* FREEBIE / NO PAYING * 2nd * Chapter 223 : Just don’t fall for her too.

Startled, Ava bolted upright from the sofa, her breath caught in her throat. Without thinking, she pushed Alexander down and flung the voluminous folds of her skirt over him, shielding him from view.

For a moment, the world was utterly still.

Underneath her flowing, floor-length dress, Alexander remained hidden, stunned by her sudden move and yet surprisingly compliant.

The door creaked open.

Two A-list actresses waltzed into the room, laughing softly, their high heels clicking across the polished floor. They exuded glamour and ease, still buzzing from the extravagant chaos of the evening's party.

"Did you hear?" one whispered. "Victoria’s entire love life is a sham. Always has been."

"My friend told me Mr. Vanderbilt walked out mid-event," the other replied, settling in at the long makeup table. "Took his little designer with him. No one’s seen them since."

"Wait... isn’t Mr. Vanderbilt married already?"

"It’s just a family alliance. No love there, obviously."

They chuckled while casually fixing their makeup, their perfume mingling with the room’s faint scent of champagne and powder.

Ava sat frozen, sweat beading down her back. Her breath came in shallow bursts, and beneath her gown, she could feel Alexander shift slightly. A moment later, she felt his lips press lightly against her thigh.

Her heart dropped.

She nearly gasped but bit down hard on her lip. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The celebrities were still only a few steps away. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the edge of the sofa, trying to stay upright.

She couldn’t think. Couldn’t hear. Their voices blurred into a distant hum. The only thing real was the heat of his breath, the unbearable pressure of silence, and the chaos in her mind. 

His kisses slowly but surely reached her warm center. She could feel his finger moved away her panties aside and the next second, she squirmed because all she could feel was his tongue. His tongue plunged deep into her centre, making her bite her botton lips to keep herself from moaning. He swirles his tongue, dipping in and out, sucking her folds, before plunging back in and lapping all her juices up like a man staved. He did so meticulously in silent, no voice heard. She just felt. 

She stared ahead, her gaze glassy. The world was a blur of lights and shame.

The women eventually glanced over and offered a vague nod of acknowledgment, completely unaware of the man concealed beneath the folds of silk and lace. With a few final words, they swept out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Ava collapsed back, trembling, as if the moment had stolen the bones from her body. She scrambled off him, stumbling in her heels, one hand grabbing for the edge of the table to steady herself.

Alexander sat up slowly, straightening his suit with maddening composure. He adjusted his cufflinks and rose with infuriating elegance. Then, in a voice full of dry amusement, he asked, “Can you still walk?”

Ava didn’t respond.

He stepped toward her, but as soon as he reached for her, her legs gave out, and she dropped to her knees. His expression flickered with concern as he caught her and pulled her back up into his arms.

That’s when he saw her tears.

“I hate you,” she whispered, her voice choked and shaking. “You’re shameless. Despicable.”

The insult hit him like a lightning strike, sharp and electric.

“And that’s all you have to say after seven whole minutes of pleasure?” Alexander countered, raising an eyebrow.

Her hand shot up, trembling with rage. She aimed to slap him, but he caught her wrist with ease.

“You’re the one who trapped me with your skirt,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “You practically invited it.”

Then came the smirk. That infuriating, cold smirk. “So your husband’s really that useless? No wonder you couldn’t keep your legs steady.”

Ava’s eyes burned with humiliation and fury. She shoved him away with every ounce of strength she had left, stumbling back toward the nearest cabinet, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.

Alexander’s amusement faded the moment he saw her glassy eyes, her trembling shoulders.

“What floor is your room?” he asked, more gently this time.

She ignored him, turning her back and heading for the door.

“Walk steadily,” he called after her, voice softer now. “Don’t fall.”

Ava didn’t reply.

She took the elevator to the top floor, swiped her card, and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. Then, finally, her legs gave out, and she sank down onto the plush carpet, pressing her back against the door as if to hold it shut against everything that had just happened.

Her skin was sticky with the scent of wine, sweat, and Alexander. Her skirt, now wrinkled and stained, lay pooled around her like a fallen curtain.

Her face burned with shame. She buried it in her hands.

What had just happened?

She could still feel it—his touch, his heat, the wild current that had surged through her body. A part of her hated how alive she’d felt. How every nerve had pulsed as if he’d awakened something she didn’t even know existed.

And all of it... had happened just feet away from two unsuspecting strangers.

That bastard, she cursed silently.

People thought Alexander was cold, even noble. They assumed he had self-control, restraint. But he didn’t. He simply concealed his desire behind charm and tailored suits.

