* FREEBIE / NO PAYING * 2nd * Chapter 233 : too soft when it comes to her

Dear Gentle Readers, 

This author has really tried his best to put his vision into words. However, if it displeases you from time to time, there is very little he can do about it. All he can tell you is that Alexander will know her identity at Chapter 250. The choice is yours whether to continue the journey or choose a different path. Whichever decision you will make, this author respects that and thanks you for getting this far and supporting the story. 

Yours, Ethan

---

Inside the sleek black car parked in the distance, Alexander sat in silence, the soft glow of his cigarette briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face. One hand rested outside the open window, catching the chill of the night air, while the other held the cigarette between two fingers—its ember flaring each time he drew in a slow, quiet breath.

The interior of the car was bone-cold, but it wasn’t the weather—it was his mood. Rage simmered just beneath his calm surface. The faint crimson at the corners of his eyes betrayed the fury he was barely containing.

Beside him, Colton exhaled, the weight of fatigue in his voice. He leaned back against the leather seat. “These people move like ghosts. Every time they appear, they vanish within minutes by helicopter. No records, no IDs. Unregistered across every system. We can't track them. But this... this was their biggest operation yet. My guess? We’ll see more of them soon.”

Alexander said nothing. His silence was more dangerous than an outburst.

Even with all the resources the Vanderbilt family commanded—wealth, power, influence—they were still helpless against a faceless enemy. They had captured a few of them before, but just seconds before questioning, the captives would self-destruct—whether by poison or implanted tech, it didn’t matter. They all turned to corpses, stripped of any identity. Corpses didn't talk.

Alexander checked his phone, thumb swiping the screen with practiced indifference, though his jaw was tense. No messages. No calls. He closed his eyes briefly and rubbed his temple with his knuckles.

“Let’s go back,” he said quietly, voice low and frayed at the edges.

That night, only one person slept peacefully—Serena.

---

The next morning Serena had barely settled into her office chair when the door burst open. Wes’s agent stormed in, pale and breathless.

“Serena—something’s wrong! Wes is missing!”

Her heart lurched. She shot up from her seat. “What do you mean, ‘missing’?”

The agent’s words spilled out in a tangled rush. “Last night, after the news dropped about him leaving his old company, he was celebrating—just a few drinks. He was in high spirits. I was going to take him home myself, but I got an urgent call from my family, so I asked a friend to give him a lift. My friend said Wes insisted on walking the last block home alone...”

Panic began to rise.

Wes was a rising star now—too recognizable. The possibility of a deranged fan kidnapping him was dangerously real.

Serena wasted no time. She contacted the police and requested immediate access to surveillance in the area where Wes was last seen.

The footage came back quickly.

It wasn’t a fan.

A sleek, luxury car had pulled up next to Wes. He was seen getting in without protest—but he was clearly intoxicated. Serena tracked the license plate with the help of a few well-placed calls.

The car belonged to Anita.

Her heart sank.

Anita hadn’t let go.

She had previously tried to coerce Wes into a contract through manipulation and threats. Now, she had taken full advantage of his vulnerable state.

Serena dialed the number she’d tracked down.

Anita picked up almost immediately. “Ava,” she said mockingly. “Wes chose to be with me. He signed with a nobody company. What’s wrong with him coming to me?”

Before Serena could respond, she heard it—Wes’s voice, distant but unmistakably filled with dread. “Let me go—don’t touch me!”

He was awake now. And afraid.

Serena’s blood ran cold.

Anita had a long, ugly history of seducing and discarding men—destroying reputations and lives in the process. Several former lovers had died in despair. But her wealth, connections, and ownership of All Star Entertainment shielded her from consequences. She was untouchable.

Serena ended the call. She didn’t have time to argue with someone like Anita.

There was only one person she could think of who might intimidate Anita enough to make her back off.

She called Alexander.

---

Meanwhile Alexander was at the Vanderbilt estate, seated in a high-backed leather chair beside Cornelius’s bed. The old man’s face was sallow, his health visibly deteriorating. Since his hospital discharge, he had remained bedridden—frail, stubborn, and perpetually displeased.

Today was Alexander’s birthday.

But there were no celebratory words, no warmth in the air—only Cornelius’s cold glare.

The moment Ava’s name flashed on Alexander’s phone, his entire demeanor changed. He sat forward slightly, eyes softening, voice quiet when he answered.

Cornelius noticed immediately. His scowl deepened.

“Is that the woman you’ve been fooling around with outside?”

Alexander didn’t bother to lie. He met his grandfather’s gaze, unflinching. “You’ll like her, too. I’ll bring her to meet you soon.”

Cornelius’s fury exploded. He pointed toward the door, knuckles trembling. “Get out! Out!”

Seeing the fire still burning in the old man’s voice, Alexander merely smiled and stood up.

At least Cornelius still had the strength to yell.

Without another word, Alexander turned and left.

*

Alexander answered the call and heard Ava’s voice on the other end, asking where he was.

For a fleeting moment, he thought—hoped—she might be coming to his birthday.

Despite everything that had happened the night before, he had already instructed Hugo to cancel the celebration this year. Yet her unexpected question stirred something quiet and hopeful inside him.

