* FREEBIE * 2nd * Chapter 212 : Seventh time

Dear Gentle Readers, this author mistyped on Chapter 207 it should have been 200 but the word million was missing. Please forgive him... in the meantime, this author plans to conclude the First Part of this book soon and start writing another book. The 2nd Part will have the title : Billionaire’s Ex-Wife Revenge & Happy Ending. 

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Ava slid into the driver’s seat of her car and tossed her bag onto the passenger side. The delicate weight of the gift Alexander had forced on her tugged at her curiosity. She lifted the lid of the box and stared down at the bracelet inside.

Even to her untrained eye, it was exquisite—an intricate piece adorned with rare, colored diamonds that sparkled beneath the morning light. She didn’t need to know the brand to recognize that it cost more than most people earned in a year. Still, without a second thought, she tossed it onto the backseat like it was a ten-dollar trinket from a street vendor.

Whatever sentiment Alexander thought this gift might inspire in her, he was wrong.

Without hesitation, she turned the key in the ignition and drove straight to Westchester Manor.

If Alexander had the audacity to throw her leftovers, she would cash in every piece of her misfortune and turn it into something meaningful—starting with the debt owed by Madame Vanderbilt.

---

“Bitch… bitch…”

Madame Vanderbilt’s voice was low and venomous as she paced in her sitting room, trembling with rage. She hadn't expected Ava to gain such traction so quickly. Not only had she secured her shares in the Morales family company, but now she stood bold and unflinching, demanding compensation like a seasoned heiress.

What stung most was the string of subpoenas that had been arriving at her door with increasing frequency. If the matter went to court again, it wouldn’t just be her reputation on the line—the entire Vanderbilt family name would be dragged through the mud. At this point, even Cassius might have to intervene.

Grinding her teeth, Madame Vanderbilt waved her hand and barked, “Bring the check.”

Moments later, a servant returned with a slip of paper.

Ava received it without blinking.

One billion dollars.

“Thank you, Madam,” she said with quiet grace, slipping the check into her handbag.

But Madame Vanderbilt wasn’t done.

In a burst of fury, she hurled a teacup at Ava. The porcelain shattered against her collarbone, and the scalding water splashed across her skin, turning it an angry red.

Ava flinched but didn’t cry out.

She didn’t touch the burn. Didn’t acknowledge the pain.

She simply fastened her bag shut and turned toward the door. “It seems my presence is no longer welcome,” she said coolly. “Then I’ll take my leave.”

“You—you—” Madame Vanderbilt sputtered, her voice cracking with indignation, but Ava was already gone.

Within an hour, the woman would be rushed to the hospital once again, collapsing under the weight of her own fury.

---

Ava drove with the windows down, letting the wind cool the sting on her neck. The check sat quietly on the passenger seat like a silent trophy, its presence reassuring.

But she wasn’t done yet.

She made a sharp turn off the freeway and pulled into a gated lot. The sign read: Estelle & Carter’s Secondhand Luxuries.

It wasn’t your typical pawn shop. This was where high society came to quietly unload their scandals—designer bags from broken engagements, watches from failed marriages, and jewelry given out of guilt.

Inside, the air was cool and dry, scented faintly with cedarwood and old money. A middle-aged shopkeeper with silver-streaked hair adjusted his glasses and blinked several times when Ava handed him the bracelet.

“Miss… are you sure?” he asked, voice nearly a whisper. “This is... rare. Very rare.”

Ava nodded without hesitation.

He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, clearly unnerved. “The owner’s here today. Allow me to consult him. Please, wait in the lounge.”

She was ushered into a plush waiting room, where two attendants offered her tea and politely withdrew.

Upstairs, the shopkeeper carefully laid the bracelet before a man seated at a mahogany desk.

Colton.

The elusive proprietor of the establishment sat surrounded by vintage weaponry and collectible artifacts. At the moment, he was dismantling a pistol with practiced ease.

The shopkeeper cleared his throat. “Boss Colton. A client brought this in to pawn. It was featured in the last international jewelry exhibit—a unique piece. Exceptional quality.”

Colton didn’t look up. “Is it real?”

“Yes, sir. Certified. Flawless Argyle pink and fancy blue diamonds.”

“And the value?”

“Retail, two hundred million. We could offer one-fifty, max.”

Colton finally glanced at it. His fingers brushed the diamonds for a moment. “Keep it. Make the offer.”

---

Downstairs, Ava sipped her tea without emotion. When the shopkeeper returned, his expression was reverent.

“Miss, we can offer you one hundred fifty million.”

Her brows lifted. “How much?”

He mistook her surprise for dissatisfaction. “We understand it’s worth more. But being a resale, depreciation is inevitable. Of course, if you’d rather not—”

“I’ll sell,” Ava interrupted. “Sell it.”