Thirty minutes later, Ava peeled herself from the floor and dragged herself into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the residue of shame and adrenaline. When she emerged, she threw herself onto the bed, her limbs heavy.

She had come to this event hoping to make a few connections, maybe meet some industry insiders.

But now? She was emotionally drained, physically wrecked.

It wasn’t even 7:30 p.m.

The party downstairs would only start hitting its peak around nine.

Maybe she’d go for a walk later. Maybe.

But right now, all she wanted to do was forget.

Forget his smirk.

Forget those seven unbearable minutes.

Forget the way her own body had betrayed her.

And most of all, forget how close she had come to wanting it again.

---

At that moment, Hugo wasn't with the film star he’d been seen chatting up earlier. Instead, he stood beside Dr. Malik, both of them quietly admiring the view beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of the private reception hall. The city lights stretched far into the distance, glittering like diamonds spilled across black velvet.

Dr. Malik hadn’t been back to New York in years. The skyline had changed—taller buildings, sharper silhouettes—but the pulse of the city remained the same. The chatter and clinking glasses from the ongoing gala were muffled behind the glass, giving the two men a moment of calm before being swept back into the whirlwind of social obligations.

Paul, meanwhile, had been dragged away again—some investment banker from uptown wouldn’t let him leave without a drink.

When Alexander finally returned and dropped onto the sofa beside them, Hugo’s nose twitched, and a slow, knowing smirk spread across his face.

“Why do I smell the lingering scent of sex?” Hugo teased, his voice a little too loud, a little too delighted.

Dr. Malik turned his head, observing Alexander with a raised brow. “Ava again?”

Alexander didn’t answer. He leaned back into the leather couch, his shirt collar open, the first few buttons undone. Despite his usual composed expression, the tension in his jaw and the heaviness in his eyes betrayed his unease.

Hugo, always one to push buttons, rested his chin on his hand and grinned. “You know… she looked better than any of the actresses here tonight. That dress—simple, elegant—more powerful than anything backless and beaded.”

Alexander's eyes sharpened instantly. “Don’t get any ideas.”

The warning in his voice was quiet but lethal.

Hugo laughed, unbothered. “Relax. I'm just admiring. Besides, isn’t she still married? What’s the status on that? Is Ava planning to divorce anytime soon?”

Alexander's entire expression darkened.

He had touched her, tasted her, claimed her in ways that left no space for another man. From her apartment to hotels to the backseat of his own car—he had explored every crevice of her world. It wasn’t just physical—it was obsession, possession. And still, she refused to leave her husband.

Liam, that waste of a man, didn’t deserve her. But Alexander also knew he had no right to demand anything more.

He flicked a bit of lint from his trousers and muttered, “Divorce or not—it makes no difference to me. Just a bed partner. I never intended to ruin someone else’s marriage.”

“Right,” Hugo drawled. “That’s why you’ve been brooding like a scorned lover for the last month. Has she even gone back to her husband once during that time?”

Alexander shoved a full glass of whiskey toward him. “Shut up.”

Chuckling, Hugo looked over at Dr. Malik. “See? Told you. Our cold-blooded Alexander has finally caught feelings for a married woman—and can’t even admit it to himself.”

Dr. Malik, always the quiet observer, poured himself another drink. “So who’s this mystery woman? I’ve seen Serena Morales at the hospital once. Tall. Graceful. Soft-spoken.”

Hugo looked startled. “Wait, you’ve actually met her? The same Serena? I thought she was supposed to be some reclusive freak. People said she always wore a mask and had acne scarring. Isn’t that what Alexander’s wife is known for?”

Dr. Malik tilted his head thoughtfully. “The one I saw was… quite beautiful.”

“Then it’s not her,” Hugo cut in immediately. “Must be a different Serena.”

Dr. Malik turned to Alexander. “You’d know best, wouldn’t you? Ugly or not?”

The question hung in the air like smoke.

For a brief moment, Alexander’s mind flashed with images—Serena’s hand brushing his hair back as he burned with fever in the cave, her calm voice soothing his panic, the way she cried silently but still pressed her body against his when he was trembling.

He scowled and snapped, “She’s ugly. Pretentious. Greedy. Shameless.”

A lie, poorly told.

Before either man could respond, an assistant approached, bowing slightly. “Mr. Vanderbilt, there’s a partner here requesting a toast. Would you be able to join?”

Alexander stood smoothly, tugging at the cuffs of his suit. His mood had actually been decent—he had just come from Ava’s presence, after all—and now the night was young, and new deals were to be struck. The Vanderbilt Group’s move into the entertainment sector was gaining momentum.

“I’ll go handle it,” he said coolly and walked off without a backward glance.

