FREEBIE * 2nd * Chapter 200

Dear Gentle Readers, 

Thank you for your support & understanding. 

This author will publish 2 chapters every day (1 paying & 1 freebie) this month for quick readers — as the chapter will all turned to paying by the end of the month Jun 30 or else this author will have to face an angry editor. 

Grazie mille. 

yours, EC

At the rooftop bar of 230 Fifth, the city lights sprawled like a glittering blanket below, but inside, the energy buzzed from something else entirely—gossip.

Hugo slammed his palm on the wooden table, nearly tipping over a few glasses. "You guys should’ve seen it! She pointed right at Victoria’s nose and called her a mistress. Madam Vanderbilt was so furious she fainted on the spot. First lawsuit of her life, and she’s almost seventy!" he said with unrestrained glee.

The circle around him burst into laughter. Most of them hadn’t attended the Laurent family's gathering and were now hanging on Hugo’s every word, sipping their cocktails with widened eyes.

Hugo swirled the amber liquor in his glass, leaning back smugly. "I don’t know anything else about that woman, but I’ll give her this—suing Madam Vanderbilt took guts. Turns out Alexander’s wife is hiding a tigress beneath all that meekness."

Another round of laughter exploded, a few even choking on their drinks. One guy wiped tears from his eyes, gasping, "So what does she look like?"

Hugo hesitated, searching for words. After a beat, he sighed dramatically and muttered, "Barely human."

That sent the table into chaos again. Laughter roared. Glasses clinked. Even the bartender cracked a smile.

Only Colton remained unmoved in the center, his jaw tense and brow drawn as if he’d just swallowed something bitter. He nursed his drink in silence.

Moments later, the mood shifted like a flipped switch. Alexander walked in, and the noise died instantly.

Hugo, ever the bold one, lifted a glass in greeting with a teasing grin. "You’re late. Missed the best performance of the season. Alexander, your wife—man, she’s something else."

Alexander’s face was unreadable. He looked like someone who had just clawed his way through a wildfire—anger simmering beneath a cool exterior. Between Madam Vanderbilt collapsing, Victoria sobbing, and Mr. Vanderbilt Sr. barking orders from across the city, he had no patience left.

Hugo, oblivious or simply reckless, gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder. "She’s not a beauty queen, sure, but she’s smart. Sharp tongue too. Honestly, you hit the jackpot."

Alexander lowered his gaze to the glass in front of him, his voice like ice. "If you like her so much, you can have her."

That shut Hugo up. Fast.

He cleared his throat and busied himself with his drink. No matter how amusing the situation seemed, no one in their right mind wanted to deal with Alexander's woman—especially not now.

Alexander leaned back slightly, unbuttoning the top of his collar, the glass swirling idly in his hand. The coldness in his eyes deepened.

Trying to shift the topic, Hugo spoke again. "So what now? What about Victoria? She took a big hit tonight. If you’re really serious about her, maybe it’s time to make things official. Divorce Ava, marry Victoria—clean and simple."

Alexander looked down at the wine, his voice soft and low. "My grandfather wants me to marry Serena. My grandmother wants me to marry Victoria."

Then he glanced up, the corner of his mouth twisting bitterly. "Why can’t I marry the woman I actually want?"

The question landed like a stone in water, rippling across the table. Hugo and Colton exchanged a brief look.

In their world, love was rarely the deciding factor. Marriages were strategic partnerships. Love was a footnote—if it existed at all.

Alexander wasn’t just anyone. He’d built his empire across both Wall Street and Silicon Valley in three ruthless years. His name held weight in boardrooms and backrooms alike. But even he hadn’t been able to choose his wife. Mr. Vanderbilt Sr. had forced him into a marriage, and he’d fled to Europe for three years because of it.

"Then who do you want to marry?" Hugo asked, half-joking, half-curious. "Don’t tell me it’s Ava."

Alexander didn’t answer. He just stared into his drink.

After a long moment, he murmured, "I used to think it was Victoria. Now… I don’t know."

It was honest. Quiet. And heavy.

Colton finally spoke, cutting through the moment with dry finality. "As long as it’s not Ava, you’re still sane."

Alexander’s brow twitched. "She’s still married. Even if I wanted to make a move, I’d have to wait."

Colton smirked but said nothing more. Hugo chuckled. "Come on, man. You’re Alexander Vanderbilt. If you really wanted to marry a divorcee, half of New York would cry themselves to sleep. You’re not done with her yet—that’s all."

It was a truth everyone recognized. If Alexander lost interest, he’d pay her off and walk away.

He reached for his drink, but before it touched his lips, his phone buzzed. Again. Mr. Vanderbilt Sr.

Alexander stood up, nodded to the two men, and stepped outside, letting the rooftop air cool the fire boiling under his skin. He didn’t pick up the call.