The shopkeeper exhaled with visible relief and sprang into action. Within the hour, the funds were transferred, and Ava stood outside again—richer by a staggering $150 million. Combined with the check in her purse, her earnings for the day totaled a cool $250 million.

The shopkeeper personally handed her a VIP card. “You’re now among our highest-tier clients. Any time, day or night, just call. I’ll assist you personally.”

Ava slipped the card into her wallet.

Once back in her car, she stared out through the windshield, the city lights blinking into life.

She’d barely thought of the bracelet since it had left her hand. But now, something lingered.

Why had Alexander given her something so... extravagant?

Then she remembered his own words. “The gift was meant for Victoria. You’re just a contingency.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

Yes, it made sense now. For someone like Victoria, only the best would do.

For Ava?

Leftovers.

And that was exactly what she’d sold them for.

---

Alexander had just finished his discussion with Anita Ruiz. He expected Ava would be waiting for him outside the café—but when he stepped out and found the space empty, a faint flicker of disappointment crossed his face.

But upon hearing from Jonathan that Ava had accepted the bracelet, his mood lifted, if only slightly. The corners of his mouth curved ever so subtly—a rare, fleeting smile.

She accepted the gift.

She must have liked it… right?

A quiet satisfaction nestled in his chest, but, as always, his expression betrayed none of it. Masked beneath his composed demeanor was a man treading the uncertain waters of feeling. As their car passed the glittering glass façade of the luxury mall, Alexander’s gaze lingered.

“Stop the car,” he said suddenly.

Jonathan didn’t question it. He gently pulled the vehicle to a halt at the curb. “Mr. Vanderbilt?”

“Come with me,” Alexander instructed. “We’re buying another gift.”

He reasoned—if she liked bracelets, she might like other jewelry too. A necklace, perhaps. Hugo’s voice echoed in the back of his mind: Women like to be spoiled. They need to be.

Alexander told himself it was strategic. Tactical. He wanted Ava to understand—Alexei could offer her attention, charm, a fleeting thrill… but Alexander could give her far more.

And yet, the thought unsettled him.

He should have despised her. She was difficult, irrational—dangerous to his pride. But here he was, trying to please her.

At the boutique’s high-end jewelry section, Alexander stood silently before a gleaming display of necklaces. Nothing caught his eye. Nothing seemed worthy.

The bracelet had been a lucky find—fresh off an international exhibition. These were merely leftovers for the wealthy, lacking presence, lacking... her.

For a man who loathed shopping, he lingered far longer than usual. After ten minutes of browsing, his frustration grew visible. He turned sharply on his heel.

“Contact the jewelry exhibit center,” he told Jonathan as they returned to the car. “Have them send over a new piece.”

Jonathan, from the driver’s seat, stole a glance at his employer through the rearview mirror. Alexander’s features were composed as always, but there was a certain tightness to his jaw. He was used to this version of Mr. Vanderbilt—the man who cloaked every emotion under a layer of ice. But Jonathan suspected that the fire underneath was building.

“Understood, sir,” he replied simply.

Alexander didn’t respond. He shifted his attention to the document on his lap, though his eyes drifted. In another part of the city, Ava was anything but idle.

With her newfound fortune, she decided to channel her focus—and her wealth—into something that sparked her interest.

She reached out to Wes.

They met again, this time to discuss a screenplay. When Ava learned that it was Hugo’s latest script, her expression darkened with thought.

Hugo’s work was known across the industry. His stories were raw, award-worthy, and box office gold. Ava admired his vision—and she admired Wes’s talent too. Despite the chaos in her life, she hadn’t stopped being a discerning observer of art and performance.

Investing in this project could help Wes through a turbulent moment—and might turn a profit for her. She had the means now. Why not use it?

But at that exact moment, Wes was facing his own nightmare.

Back at his management agency, the office door slammed open.

The regional Mr. Vanderbilt—not Alexander, but a sharp-toothed corporate enforcer bearing the same name—threw a folder at Wes’s feet. The blow was more symbolic than physical, but no less humiliating.

“You told me you’d landed Hugo’s lead role,” the man barked. “And now? You’ve been replaced. That’s a disgrace.”

Wes’s face paled. He swallowed hard.

“Sir, I’ve brought in consistent revenue for this agency—”

Another cup of coffee flew at him, hitting his already-stained shirt with a fresh wave of humiliation.

“We’re terminating your contract. Ruiz Star Entertainment has offered to buy you out,” Mr. Vanderbilt sneered. “You’ll report to them immediately. They’ll know how to make use of someone like you.”

Wes stood frozen. Those words hit harder than the cup.

“Please, if you could just reconsider—”

“No. Without that role, you’re a liability. Let Mrs. Ruiz use you. Who knows? Maybe she’ll hand you an Oscar for best kept pet.”

The laughter that followed from the room was hollow and biting.