As his figure disappeared into the crowd, Hugo turned back to Malik, smirking again. “You know, Malik… Ava may be married, but she’s got the kind of body that would make anyone sin. She showed up tonight looking like she stepped out of a perfume ad. No wonder Alexander can’t stay away.”

Malik’s curiosity was officially piqued. “If I see her later, I’ll take a closer look.”

Hugo grinned. “You’ll understand. Just don’t fall for her too.”

---

By the time the clock struck nine, most guests had finished dining and were now scattered about the deck, admiring the ocean view or lingering in pockets of idle conversation. The air was warm with the salty tang of sea breeze, and the lull of waves gently caressed the atmosphere with a sense of ease.

Celebrities, especially those in the upper echelons, rarely ate past a certain hour—bound by rigid diets and fitness regimens. But Serena, who had missed the earlier dinner, was finally emerging from her room.

She had changed into a different evening dress. As she smoothed the fabric down and glanced at herself in the mirror, a flicker of amusement tugged at her lips. She remembered Aunt Torres’ insistence on stuffing four formal dresses into her suitcase for this trip. Back then, she thought it excessive—surely two would suffice.

Who would’ve guessed she’d ruin one on the very first night?

She pulled open the door and stepped into the softly lit corridor, only to find herself face-to-face with Dr. Malik at the corner.

Dr. Malik, unlike Alexander or Colton, didn’t partake in the endless rounds of socializing. He had dined earlier and was simply heading out for a stroll, perhaps to savor the quietude of the sea breeze.

“Dr. Malik,” Serena greeted politely, her voice calm and clear.

Dr. Malik glanced at her—and paused. The subtle lighting caught the sheen of her dress and the graceful way it hugged her waist. It wasn’t the elaborate gown gifted by Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt, but the quality of the fabric and its understated elegance suited her even more. Her skin looked porcelain against the rich hue, and the gentle waves in her hair framed her face beautifully.

For a beat, he hesitated. “Miss Morales?” he asked, as if unsure.

Serena laughed softly. “Is it the makeup? I must look a bit different tonight.”

He looked down at her hand, his trained eyes instinctively checking for any lingering signs of injury. “Is your hand fully healed?”

“It’s much better, thank you,” she replied graciously.

He pressed the elevator button. Once inside, he turned to her again. “Which floor?”

“Fifth,” she said. “I haven’t eaten yet. I heard the late-night snacks are good.”

He nodded, pressing the button for both the fifth and sixth floors. “I was headed to the sixth for the breeze,” he mentioned casually.

As the elevator ascended, an unusual question slipped out. “Is your name Serena?”

Her breath caught subtly. She hadn’t expected that. But she nodded.

“Are you Alexander’s wife?” he followed up, his tone clinical, but unmistakably curious.

Serena turned her face slightly. “Dr. Malik, someone’s calling you,” she deflected, gesturing toward a figure in the hallway outside.

Indeed, someone he recognized was waving in his direction. But he only cast a brief glance, then returned his focus to her. “No need to change the subject,” he said gently. “I asked if you’re Alexander’s wife.”

She hesitated. Divorce was only a couple of months away. What did it matter now?

If anything, acknowledging it might make things easier—perhaps even open doors. Appointments with someone like Dr. Malik weren’t easy to come by.

“Yes,” she answered quietly.

Dr. Malik studied her face for a moment, then did something unexpected. He reached forward and gently tilted her chin upward, examining her face under the overhead light.

“From a medical standpoint,” he murmured, “your facial bone structure is exceptional. Symmetrical features, refined W-line, no asymmetry or irregularities. The nasal bridge is well proportioned, the zygomatic arch has ideal contour, cheekbone height is optimal. Your eyes are wide-set with naturally upturned corners. Frankly, you meet the highest aesthetic standards. I don’t understand how anyone could call you ugly.”

The words came out with clinical sincerity—but they left Serena momentarily stunned.

As quickly as he had touched her, he stepped back, noticing her shock. “Apologies if I overstepped,” he added respectfully.

The elevator chimed as he exited on the sixth floor. Serena remained inside, quietly digesting the moment.

She made her way to the fifth-floor buffet, her appetite finally reminding her of its absence. The dining area was mostly empty now, the air still and scented faintly of roasted herbs and warm bread. She selected a plate of light fare—fruit, seafood canapés, a warm roll—and settled into a corner seat near the window. The moon cast rippling reflections across the water outside.

Up on the sixth floor, Dr. Malik chatted briefly with a few acquaintances before stepping out onto the deck. The wind tousled his hair as he leaned against the railing, allowing the chill to cut through the remnants of wine and conversation. His thoughts lingered on Serena.

