* FREEBIE / NO PAYING * 2nd * Chapter 230

Serena sat quietly on a bench inside the courthouse, her hands clasped together in her lap as she waited—still. The scent of floor polish lingered faintly in the sterile air, and the fluorescent lights above cast a dull glow across the room. It had been four hours since Cornelius spoke to her that morning. Four hours since he said there would be a resolution today.

She had come prepared—mentally, emotionally—to face Alexander and sign the end of their marriage. Yet, by two o'clock in the afternoon, no one had reached out. No call. No message. No sign of Cornelius. No word from Alexander.

Serena wasn’t popular in the Vanderbilt family, and the cold shoulder extended even here. Staff moved in and out of adjacent rooms, speaking in hushed tones, yet no one approached her. The corridor buzzed with movement, but she sat invisible among them.

Finally, with her patience fraying, she took out her phone and sent a quiet message to Alexander from her private number:

Serena: [Mr. Vanderbilt, when will you come to the courthouse?]

At that exact moment, Alexander was embroiled in a heated argument with Diana. She insisted this wasn’t the time for divorce—that separating from Serena would cause turmoil within the family. Yet Cordelia and Vivienne both stood their ground beside him, adamant.

Cordelia, voice trembling with rage, pointed at him and hissed, “If you don’t divorce that woman today, I swear I’ll collapse right here in this hallway and end up in the emergency room.”

Her hatred for Serena was visceral. The moment she found out Serena was Elena’s daughter, something snapped. All the years she had endured—being the obedient wife, giving birth to two sons for Frederick—and now, the daughter of the woman who once captured her husband's heart stood in her house.

Alexander, caught between the chorus of voices, received Serena’s message.

He glanced at it and immediately felt a surge of disdain.

Cornelius had offered her five billion. Five billion just to walk away—and she still couldn’t wait to be done with him? She must know the benefits of this divorce. What kind of woman is she?

Without bothering to respond to her directly, he made a call—not to Serena, but to his assistant. He didn’t want to hear her voice.

Ten minutes later, a staff member emerged from the back of the courthouse and approached Serena with a polite but distant tone.

“Mrs. Vanderbilt, Mr. Vanderbilt has instructed me to assist you with processing the divorce certificate.”

Serena blinked. It was the same official who had registered their marriage years ago. She smiled faintly, her breath catching in her throat. Alexander hadn’t been there for their marriage registration. Now, once again, he was absent—this time for their divorce.

As she followed the staff through the procedure, the room blurred around her. People glanced at her with unspoken sympathy—unsure why a woman so poised and beautiful was being discarded.

Partway through, Serena’s work phone buzzed. Alexander’s name flashed across the screen. She answered.

There was noise in the background on his end—muffled voices, perhaps hospital monitors. His tone was clipped. “You said you could make sure Serena wouldn’t get a penny. That she’d never bother me again.”

Serena glanced at the staff member still typing beside her, fingers flying across the keyboard. There was a strange absurdity in it all.

“Yes, Mr. Vanderbilt. Do you want her to walk away with nothing?”

“Do I have to give her anything?” His voice remained detached, businesslike.

Serena’s eyes wandered across the Civil Affairs Bureau. On the other side of the glass partition, a couple stood smiling as they received their marriage certificate. Years ago, she had stood on that same spot alone, leaving with hers.

A sharp pang twisted in her chest, but she drew in a long, slow breath and said lightly, “I heard Mrs. Vanderbilt’s father passed away recently.”

There was a pause on the line. Then Alexander’s flat voice replied, “Ava, that’s none of my concern.”

Outside the ICU, the lights dimmed as doctors wheeled Cornelius out. Alexander caught sight of the fading light and added coldly, “No need for sympathy. A lot of people have it worse than Serena. I’ll talk to you later.”

He hung up.

Serena let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t bitter. It was almost… relieved.

The paperwork was done. The staff slid the divorce certificates toward her across the polished desk. One paused and smiled kindly. “Miss Morales, I hope you find a man who truly cherishes you.”

Serena met their gaze, sincere. “Thank you.”