He already knew what it was about: another reminder to go “comfort” Serena.

Right now, she was the last person he wanted to see. 

---

The next morning, Serena rose early, her body still aching from the tension of the night before. The city outside her window was quiet, draped in the soft gold of dawn. After feeding Rex, who meowed softly and rubbed against her ankles as if sensing her fatigue, she gathered her things and headed out.

Her destination: the Morales family company.

Although several senior executives had been fired recently, the company still felt like a house with cracked foundations. The leadership vacuum had plunged every department into disarray. Those who remained were either incompetent or too cautious to take initiative. Paranoia festered like mold—no one knew who might be next to go.

And Serena? She had no confidants left. She had returned to a battlefield where her allies had vanished, leaving her to rebuild from scratch.

She spent her morning reviewing performance reports and internal memos, but her mind kept circling back to one pressing need: she needed someone she could trust. An assistant—not just any assistant, but someone who could become her eyes and ears when she wasn’t around. Someone who wouldn’t crumble under pressure or be easily bought out by her enemies.

She pulled up a fresh stack of resumes, flipping through them slowly. Most of the applicants had solid credentials—bachelor’s degrees from respectable institutions, decent internships—but few stood out.

Then one resume caught her attention.

Marilyn Thornton. Twenty-one years old. A junior employee who had joined the company earlier this year. Her education was modest, but her performance reviews were glowing. She’d worked late without complaint, volunteered to pick up extra projects, and handled herself well under stress. She wasn’t Ivy League polished, but she had grit—and right now, that mattered more.

Serena pressed the intercom. “Have Marilyn Thornton come to my office.”

A few minutes later, the door opened, and in walked a petite young woman with a delicate frame and large, curious eyes. She was dressed simply but neatly—her posture was straight, and though nervous, she didn’t fidget.

Serena glanced up from the resume and studied her carefully.

“Marilyn,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Do you think you can serve as the president’s assistant?”

Marilyn’s eyes widened for a split second, clearly caught off guard. But then she nodded quickly, her lips pressed into a determined line. Everyone in the company had heard about the new president’s sharp methods—this was both a risky opportunity and a golden ticket.

“Good.” Serena stood, smoothing the front of her blazer. “Go to HR and start the transfer paperwork. You’ll report directly to me on the top floor this afternoon. I’ll have your workstation prepared by then.”

Marilyn nodded again, her cheeks faintly pink but her chin raised. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to over-explain. She listened, absorbed, and accepted the directive without resistance.

Serena watched her go, then allowed herself a small breath of satisfaction.

She didn’t need bootlickers or brash egos.

She needed quiet competence.

And maybe—just maybe—she’d finally found it.

---

Elsewhere, Victoria—still reeling from the humiliation of the night before—had cried herself swollen-eyed. As soon as she heard that Madam Vanderbilt had regained consciousness, she rushed to Westchester Manor with gifts in hand and grievances on her lips.

Madam Vanderbilt had barely returned home from the hospital, still weak but seething with rage. The thought of the court summons waiting for her made her vision blur with fury.

"That wretched girl! Cough... cough!" Madam Vanderbilt wheezed, gripping the armrest of her chair. “I should’ve had her thrown out of New York the day I laid eyes on her!”

Victoria knelt by her bedside, dressed in muted tones of elegance, her cheeks still tear-streaked. She looked every bit the pitiful figure of a wronged woman.

"Grandma," she whimpered, "I was utterly humiliated. I don’t even dare show my face anymore. I don’t know how I’ll attend another society event after being called… that."

Her voice broke, and she dabbed at her eyes again with a silk handkerchief.

Madam Vanderbilt’s sharp gaze swept the room. “Cordelia,” she snapped, “what kind of business is that Morales company involved in again?”

Cordelia, who had been quietly arranging medicine on the nightstand, looked up with a slight frown. “I’m not sure. I never paid them much attention. I only know the family poured quite a bit of money into them, and they’re still bleeding red.”

Victoria, ever ready to step in, answered smoothly, “They manufacture paints, Grandmother. Specialty coatings, interior-use products—more commercial than high-end, but profitable if leveraged properly.”

Madam Vanderbilt’s eyes narrowed. Her expression darkened with calculation.

“Victoria, doesn’t your family have that new real estate project in Midtown? If your family were to acquire this paint company, would it be of use?”

A sly smile tugged at Victoria’s lips, though she kept her tone demure.

“It would definitely be useful. We could cut costs and even rebrand a product line for exclusive use in our developments. But...” She hesitated artfully. “I’m afraid if we make a move, Mr. Vanderbilt Sr. might object. And as for Alexander... I’m not sure how he feels about the Moraleses. Besides, their company is publicly listed—it wouldn’t be easy to buy them out. It would take time, capital, and patience.”