That was when Hugo’s voice sounded behind him.

“Strange. I’ve been looking for Ava for over an hour. No idea where she went.”

Unbeknownst to him, Ava had been asleep in her suite the entire time.

Dr. Malik turned slightly and said, “Miss Morales isn’t ugly at all. Next time, try not to say things like that.”

Hugo blinked, taken aback. He knew Malik didn’t speak lightly. “Wait—you didn’t tell her I called her ugly, did you?”

Dr. Malik nodded. “I did.”

Hugo groaned and rubbed his temple, a mix of amusement and exasperation clouding his features. “Could you not be so serious all the time? If she runs off and tells Ms. Vanderbilt, I’m doomed. She already thinks I’m too blunt.”

Dr. Malik smiled faintly, unfazed. “Perhaps it’s a good time to stop gossiping behind people’s backs.”

“I wasn’t gossiping,” Hugo muttered defensively. “I was stating an observation. You, on the other hand, are way too kind.”

Dr. Malik said nothing, simply watching the horizon with his hands tucked into his pockets. The ocean rolled on, infinite and quiet—much like the thoughts still lingering in his mind.

--- 

By ten o’clock, the clinking of wine glasses and murmurs of conversation began to fade. Alexander Vanderbilt finally managed to excuse himself from the throng of persistent business partners. He’d raised one too many toasts that night, and a dull ache had settled behind his temples.

No one dared follow him as he ascended to the top floor—his authority was too absolute, his mood too unreadable.

He stepped into his suite, removed his tie with a sigh, and took a long, scalding shower. Steam billowed around him, soothing the tension in his neck and shoulders. Once dry, he pulled on a loose robe and collapsed into bed. The silence was a relief.

Then—click.

The soft click of the front door opening echoed through the suite, followed by the telltale rhythm of high heels tapping against marble.

Alexander’s eyes sharpened instantly, the dull fog of alcohol replaced by instinct. Someone had entered. He didn't move at first, waiting, listening. Then, with a sharp breath, he stood, tying the robe at his waist.

He was used to this—some overeager partner thinking they could curry favor by sending a woman to his room. Discreetly, of course, but obvious all the same.

He stepped into the living room.

Just as Ava leaned down by the door to remove her high heels, the room dimmed. In an instant, she was slammed against the wall.

A firm grip locked around her waist, a breath against her ear.

"Another woman, sent to me like a gift?" Alexander murmured.

Ava froze, her pupils contracting in shock. That voice—it was unmistakable.

Why was Alexander in her room? 

The suite was elegantly appointed but clearly meant for two. A single, spacious bedroom opened into a sunlit living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed a breathtaking view of the open sea. Pale linen curtains danced lightly in the breeze, drawn in from a narrow balcony where a bottle of champagne waited in a silver bucket of ice. Every inch of the room spoke of intimacy—plush throw pillows arranged on the wide sectional couch, two robes hanging side by side in the marble-clad bathroom, a bed far too large for one.

It was the kind of suite usually reserved for lovers, or at the very least, couples whose closeness wouldn’t raise eyebrows within their social circle.

She didn’t need a manual to understand the message behind the room’s design—or the intent behind the booking.

Cornelius had arranged it this way. When he handed Serena the cruise ticket days ago, there had been something quietly pleading in his tired eyes. A last-ditch effort. A final test of fate. Though he said nothing explicitly, the implication hung thick between them:

Please, don’t give up on him yet.

Cornelius Vanderbilt—the seasoned patriarch who'd watched his family fracture under its own ambition—could not bear the thought of Serena walking away from his unworthy grandson. Not entirely. Not without one last chance to mend what had already begun to break. 

But before she could cry out, a hand covered her mouth, fingers pressing roughly into her cheek. Her words were muffled into silence. She tried to twist around, but his strength made it impossible.

She was still bent over, mid-motion when his arm wrapped around her, locking her in place, and her skirt was suddenly yanked up.

Panic surged through her.

She kicked at him, elbowed, struggled—but Alexander didn’t stop. Drunken, arrogant, and misled, he assumed she was just another seductress who’d entered the wrong room with the right intentions.

The pain of her tongue being pressed back made her wince. He was careless, rough, and yet somehow maddeningly gentle in the cruelest of ways—holding her too tightly, pinning her so she couldn’t move.

He smirked against her skin. 

Ava’s eyes burned with fury. Her chest heaved as she tried to wrench herself away, but his grip only tightened.

She cursed silently, This despicable man!

Alexander’s arms tightened around her, trapping her against his chest like a velvet snare laced with steel. A faint, amused smirk curled the corner of his lips as he looked down at her flushed face.

