.

With an internal sigh, she unlocked the door.

Patty slid in, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Thanks, esteemed designer."

Ava ignored the remark.

As they merged into traffic, Patty suddenly brought up Mr. Thompson’s scandal.

"His wife made my situation public. You worked with him for three years—you must have known her, right?"

Ava gripped the steering wheel, refusing to engage.

Patty, however, wasn’t done. "That night—you led me to say those things. His wife caught us, and I became a joke!"

Ava let out a humorless laugh.

"Did I force you to pursue Mr. Thompson?"

Actions had consequences. If Patty had chosen to be a mistress, she should have been prepared for the fallout.

Patty’s face twisted with rage. "And what makes you any better?! That night, I was with Mr. Thompson, and you—"

Her voice turned cruel.

"You could barely walk after being passed around. Who are you to judge me?"

Ava’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. She had barely survived that night, and now this woman was twisting the truth?

Her patience snapped. "I’ll pull over. You can walk the rest of the way."

Before she could, Patty grabbed the wheel.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Ava shouted.

The car veered sharply, tires screeching.

A split second later—

"Bang!"

The impact was brutal. Both airbags deployed, smoke curling from the engine.

Patty screamed hysterically beside her.

Dazed, Ava pushed open the door, her heart pounding.

Then she saw the other car.

Her breath caught.

Diana.

Ava’s stomach dropped as she sprinted over. The driver was slumped over, unconscious. Diana’s forehead was bleeding, her expression dazed.

"Mrs. Richardson, are you okay?"

Diana blinked in confusion. She rubbed her temple, then frowned when she recognized Ava.

"Ava... are you hurt?"

Ava felt a pang of guilt. Diana had been nothing but kind to her.

"I’m fine. I’m so sorry—I’m calling 911 now."

The police arrived within minutes, securing the area as paramedics attended to Diana and her driver.

Meanwhile, Ava turned to Patty, her anger cold and sharp.

"You’re going to explain to them exactly what happened."

Patty had gone pale, realizing the severity of the situation. The car she had hit wasn’t just any car—it belonged to a woman of influence.

Traffic officers approached, taking statements. Ava recounted the incident, emphasizing how Patty had grabbed the wheel. The dashcam footage would confirm it.

Meanwhile, Diana was taken to the hospital for observation.

Ava, as the driver, was immediately detained by the police. Diana, despite her dizziness, wanted to intervene on Ava’s behalf. However, before she could say anything, Ava spoke first.

"Mrs. Richardson, the ambulance will be here soon. You should go to the hospital first. I’ll personally come to apologize later. I have something to handle here."

Even in the chaos, Ava’s voice remained steady. She wasn’t the type to deflect responsibility.

Her gaze shifted toward Patty, who stood frozen, her face pale and hands trembling. What had started as a petty attempt at revenge had spiraled into a nightmare. Patty had never meant for them to actually crash into a car worth ten million dollars.

But Ava had fought back, yanking the wheel in the struggle, and in that split second of panic, the car had swerved into the wrong lane.

The moment she realized the gravity of what she had done, Patty felt sick.

Ava turned back to the police, recounting every detail of what happened, emphasizing the dashcam footage that would confirm Patty’s reckless act.

As soon as the officers saw the luxury vehicle belonging to a woman of Diana Richardson’s stature, they straightened their backs. This wasn’t just an ordinary fender bender.

It was clear Ava hadn’t been solely at fault, but the police couldn’t afford to be careless. To ensure proper investigation, they decided to take both Ava and Patty to the station.

---

At the Police Station

Ava felt exhausted. Hospitals. Police stations. It felt like she had been bouncing between them endlessly these past few weeks.

Next to her, Patty’s nerves were fraying. The reality of the situation had sunk in, and now she was trying to shift blame.

"This isn’t my fault, Ava," she muttered, her voice edging toward hysteria.

Ava didn’t react. She had no patience for people who refused to take responsibility.

"I was just a passenger," Patty pressed, as if saying it enough times would make it true. "You were the one driving. If they demand compensation, they’ll come for you."

Ava exhaled, trying to ignore her.

"You’re really unlucky, you know," Patty continued, her voice a mix of panic and malice. "That woman we hit—she’s powerful. You’re done for."

Ava didn’t flinch. She knew exactly who she had hit. And Diana… Diana was kind.

Unlike Patty, Ava wasn’t a coward.

She finished giving her statement, taking responsibility for her part, but making it clear that Patty had grabbed the wheel.

Patty, realizing the police weren’t going to let her walk away without consequences, started spiraling.

"Ava, you’re being too much! This whole thing is your fault!" she shouted as Ava walked toward the exit.

Before she could follow, an officer blocked her path.

"We need to take your separate statement," he said coolly.

Patty stiffened. Diana Richardson had been injured. Whether or not the damage was serious, the law wouldn’t treat this lightly.

---

Meanwhile, at the Richardson Residence

Raphael had been lounging in bed with Brigitte when his mother’s number flashed on his screen.

He frowned. Diana rarely called him so late.

Pushing Brigitte off his chest, he answered.

But the voice on the other end wasn’t his mother.

"Young Master, it's Madam’s driver."

Raphael sat up immediately, alert. "What happened?"

"There was an accident," the driver explained. "A car hit us. Madam has a mild concussion and a head injury, but nothing serious. She’s being kept at the hospital for observation."

Raphael’s grip on the phone tightened.

"And the other driver?"

The driver hesitated. "It was your girlfriend’s car."

Raphael froze.

Ava?

"Madam didn’t plan on telling you," the driver continued, "but she asked me to call so you could check on her."