When she stepped out of the courthouse, the sunlight hit her like a sudden wave. She squinted, lifting a hand to shield her eyes, and looked down at the two crisp divorce certificates in her hands. Her fingers trembled slightly.

From this moment forward, Alexander was no longer her husband.

Just… her ex-husband.

And strangely, the air around her felt a little lighter.

---

Just as Serena stepped off the courthouse steps and approached her car, a sleek black sedan came into view. Parked conspicuously at the curb, it was Victoria’s. She leaned against the vehicle with a smug expression, dressed to impress in a tailored coat and high heels that clicked like punctuation marks against the pavement.

Her lips curled into a grin the moment she caught sight of the two crisp divorce certificates in Serena’s hands.

“Congratulations on your divorce, Miss Morales,” she called out mockingly, her voice syrupy-sweet and laced with venom. “The next marriage will be your second one—hope it goes better than the first.”

Victoria’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, like a predator circling its prey. “And just so you’re aware,” she continued, adjusting her diamond earrings with an air of feigned nonchalance, “in five days, the Vanderbilt Group will be investing three billion dollars into the Richter Group. I suppose from now on, you’ll only hear about us in the business section—if you’re still paying attention.”

Serena paused mid-step. Her grip on the certificates tightened slightly, but her expression remained composed, though a flicker of coldness passed through her gaze.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Victoria added, taking a step closer, her voice lowering. “Mandy’s incident? That was me. Too bad the police can’t touch me. Your father, poor man—stage-four cancer and still had to face all that mess. It’s no wonder he died right then and there. So tragic.”

She tilted her head, voice dripping with mock pity. “You married Alexander, but he treated you like garbage. Tossed you away like last season’s shoes.”

Serena slowly slid the divorce certificates into her handbag and lifted her chin with a calm, detached smile. “Divorce isn’t the worst thing,” she said lightly. “Frankly, I’m relieved.”

Then, she paused, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Oh, and Victoria? That night you drugged Alexander, remember? He didn’t touch you—he came straight to me. So, if I’m trash… what does that make you?”

The color drained from Victoria’s face.

Serena wasn’t finished. “I practically pushed him toward you, and he still didn’t want you. Maybe you should try harder. Divorce or not, you’re still not a contender.”

Her words, delivered like smooth glass cutting through silk, were followed by silence—an insult too sharp for a comeback.

Serena turned, her heels clicking sharply on the concrete, and got into her car. Without another glance, she drove off, leaving Victoria standing in the wake of her own bitterness, rage simmering beneath her carefully powdered skin.

But Victoria, furious as she was, took comfort in one thing: Serena and Alexander were finally divorced. And knowing Serena’s pride, there was no way she’d ever take him back. That alone made the loss bearable.

---

Back at Le Châteauesque Manor, Serena tossed the divorce certificates into a drawer without ceremony, not even bothering to look at them again.

Aunt Torres had been waiting by the entrance. “Miss Morales,” she asked cautiously, “is it done?”

Serena nodded, fatigue settling visibly into her shoulders. “It’s done. I’m going to rest. But first—please remove all of Alexander’s belongings. I’ll give you the address of his hotel. Just leave them there.”

Her voice was cool and firm. This was her home now, entirely hers. There was no need for relics of a failed marriage to linger in the corners.

Aunt Torres exhaled, visibly relieved. “Good. Shall I let Rex out now? He’s been locked away for days.”

“Please,” Serena replied softly. “Let him enjoy the garden. I need some sleep.”

Her eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, the weight of sleepless nights visible in the heavy circles beneath them. Without waiting for a response, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

Outside, Rex bounded into the garden the moment the doors were opened. His joyful barking echoed through the estate, met by the light laughter of the staff who had come to love him during his time indoors.

Meanwhile, Alexander’s belongings—few as they were—had already been packed. They fit neatly into a single, small box. After all, he had rarely stayed in the manor, only showing up when Cornelius forced his hand. His presence had always felt temporary.

The servants, ever discreet, delivered the box to his hotel. He wasn’t there, so they left it with the front desk.