You walked into the wrong room, he thought smugly. Who else can you blame but yourself?

Ava struggled fiercely, her limbs thrashing in defiance, but his grip remained unyielding. In mere seconds, sweat began to bead along her forehead, her breath coming in short, frustrated bursts. Her damp hair clung to her temples, and her pulse thudded in her throat.

Suddenly—a sharp smack landed across her backside.

She froze.

The sting ignited her nerves, and her body went rigid as Alexander’s mocking voice cut through the heavy air. “You come to my door at this hour,” he murmured, his voice a low purr, “and still act like you don’t want to be here?”

Ava’s face flamed crimson. Fury and embarrassment tangled inside her like a tightening knot. Her chest rose and fell with sharp indignation, her lips parted to speak—but no words came. Her tongue felt caught between rage and helplessness.

Alexander's gaze darkened with something unspoken, but his eyes glittered with amusement. He found her reaction deeply satisfying—the twitch of her brows, the subtle tremble of her shoulders, the way she refused to look at him even as she burned beneath his touch.

Was a little spanking really so humiliating? he wondered lazily.

He didn’t care.

Not when she was this alive in his arms. 

With one assured hand, he cupped her center, his breath hitching slightly when he found her already warm, already waiting. Despite her protests, her body betrayed her—yearning for him in ways words could not deny.

His fingers moved with quiet purpose, trailing up her side as he slowly unzipped her dress. The fabric whispered against her skin as it slid down, pooling in a soft rustle around her ankles. With practiced ease, he unhooked her bra, his gaze never leaving hers.

He turned her gently, guiding her back to his chest. One arm cradled her with care, the other sliding upward to cup her breast, his palm warm and steady. He kneaded softly, his touch reverent yet hungry.

Her eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open as his mouth found her. His lips wrapped around a taut peak, tongue circling with languid precision, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make her gasp. A soft sound escaped her lips as he released one nipple with a gentle pop, only to lavish the same attention on the other—slow, purposeful, aching in its intensity. 

Two hours later, when it finally ended, Alexander stepped back, breathing unevenly. He didn’t even have time to speak before her palm cracked across his cheek.

The slap echoed through the room.

His head snapped to the side, and he tasted blood on his tongue. Ava was trembling, her face crimson, lips bitten raw.

"You bastard. You animal!" she spat, her voice shaking.

She flicked on the light, revealing her tear-streaked cheeks and flushed rage. Her body trembled—not from fear, but fury.

Alexander touched his cheek and looked at her, unsure whether he should speak or stay silent.

Then, without looking at him, she turned and made for the door.

"One million dollars," he said suddenly, his voice quiet. "Is that enough?"

Ava froze at the door. Her spine stiffened, and her hand clenched the knob. But she didn’t respond. Didn’t even glance back. She yanked the door open and vanished into the hall, her silence more cutting than any insult. 

She had nowhere to go.

The ship was fully booked, and everyone on board was here by invitation. She didn’t know anyone well enough to ask for a spare room, and Rachel hadn’t come this time. Ava realized, with sick clarity, that the entire situation must’ve been orchestrated—Cornelius had likely arranged for her to have the room beside Alexander’s, perhaps even swapped her reservation.

It made sense now.

Heart pounding, fury simmering beneath her skin, she retreated to the fifth-floor lounge. This was where late-night snacks were served, and it remained open until 6 a.m. Ava found a long, plush sofa tucked into the corner and resolved to sleep there. She couldn’t face another enclosed room.

But the air was thick, and she needed to clear her head.

She stepped out onto the open deck, letting the night wind whip through her hair. The dark river glimmered beneath the cruise ship, and in the distance, city lights flickered on the horizon. The chill helped her calm down, little by little.

Tomorrow, she told herself, she’d bury this memory beneath layers of work. She’d network with entertainment execs, film investors, and celebrities. She’d focus. Survive. Move on.

Just as she turned to head back inside, a hand appeared behind her—sudden, swift, and unrelenting.

With one brutal shove, Ava was hurled forward.

Her hands reached for the railing, but it was too late.

The cold bite of air left her lungs as she plunged over the edge. Her high heels clattered noisily against the deck, one flipping into the air.

Splash.

The water swallowed her whole.

Back on deck, Victoria stood, one arm resting on the railing. She sneered, then kicked Ava’s remaining shoe into the river.

Below, panic erupted.

"Someone fell in!"

"A woman—she went overboard!"

"Where’s the lifebuoy?!"

Chaos rippled through the decks as the alarm was raised.

But Victoria simply smoothed her dress, stepped back into the shadows, and disappeared into the night...