Raphael frowned. His mother was injured, yet she wanted him to check on Ava?

Why?

Then he remembered—Diana had always liked Ava. The last few times they had met, Ava had been in rough shape. His mother must have felt sorry for her.

Still, the accident had been Ava’s fault.

Raphael hesitated for a moment before calling her.

The line connected almost immediately, but instead of a greeting, there was a harsh cough.

"Ava? Are you okay?"

"Mr. Richardson," Ava’s voice was hoarse, strained. "I’ll be right there—"

She started coughing again.

Raphael’s frown deepened. "Are you sick?"

"It’s nothing. Just a little under the weather."

"Don’t force yourself," he said firmly. "You don’t sound like you should be driving. I’ll send someone—"

"No need—" Another cough cut her off.

Raphael wasn’t having it.

"My cousin is nearby," he said. "You’re right in between the Vanderbilt family estate and the hospital. I’ll have him pick you up."

Ava’s chest tightened. His cousin?

"Raphael, that’s really not nec—"

But he had already hung up.

Ava groaned, her fever making her limbs heavy and sluggish.

Her mind swirled with exhaustion, and now, on top of everything, Alexander was coming to pick her up.

---

Ava anxiously redialed Raphael’s number, but all she heard was the monotonous voice of the automated system: “The number you are trying to reach is currently busy.”

Her heart sank. Raphael had already called Alexander.

At that moment, Alexander was on his way to the hospital, having just ended a call with Raphael.

Raphael had rambled about several things before ending with a sentence that lodged itself in Alexander’s mind.

"Xander, she at least drew a picture of you."

Alexander stared at the cityscape outside the window. The sky had darkened, and the streetlights flickered to life, casting golden halos along the pavement.

It reminded him of the painting.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes.

She really did have talent.

Jonathan pulled the car into a stop at the address Raphael had given. This neighborhood wasn’t cheap.

Alexander’s gaze flicked toward the entrance of the apartment building. So, she had moved here.

Ava, already standing outside, had been waiting ten minutes early. She didn’t want to make him wait.

But the moment she stepped forward, the world tilted.

The hot bath she had taken earlier had made her drowsy, and now, with her fever worsening, everything felt disoriented.

By the time Alexander’s car stopped in front of her, she barely had the strength to reach for the door handle.

The leather seat felt blissfully cool against her burning skin.

"Mr. Vanderbilt, thank you," she murmured.

Her voice was hoarse—weak.

Alexander frowned. "Are you sick?"

His sharp gaze studied her pale face, the unnatural flush on her cheeks, and the damp strands of hair clinging to her forehead.

Ava leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes.

"Yeah," she admitted softly. "I think I have a fever. I'm sorry about Mrs. Richardson’s accident. The police will finalize everything soon."

Her body felt unbearably hot. She was practically melting.

She should have stopped somewhere to buy a gift for Diana—it was only proper etiquette. But this was Alexander’s car, and she couldn’t possibly ask him to wait for her while she shopped for something.

She would have to make it up later.

The atmosphere in the car was quiet.

Jonathan honked a few times, but the traffic was at a complete standstill.

Rush hour.

Ava felt her body swaying, her head spinning. The heat pressed in on her from all sides, making her breath shallow.

Alexander sat beside her, silent but aware. He could sense the tension in her body.

The air inside the car was thick—almost suffocating.

"Ava?"

His voice cut through the haze.

He was about to say something else when his phone vibrated.

Diana’s name flashed across the screen.

He answered.

"Alexander, Raphael told me Ava isn’t feeling well. Don't bring her to the hospital. Let her rest instead," Diana said, her voice gentle yet firm.

Alexander’s lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t the type to take unnecessary detours.

Before he could reply, something warm collapsed against his shoulder.

His entire body stiffened.

Ava had slumped against him, her cheek pressing against the crisp fabric of his dress shirt.

The heat of her fever seeped through, burning against his skin.

Her shallow breaths brushed against the side of his neck, each exhale igniting something unfamiliar deep in his gut.

Alexander’s grip on his phone tightened.

Diana’s voice continued in his ear, but he wasn’t listening anymore.

After a moment, he ended the call.

Then, in a clipped voice, he spoke.

"Jonathan, is the traffic clearing?"

"Sir, it’s still heavily congested. It’ll take a while to get through."

Alexander exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching.

"Turn around."

Jonathan hesitated for a split second but complied without question. At the next intersection, the car made a U-turn.

Ava stirred slightly but didn’t wake. She was too exhausted to process what was happening.

When the car pulled into her neighborhood, Alexander opened the door and nudged her lightly.

"Ava," he called.

She barely reacted.

"Mr. Vanderbilt, are we here?" she murmured, her voice disoriented.

She tried to move but her legs buckled instantly.

Before she could hit the pavement, a strong arm caught her.

Alexander’s frown deepened as he pulled her back up.

The force of it made her body crash against his.

For a brief moment, their proximity was too close—too intimate.

Ava’s fevered skin burned through his shirt, and the scent of her shampoo—faint and familiar—filled his senses.

Jonathan, who had stepped out of the car to help, paused mid-step.

He immediately turned around and got back into the car, pretending not to have seen anything.

Ava’s head was spinning. She blinked up at Alexander, struggling to steady herself.

"I…" she started, but her voice trailed off.

"Don't move," Alexander ordered coldly.

A beat of silence.

"This is your neighborhood," he continued. "You have a fever. Call your husband to come pick you up."

Ava froze.

Her fingers curled slightly.

She should have expected this. Of course, he would say something like that.