In truth, acquiring the Morales company was possible—but not elegant. It would be a slog, a slow dismantling of a smaller, struggling brand. For a family like the Laurents, poised at the edge of high society, such moves were often dismissed as tedious.

But Madam Vanderbilt’s expression turned cold and resolute.

“I’ll speak to Alexander. I’ll tell him to assign two capable people from the family to assist your father. He can also lend you the funding.”

Victoria’s breath caught in her throat. “You’d really do that?”

Madam Vanderbilt nodded, her voice firm. “You’re going to marry into the Vanderbilt family. His money will be your money soon enough.”

A flush of triumph warmed Victoria’s cheeks. But just as she was about to voice her gratitude, Madam Vanderbilt’s tone sharpened.

“However,” she added icily, “don’t you ever bring me another fake painting.”

The sting of that reprimand wiped the smile from Victoria’s face.

“You embarrassed me, too. In front of half of New York.”

Victoria lowered her gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “I didn’t know, Grandma. I really thought it was real…”

Madam Vanderbilt waved the excuse away with a flick of her fingers.

“You’re still better than that Serena girl. At least you try to please me, while she exists only to oppose me. Always stubborn. Always defiant.”

Her eyes glinted with a cold light.

“A woman like her will never be accepted into our family.”

She exhaled slowly, as if she had finally reached a decision.

“And Marken liked you. If it was good enough for Marken, it’s good enough for me.”

A tight, satisfied smile curled on Victoria’s lips. She bowed her head, hiding the dangerous pride that flickered in her gaze.

She had been handed a second chance.

And this time, she would make sure Serena was the one crushed underfoot. 

---

Evening had settled over the Morales Corporation building, casting long shadows across the sleek glass walls of Serena’s office. After a long day managing crises and reviewing reports, she was just about to push back her chair and head home when the door creaked open and Marilyn stepped inside.

The young assistant, petite and composed, held a thick folder in her hands and approached the desk with quiet confidence.

“Miss Morales,” she said, “please review this.”

Serena blinked in surprise. She hadn’t expected Marilyn to be this fast—let alone this efficient.

All afternoon, Marilyn had been combing through departmental data, but what she had compiled now went far beyond routine summaries. The documents were meticulously organized and highlighted—crucial financial movements, leadership gaps, operational weaknesses—all laid out in stark clarity.

Serena skimmed the contents, her brows slowly knitting together.

“You did all of this yourself?”

Marilyn gave a small nod. “Yes, ma’am. I noticed some inconsistencies while reviewing the quarterly expenses and shareholder activity, so I dug deeper.”

Serena turned another page and froze.

“Miss Morales,” Marilyn continued carefully, “at around three this afternoon, a company began purchasing scattered shares of our stock—quietly at first. By now, they’ve acquired three percent. I’ve also noticed signs that other shareholders have been approached individually. They’re trying to acquire us… discreetly.”

Serena’s heart dropped.

Not a single board member had reported this.

She immediately spun her laptop around and started typing rapidly. Within seconds, the source of the buyouts popped up: The Richter Group—a real estate firm that operated under none other than the Laurent family.

Her jaw clenched.

She kept scrolling, hoping it was an isolated incident. But then, like a slap in the face, the screen refreshed with breaking news.

The Richter Group had gone public.

They were no longer working in the shadows. Their latest statement was crystal clear: they intended to fully acquire Aether within the week. A message had gone out to all shareholders—anyone willing to sell could name their price, and the Richter Group would pay it.

They’d already bought five percent.

Serena sat still for a long moment, stunned by the brazenness of it all.

She had expected betrayal—but not on this scale.

Not a single member of the board had warned her. No one had called. No one had so much as dropped a hint.

Of course. They wanted to cash out. Sell their shares quietly, take the inflated payout, and leave her with a crumbling shell of a company.

Her own team had turned on her.

And then, her phone buzzed.

It was a message from Victoria.

> “Apologize to me on your knees before 9:00 p.m. tomorrow night. Otherwise, the person Alexander assigned to me will take full control of the acquisition.”

> “Your husband is on my side.”

Serena stared at the screen, her face blank, but her blood ran ice cold.

The room fell into a thick, oppressive silence.

Marilyn, who had remained by the door, didn’t say a word. She could sense the shift in atmosphere—like the lull right before a storm surged across open water.

After a long, heavy pause, Serena finally closed the folder and stood.

She was calm. Too calm.

“Thank you, Marilyn,” she said softly. “You’ve done more than I expected. You can go home now.”

Marilyn hesitated, clearly unsettled. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Serena replied, her voice almost a whisper. “You’ve worked hard. Get some rest.”

Marilyn gave a cautious nod and turned to leave.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Serena remained standing by the window, staring out at the city lights below.

The vultures were circling.

But she wasn’t going down without a fight.