And just like that, Alexander Vanderbilt was out of Serena Morales’s home—neatly boxed and signed away, a chapter closed.

---

Cornelius woke around 6 p.m., the soft chime of the wall clock drawing his gaze. The pale evening light streamed in through the hospital blinds, casting long golden shadows across the room. For a moment, he remained still, not wanting to see anyone—not even Alexander, who sat quietly nearby.

But when he noticed the time, a glint of relief crossed his weathered face.

The courthouse had already closed.

That meant one more day. One more delay.

He let out a breath, relaxing slightly—until Alexander spoke.

“Grandpa,” Alexander said calmly, “I’ve already divorced her.”

The words hit Cornelius like a slap. He blinked, still groggy from his nap, wondering if he had misheard.

“What did you just say?”

“I divorced Serena,” Alexander repeated.

Cornelius's temper flared. He grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at Alexander’s head with surprising force. “Get out! Kneel! Now!”

Without argument, Alexander knelt beside the hospital bed, his back straight, his posture as composed and resolute as it had been during his army days. There was no resistance in him, but also no sign of remorse—only an air of acceptance.

Cornelius stared at his grandson’s unwavering face and felt a pang in his chest. This wasn't new. Alexander had always been like this—stoic, unrepentant, certain. He'd been like this even as a soldier. Back then, it hadn’t bothered Cornelius much. But now?

Now, it felt like failure.

Because somewhere along the line, his choices had influenced this outcome. He had chosen Serena, convinced Alexander it was the right match, and in doing so, perhaps forced something that was never meant to be.

He sighed heavily, grief and guilt twining in his chest.

Alexander, seeing the shift in his grandfather’s expression, spoke again, more softly this time. “Grandpa, please don’t be upset. Take care of yourself. I’ll find someone else—a wife who’s obedient and sensible, someone who’ll keep you company.”

The words only made things worse.

Another pillow came flying. “Obedient and sensible?” Cornelius snapped. “In my eyes, Serena is the most obedient and sensible girl in the world! If you don’t want her, someone else will. Plenty of men would be lucky to have her!”

Alexander didn’t flinch. A faint, almost wistful smile curved his lips. So, this was really it. No turning back now.

Cornelius's voice dropped an octave. “But Alexander,” he murmured, “I have one request. Have one last meal with Serena.”

Alexander blinked.

Cornelius continued, his voice steady but laced with sadness. “In those three years you were overseas, she called to check on me more than anyone. When I was in the hospital, she stayed by my side night after night. She’s young—but mature beyond her years. Just one dinner. Let me repay her with that, at least.”

Alexander swallowed his disdain. He wanted to say the Vanderbilt family had done more than enough for Serena and the Moraleses. But this wasn’t the time.

He gave a brief nod. “Alright, Grandpa. When you’re feeling better.”

That seemed to placate the old man.

Cornelius leaned back, pressing a hand to his temple. “Good. Now go. I don’t want to see your face right now.”

Alexander stood up from the floor, brushing imaginary dust from his slacks. He hesitated only briefly before speaking again. “Grandpa, I have someone I like now. If it’s a grandson you want... I’ll make that happen.”

The room froze.

Cornelius’s eyes narrowed, the color draining from his face. “You what?”

His voice cracked with rage. “You already found someone? Was it while you were still married? Was she your mistress?”

“Get out,” Cornelius growled, voice breaking. “Even if I die, I will never let another woman into this family.”

But even as he said it, he knew the truth: if Alexander wanted something, he would get it—eventually. He always did.

Like this divorce.

He had tested the limits long enough. And now, he had won.

As Alexander exited the hospital, a cool breeze greeted him. His expression softened slightly, a rare flicker of satisfaction playing on his lips. A victory—costly, but final.

Inside the car, Jonathan glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “Mr. Vanderbilt, shall we head back to the hotel?”

Alexander hesitated. “Take me to the Upper West Side.”

Jonathan paused before responding. “Sir, just so you’re aware... the Darby Construction team from Charleston has returned. I overheard it this morning while speaking with the project lead.”

It was a subtle message.

Ava’s husband might be back in town.