Wes’s face burned with shame, but he knew he had no leverage. The contract was airtight. Fighting it would ruin him. He bent down, picked up the tossed paperwork, and turned for the door.

As he walked away, Mr. Vanderbilt’s parting words followed like a shadow:

“Make sure to keep Mrs. Ruiz happy. And your fans? They’ll never know who you really are.”

Out in the corridor, the hallway buzzed with assistants and talent. Wes had once walked through here with pride. Now, he felt invisible. Disposable.

He knew what Anita Ruiz wanted from him—and it wasn’t his acting.

His stomach twisted. He’d seen it happen before. A rising actor, targeted, pushed, humiliated. One of them hadn’t survived the pressure. They found him in his penthouse, a suicide note and a bottle of pills his only goodbye.

Wes was starting to understand why.

Desperate, he slid into the backseat of his car and stared blankly through the windshield.

His agent tried to reason with him. “Don’t do anything drastic, Wes. There's always a way out.”

Wes nodded slowly, but his thoughts were far from hopeful.

His mind drifted to Ava.

Their meeting. Her clear eyes. Her quiet strength. If only she could care—even a little.

She was the only person who saw him for something more than a pretty face or a contract.

If only...

--- 

As evening draped itself over the city, casting golden hues against the skyline, Ava made her way to 230 Fifth Rooftop Bar—a haunt known for its velvet booths, high-profile clientele, and the kind of secrets that could ruin reputations overnight.

She wasn’t here to sip cocktails under the stars.

She was here for Hugo Beaumont.

Hugo, infamous for his unapologetic charm and playboy antics, spent more time here than in his production office. If he wasn’t buried in a script, he was likely lost in a haze of fine whiskey and fleeting company.

Ava reached the private booth often reserved for New York’s privileged elite. The hallway was quiet save for the muffled thump of bass and the occasional burst of laughter. She gave the door a light knock and pushed it open.

What she saw made her freeze in place.

Hugo was pinning a half-naked woman against the karaoke console. The screen behind them flickered with lyrics long forgotten, replaced by breathy moans echoing awkwardly through the surround sound.

Ava's eyes locked with the woman's—wide, startled, and unmistakably familiar.

The woman shrieked and scrambled to cover herself, ducking into Hugo's arms like a frightened animal. Through the glass paneling, Hugo spotted Ava and instinctively grabbed a nearby throw pillow to shield the woman’s modesty. He fumbled with his shirt, dragging the buttons together with sudden urgency.

Ava instinctively began to backpedal, cheeks flushed despite her normally ice-cold composure.

“Wait—Ava,” Hugo called out, his voice hoarse but steady.

He glanced down at the woman in his arms, now trembling. “Get out.”

There was no room for argument in his tone.

The woman, face red with embarrassment, gathered her discarded coat and stumbled past Ava on her way out. Ava stood still, her expression unreadable. She recognized the woman now—the current “It girl,” plastered across every tabloid and gossip blog for the last three months.

Hugo, ever the chameleon, straightened up and wiped his hands on a napkin. With practiced ease, he smoothed back his tousled hair, tucked in his shirt, and gestured toward the couch.

“Well, that was unexpected,” he said, reaching for a cigarette before pausing. With a shrug, he tossed it aside. “What brings you here, Ava?”

She hesitated by the door, torn between her purpose and the awkward scene she had just witnessed. Still, she knew Hugo. Beneath the wild persona was a man of shrewd intellect—and despite their vastly different worlds, he had always respected her boundaries.

Taking a breath, she stepped fully inside.

“I’m here about your screenplay,” she said.

Hugo’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as he poured himself a drink, the ice clinking gently in the glass.

“Oh?” he asked, swirling the liquid. “Looking to star in it?”

Ava shook her head. “I’m interested in investing.”

Now that caught his attention.

“My latest script’s budget clocks in around three hundred million. How much are you thinking?”

“I’ll put in half,” she replied, voice steady. “One hundred and fifty million.”

Hugo paused mid-sip, his eyes scanning her. She looked calm—serious. Then she added, “On one condition.”

His lips curled around the rim of his glass. “Ah, there it is. And?”

“I want Wes cast as the lead.”

He lowered his glass slowly. A spark of curiosity flickered in his eyes.

Of all the names she could’ve dropped, that one?

Alexander’s recent meltdown over Wes suddenly made more sense. Was it jealousy? Hugo’s mind worked quickly, connecting dots and drawing conclusions with amusement.

So this is what it was about.

“A hundred and fifty million buys you quite a bit of say,” he mused. “Do you have that kind of money?”

“I do,” Ava replied, unwavering. “The transfer can be completed by tomorrow morning.”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You like him?”

“It’s not like that,” she said, carefully. “I admire his talent. That’s all.”

Hugo tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin. “Sure. Just admiration.”