Alexander’s mood darkened immediately, the air in the car dropping several degrees. His jaw tightened, and his eyes drifted to the window, where the city passed by in a blur of lights and reflections.

“Back to the hotel,” he said at last, voice cold and flat.

Jonathan said nothing more. The car pulled away, quiet and smooth—yet within, a storm brewed.

---

Steam still clung to Alexander’s skin as he stepped out of the bathroom, a towel draped casually around his waist. His damp hair was pushed back, water droplets trailing down his sculpted shoulders. The quiet hum of the hotel suite was interrupted by the sudden chime of the doorbell.

He furrowed his brow. At this hour?

Opening the door, he was met by the lobby manager, standing stiffly with a small cardboard box in his gloved hands. The man bowed slightly, his voice cautious and respectful. “Mr. Vanderbilt, this was sent over by the staff from Le Châteauesque Manor. They said it’s your luggage. I was asked to deliver it personally.”

Alexander’s eyes dropped to the item. The box looked cheap, almost like a last-minute parcel one might send from a roadside post office. The worn edges and flimsy tape seemed entirely out of place in the luxury hotel hallway—and entirely beneath him.

A cold flicker passed through his eyes.

“Throw it away,” he said, voice sharp as glass.

The manager hesitated, visibly startled. But seeing the look on Alexander’s face—stone-cold and unreadable—he nodded swiftly. “Of course, sir.”

The door clicked shut, leaving Alexander in silence again.

Still damp from his shower, he crossed the suite barefoot, reaching for his phone on the marble-topped desk. He scrolled through his contacts with a calm detachment until he found her name—Serena. It was listed under a private number. Without pausing, he pressed down and deleted the contact.

Gone.

There was no hesitation, no sentiment.

There’s no reason to speak to that woman again, he told himself. Better to never cross paths again.

What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t have known—was that hours earlier, Serena had done the same.

The moment her servant had returned from delivering the box to the hotel, she had scrolled to Alexander’s contact in her own phone. Her thumb hovered for only a moment before tapping delete.

She didn’t erase his work number, though. The Manhattan project still required final coordination, and she was nothing if not pragmatic.

Just as she was about to settle into bed, wrapped in a soft gray robe and sipping a glass of warm water, her phone buzzed with a new message.

From Alexander.

But not the private number. The work one.

[Heard your husband is back?]

Serena stared at the screen for a long moment, her expression unreadable under the soft golden glow of the bedside lamp. She didn’t respond. Not yet.

The night stretched out, thick with words unspoken. 

Ava didn’t reply right away. If the Manhattan project wrapped up smoothly, she planned to delete Alexander’s number—permanently.

A moment later, another message came through.

Alexander: [My ring was left in your room last night; I couldn’t find it this morning.]

A ring?

Ava blinked, recalling the diamond ring he had briefly held the night before. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but knowing Alexander, it wasn’t some cheap trinket. He’d once casually gifted her a bracelet worth millions. Still, the last thing she wanted was for that ring to become another excuse for him to insert himself into her life.

Ava: [Mr. Vanderbilt, I’ll look for it tomorrow.]

A polite, if subtle, dismissal.

But subtlety was lost on Alexander. He was used to people accommodating his every whim.

Alexander: [Find it now and send it over, or I’ll come personally to look for it.]

Ava stared at her screen, jaw tightening. Is he insane? Who demands a search at nearly midnight?

Frustration welled up inside her, hot and sharp. Only Alexander would think it acceptable to disrupt someone at this hour without so much as an apology. She glanced at the clock. 11:04 p.m.

With a resigned sigh, she threw off her blanket, tugged on a coat, and headed to her car.

The drive to the Upper West Side was silent, tense—her hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled fury. Her mind replayed everything from the night before—his sudden tenderness, his words, his touch—and how absurd it all seemed now. She felt like she was being played in a game with rules she hadn’t agreed to.

Arriving at the apartment, Ava stormed into the bedroom and began searching for the ring. It was large—there was no way it could’ve simply disappeared. She turned over pillows, checked under the bed, sifted through drawers, and even looked beneath the rug. Nothing.

Meanwhile, across town in a luxury hotel suite, Alexander sat comfortably on a velvet chaise, the ring resting calmly on the table before him.

He twirled it between two fingers, the diamond catching the light.

He’d found it first thing that morning.

Ava had rejected it—visibly, pointedly. And Alexander was too proud to leave something behind that wasn’t wanted. But now, this ring had become unexpectedly useful—a perfect pretext to see her, to provoke her, to keep her tethered to him just a little longer.

Alexander: [Found it yet?]

Ava, now sweating and drained from searching every inch of her place, flopped onto the bed with a groan.

Ava: [No. My house has been burglarized several times. It might’ve been stolen.]

Alexander: [What should we do then?]

Ava: [Mr. Vanderbilt, report it to the police. I need to sleep now. Please don’t disturb me anymore.]

The message was polite, but distant—and it irritated him. Deeply.

His jaw tensed. Jealousy, uninvited and irrational, surged in his chest.

Alexander: [Oh? Can your husband hold you while you sleep?]

Ava stared at the message. Even through a screen, she could feel the edge of his sarcasm, the accusation behind the words. He wanted her to be rattled.

But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Ava: [Yes. It’s very warm. Good night, Mr. Vanderbilt.]

Alexander’s fingers froze mid-type. He stared at the screen, the sting of that message burning more than he’d expected.

Ava, meanwhile, powered off her phone and returned to Le Châteauesque Manor.

The clock neared 1:30 a.m., and the drive had taken a toll—but once she slid beneath the sheets of her own bed, silence wrapped around her like a balm. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

Alexander, however, didn’t sleep at all.

He lay awake the rest of the night. 

---

The next morning, Serena arrived at the office early. After attending to the day’s pressing matters, she stepped into her private office and, almost on impulse, dialed Cornelius Vanderbilt.

At that hour, Cornelius was still in the hospital. When he saw her name flash across the screen, a faint warmth stirred in his eyes—an emotion rare for the stern patriarch.

“Serena,” he greeted, his voice raspy.

As if on cue, a dry cough interrupted him, making his frailty all the more apparent.

“I’m sorry, Grandpa,” Serena said softly, guilt flickering in her chest.

She had once given him hope—hope that she and Alexander would have a child, that there would be a next generation to carry on the name. But the divorce had come swiftly, like a sudden downpour washing away all those fragile dreams.

“It’s not your fault,” Cornelius replied with effort. “I’ll have the butler send you a check later… as compensation. Just accept it, Serena.”

Serena’s grip on the phone tightened. “Grandpa, I’ve already received too much from the Vanderbilt family. If I accept more, it would feel… greedy.”

Cornelius let out a tired sigh, the sound weighted with unspoken things. There was something in her restraint, in her integrity, that reminded him so much of Alexander—and perhaps, of himself when he was younger.

“Well then,” he said, with a weary smile she couldn’t see but could hear in his voice, “when can we all sit down for a meal? Invite Alexander too. Don’t let this turn us into strangers—or worse, enemies.”

Serena hesitated for only a moment before answering. “Okay.”

After exchanging a few more gentle pleasantries, she ended the call. For a long second, she sat in silence, her hand still clutching the phone, her fingertips pressed against her temples as she closed her eyes in thought.

The door opened quietly, and Marilyn entered with her usual punctual grace.

“Miss Morales,” she said, setting a folder of reports on the desk, “we have an update on Sergio.”

Serena looked up, curiosity flickering in her gaze.

“His current mistress has already sold two of her properties, and Sergio’s mortgaged his own home. Together, they’ve burned through tens of millions. Loan sharks are expected to come knocking today.”

Serena raised a brow, her expression a mix of surprise and disbelief. “That quickly?”

Marilyn gave a knowing smile and explained further. “The two houses were acquired through shady means—gambling money, mainly. At first, she placed a modest $10,000 bet and walked away with $500,000. Then she roped Sergio in. They hit it big—nearly $20 million.”

Serena exhaled slowly. She could already guess where this story was going.