He tapped a finger on the armrest, still smiling. “Alright. Deal. Funds in my account by nine, and I’ll make the call. Wes gets the role.”

Ava’s face broke into a soft smile, her eyes lighting up. “Thank you, Mr. Beaumont. I’d be happy to treat you to dinner as a thank-you.”

But Hugo waved her off, leaning back and stretching like a man settling back into sin.

“No need,” he said dryly. “I need to… resume my evening.”

The frustration simmering in his veins from the abrupt interruption hadn't yet faded.

Realizing she had overstayed her welcome, Ava rose quickly, nodding in polite retreat.

“Good night, Mr. Beaumont,” she said, and vanished through the door without looking back. 

***

Back at the hotel, Alexander had just received a delivery from the jewelry exhibition center.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, this is today’s latest piece,” the representative said respectfully, placing a long velvet box in his hands.

Alexander opened it with the faint expectation of seeing something new. But the moment the lid clicked open, his gaze froze.

Lying inside, cushioned in black satin, was the bracelet.

The bracelet.

The one he had chosen with care. The one he had paid a fortune for. The one he had imagined on Ava’s wrist—delicate, luminous, hers.

But now… it was back.

“This bracelet was recently displayed in an international exhibition,” the staff member continued proudly, unaware of the storm gathering in the room. “It’s a one-of-a-kind piece—extremely rare, almost priceless. We received it through a second-hand luxury network. A fortunate acquisition, considering you had your eye on it.”

A cold shadow passed over Alexander’s face.

Second-hand?

That meant someone had pawned it.

He clenched his jaw. “Where did this come from?” His voice was low, but sharp as glass. The kind of voice that made the hairs on one’s neck rise.

The man flinched. “Uh, the second-hand market downtown… It came in earlier today, and there was significant buyer interest, but the timing worked out—”

“Enough,” Alexander cut him off.

He nodded at Jonathan to pay and dismissed the stunned representative. As soon as the door closed, the air shifted. The calm was gone. In its place simmered restrained fury.

Alexander picked up his phone and sent the photo of the bracelet to Colton.

“Find out the current going rate for this.”

Colton didn’t need time to think. His reply came back within seconds.

Colton: “A hundred and fifty million. Market price.”

Alexander stared at the number, seated in silence. His brows furrowed deeper by the second. He had bought the piece for two hundred million just days ago. And she sold it. She actually sold it.

Still, for a few foolish moments, he tried to justify it. Maybe she’s in financial trouble. Maybe her family’s in crisis. Maybe she didn’t know its worth...

Then his phone rang. Hugo.

“Alexander,” Hugo began in his usual casual tone, “I’ve got a fun little update for you.”

Alexander’s patience was a stretched thread. “What is it?”

“Your lady—Ava—just invested one-fifty into little number five. You asked me to replace Wes, right? Well, she just bought him the lead. One hundred and fifty million, right on the spot. Can’t lie, I’m impressed. Where’d she get that kind of money?”

It hit him like a sucker punch.

Alexander’s lips parted, but no words came out.

She sold the bracelet… to fund Wes?

That same bracelet he’d spent days picking out, thinking of how it would suit her. And she had pawned it to sponsor another man’s career?

His chest tightened, heat rising in his veins like molten iron. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this angry.

On the other end of the call, Hugo was still fanning the flames, completely unaware of the explosion he’d triggered.

“Wait, don’t tell me the money was yours?” Hugo laughed. “Damn, man. Your mistress just spoiled little number five. She’s a generous one.”

Click. The call cut off.

Alexander threw the phone across the room. It smashed against the wall, a violent crack echoing through the suite as the device splintered into glass and circuitry.

Outside the door, Jonathan flinched, hand poised mid-knock. He wisely decided against entering.

Inside, the air had gone thick with fury. Alexander sat still, shoulders tense, his hands curled into fists on his knees.

He hated this feeling. This helpless, wounded rage. He didn’t lose control—not ever.

But Ava had pushed him to the edge.

He stood up, paced once, then walked back and picked up the shattered phone. After a beat of silence, he powered it back on and sent a message.

Alexander: “Do you still like the bracelet I gave you?”

Ava, just getting into her car after a productive meeting with Hugo, was in unusually high spirits. When her phone lit up, she smiled faintly, not sensing the storm behind the message.

Ava: “Quite fond of it. Thank you, Mr. Vanderbilt.”

CRASH.

The second phone—his backup—met the same fate as the first. Another shattering sound rang out through the room.

Alexander was breathing hard, chest rising and falling in jagged waves. His mind was a battlefield of emotions—hurt, betrayal, confusion, pride.

Why had she done this?

Why Wes?

And why did it sting?

Ten minutes passed before he cooled down enough to retrieve another phone. This time, his message came short and sharp.

Alexander: “Come over. Seventh time.”