“Greed got the better of them,” Marilyn continued. “They borrowed another $20 million from loan sharks, convinced they’d double it overnight. Of course, they lost it all—and now they’re buried in debt.”

She paused, her voice dropping slightly. “With interest, their total now exceeds $60 million. That’s the reality of loan sharks.”

Serena leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. “They made their choices,” she said coolly. “Let the sharks deal with them.”

Marilyn nodded in agreement and then placed a fresh stack of documents before her. “These are for this afternoon’s review.”

Serena gave a brief nod, already flipping open the top folder. Her mind, however, remained divided. The top priority now was building momentum for E.A. —the entertainment company that could one day give her the means to investigate Alfonso’s lost daughter.

Between boardroom strategies, venture deals, and rebuilding Morales Group from its stagnant roots, Serena had little room left in her mind.

In fact, she was so focused on work—so completely immersed in restructuring and rebuilding—that she didn’t even realize how long it had been since she last thought of Alexander Vanderbilt.

And that silence… was telling.

---

That evening, Rachel dropped by Ava’s apartment, insisting they have dinner together.

Ava, still reeling from the events of the night before, hesitated at first but eventually agreed. The unease she felt clung to her like a second skin. She hadn’t told Rachel everything—not yet. But tonight, she knew she couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer.

Once they were settled in the quiet warmth of Rachel’s villa, Ava decided to be honest.

She told Rachel everything.

That the man was Alexander. That the man she had once been involved with—before the drugs, before the chaos—was also Alexander.

Rachel’s wine glass froze mid-air. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"You mean... you and Alexander had already slept together before? And this time—he did that to you again? Was it... just for fun?" she asked, trying to process it all.

Ava shook her head slowly. “No. I don’t think it was just for fun. I don’t know what it was. But the pain was real.”

She explained everything, including the night she drugged Alexander. There were too many layers to the story—betrayals, misunderstandings, silences, and secrets. It took almost an hour to unravel it all.

Rachel, stunned, downed two glasses of wine before she could begin to make sense of it.

“You kept all this from me?! And now you’re divorced?” she asked, finally finding her voice.

“Yes,” Ava said, nodding.

“And Alexander... he still doesn’t know you’re his wife?”

Ava exhaled. “No.”

Rachel blinked. “But he likes you, right? I mean... why else would he sleep with you again?”

Ava frowned, her voice flat. “He said it was because... it felt good.”

Rachel slammed her glass down on the table. “That bastard! Are you serious?! How can he say something like that?!”

Ava felt the sting in her chest all over again. Humiliation, anger, confusion—it all mixed into a bitter cocktail she couldn’t swallow.

“He also said he liked me once,” she muttered, half to herself. “But I think he’s just sick.”

Rachel’s expression hardened. “Ava, listen to me. If you even think about going back to him, I swear, I’ll cut ties with you right here and now. When your hand was injured, he took Mikhail and left you behind. Do you remember that? If your hand hadn’t healed properly, your whole career, your entire life, could’ve been destroyed. And now he says he likes you? What right does he have?!”

Ava finished her wine in a single gulp, her voice raw. “I know. I’m not stupid, Rachel. I won’t fall for him again.”

Rachel’s voice softened as she reached out and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I get it. I do. Alexander’s got looks, power, charm. But if you want someone to warm your bed, fine. Just don’t let him anywhere near your heart. Because once he’s in—he’ll ruin you.”

Ava nodded, then shifted the conversation, not wanting to dwell on Alexander any longer. “What about you? How’s Tom’s cousin? Has the surgery been scheduled?”

Rachel’s mood shifted instantly. Her face fell, and she let out a long sigh.

“Still delayed. Tom’s been staying at the hospital with her for months now. She clings to him constantly. The doctors are starting to lose their patience, and I’ve had to pay them a fortune just to stick around. They’ve given us two weeks—max. If she doesn’t agree to the surgery soon, not even the best experts will be able to help her.”

“That’s rough,” Ava said quietly. “At least you’re not stuck caring for her around the clock... but I know it still takes a toll.”

Rachel nodded. “It’s hard. But money solves most problems. Except this one.”

Ava opened her mouth to ask how Tom hadn’t grown suspicious yet—about the spending, the hospital bills—but before she could speak, her phone buzzed on the table.

It was a message from Alexander.

Just one word:

Alexander: [Ring.]

Ava stared at the screen, her mood souring immediately. The audacity. The way he always found a way to intrude on her life, even without being present.

Irritated beyond words, she stood up and walked toward the window, the phone still in her hand.

Then, without overthinking it, she called the police.

“I’d like to report a missing item from my apartment,” she said calmly. “And please notify the property owner. His name is Alexander Vanderbilt.”

*

Alexander was still waiting for Ava’s reply when his phone buzzed again. This time, it was a call from the police.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, we need a description and an estimated value of the missing ring.”

The moment they introduced themselves, Alexander’s face darkened. His jaw tightened with irritation as he handed the phone off to Jonathan without a word. Then, without missing a beat, he redialed Ava.

Meanwhile, Ava was still at Rachel’s place. The room was softly lit, wine glasses half full, and a haze of perfume and evening fatigue hung in the air. She had had a couple of drinks, just enough to loosen the tension in her shoulders—but not enough to drown out the steady hum of irritation growing at the back of her mind.

When her phone rang again, she already knew who it was.

She pressed the answer button with a resigned sigh. “Mr. Vanderbilt,” she said coolly.

Rachel looked up from across the couch, her interest piqued by Ava’s formal tone.

On the other end, Alexander’s frustration melted the moment he heard her voice. It never failed to disarm him.

“You’re not home?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I’ve already reported the ring to the police,” Ava replied, dodging his question. “They’ll contact you if there are any updates.”

The line went silent for a moment. She wasn’t playing his game—not tonight.

Alexander’s patience wore thin. He dropped the pretense.

“Ava,” he said, voice low, “we’ve slept together more times than I can count. How about coming out for a drink?”

His tone was no longer masked with charm. The predator was showing his teeth.

“I’m busy,” she answered, her voice flat.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Hugo’s movie is about to premiere. You invested $150 million. So did I. But I’ve heard the film’s stuck in review… and I happen to know someone on the board.”

The threat was unspoken but crystal clear.

$150 million might be pocket change for him—a vanity loss. But for Ava, it was everything. The future of S.M. depended on that film's success. And Alexander, knowing that, held the strings.

It was suffocating. She hated being cornered, but she couldn’t pretend this wasn’t a fight she’d lose.

His voice returned, smooth and impassive. “Do you have time for that drink now?”

She didn’t answer. She simply ended the call.

Rachel, having overheard enough to get the gist, leaned back with an arched brow. “Has Alexander ever actually confessed to you? Like, a real ‘I love you’ kind of confession?”

Ava stared at her phone, fingers trembling slightly from frustration. “Two days after he forced me... the night I came home from the hospital... he gave me a ring. Said he liked me.”

Rachel’s jaw dropped. “Fuck. If he weren’t so damn good-looking, I’d punch him myself.”

She stood up and gave Ava’s shoulder a supportive pat. “Listen to me. A man like that? Untrustworthy. He's too intense, too manipulative. You’ll end up drained—emotionally, mentally... physically.”

Ava flushed, the heat of embarrassment rising to her cheeks. “Those ten times... I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“I know,” Rachel said, her tone gentler now. “But ten is enough. You’ve seen all there is to see. Time to move on. Find someone soft, someone easy. Alexander is the kind of man who will destroy you just to feel something.”

Ava rubbed her temples, sighing heavily. “I know.”

Rachel didn’t push further. She knew Ava wasn’t the type to get caught in emotional traps. Out of all the women Rachel had known, Ava was the most clear-headed, the most resolute.

Any other woman would’ve fallen hard—drunk on Alexander’s wealth, his face, his attention.

But Ava hadn’t. And that was her strength.

Later that evening, Ava left Rachel’s and drove through the quiet streets of Manhattan. Her thoughts spun in quiet disarray.

By the time she pulled up to Broadway Bar, her phone chimed. Alexander had already sent the exact location of the private room he was in.

Of course he had. He was always two steps ahead.