He rarely celebrated his birthday. His and Marken’s birthdays were just days apart, but in the Vanderbilt household, only Marken’s was remembered. Even in their childhood, when the family could afford anything, Alexander’s birthday cake was often just the leftover sliver from Marken’s celebration—already half-eaten, its candles used once before.

Everyone had adored Marken. He was charming, easy to love. Alexander, on the other hand, had been the brooding, silent one—the “strange child” in a family that had no patience for complexity.

Over time, he grew to resent the very idea of birthdays. In the military, there were no parties, no candles—only survival. Making it back alive from a mission was gift enough.

Only after returning to New York did a few close friends start remembering his birthday again, throwing small, low-key gatherings more out of habit than sentiment. This year, they had chosen his private villa for the celebration. Despite canceling it once, Hugo, ever the perfectionist, had gone ahead with preparations anyway.

Alexander gave Ava the address.

The villa was dressed in a subtle masculine style—nothing extravagant—but Hugo, in his usual over-the-top fashion, was hanging garish balloons and streamers across the living room. When Alexander walked in and caught sight of the tacky decorations, he frowned but said nothing. It was Hugo’s tradition.

“She’s coming later,” Alexander said quietly.

Hugo looked up from where he was adjusting the banner and froze. “She’s willing to come?”

Alexander’s lips curled slightly, a rare smile tugging at his features. “Yeah.”

For a second, Hugo allowed himself to hope—maybe there was still something salvageable between them.

Not long after, Colton and a few other friends arrived, shaking rain off their coats.

“Mikhail’s stuck with back-to-back surgeries tonight,” Colton said, pulling out a chair. “We’ll have to start without him.”

It was still midday. The chef they'd hired was busy in the kitchen, prepping a menu that wouldn’t be ready until late afternoon. Alexander settled into the chair at the center of the room, something he never did. Normally, he preferred to linger in the corners at gatherings, not speaking unless spoken to. But today, he sat in the spotlight—quiet, composed, and, every so often, glancing at the door.

Hugo was still fussing with the decorations. The “Happy Birthday” banner wasn’t even up yet when the doorbell rang.

A servant went to answer it.

This time, it was Ava.

She stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room. She looked momentarily surprised by the festive setup—the balloons, the flowers, even the ribboned wine bottles—but said nothing. Without hesitation, she walked straight toward Alexander.

He looked calm. A dozen kinds of alcohol lined the coffee table, and he lazily swirled the drink in his glass before taking a sip.

“Why are you here so early?” he asked, his tone indifferent.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” Ava began, her voice soft, “I came to ask you for a favor.”

He glanced at her, eyes flicking to her hands—no gift. Maybe it was in her bag? His expression subtly shifted, disappointed.

“What kind of favor?” he asked, carefully neutral.

Ava sat beside him, lowering her voice as she explained Anita’s situation—and Wes’s involvement.

The moment she said Wes’s name, Alexander’s expression darkened. His glass halted midair.

“So you came to me... for Wes?” he repeated slowly.

Ava knew how easily his temper could ignite. She also knew she wasn’t in a position to ask him for help—but she still clung to a sliver of hope.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” she said gently, “you know Anita’s reputation. Wes could really be in danger, so I—”

“Ava,” Alexander interrupted, his voice sharp. “Do you even know what day it is?”

She faltered, glancing around again. The room, now that she was paying attention, was filled with subtle celebratory cues. Champagne chilling in a bucket. A stack of unopened boxes near the side table. Even Hugo, mid-air on a ladder, adjusting strings of golden ribbon.

“Is someone proposing?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

Alexander let out a cold laugh.

Colton and Hugo exchanged glances nearby, tension thick in the air.

Alexander laughed again—longer this time, humorless. Then, with a soft, dangerous tone, he set his glass down.

“Who do you think I am?” he asked. “You think I’d help you save him? What am I to you?”

His voice rose sharply at the end.

Hugo scrambled down from the ladder, stepping in. “Xander, that’s enough—”

Ava took a step back, startled by the sudden outburst. The hurt in Alexander’s eyes flashed only for a moment before vanishing behind the mask of indifference.

He paused for a long beat, breathing heavily, and then took out his phone.

He dialed Anita.

“Let Wes go,” he said curtly, his tone cold and final.

On the other end, Anita nearly dropped the phone. “Mr. Vanderbilt—”

But the call had already been cut.

Then, without warning, Alexander kicked the table in front of him. Glasses shattered, liquor spilled across the floor, soaking into the fine rug.

Ava froze in silence.

Alexander turned to her, jaw clenched, and gripped her wrist. “Let’s go.”

“Xander—” Hugo started, but Colton shook his head behind him. Best to let him walk it off.

Colton understood. He and Alexander had been through something together the night before. And he knew Alexander had already been on edge.

Now Ava had walked in—beautiful, stubborn, asking him to save another man.

It was the match that lit the fuse.

Hugo forced a smile for the others. “Sorry about the mess,” he said lightly. “We’ll get the place cleaned up. Food’s still coming—don’t go anywhere.”

But the party, it seemed, had just lost its soul.

Alexander gripped Ava’s wrist and dragged her upstairs. The moment she heard the door click shut and the lock turn, her pulse quickened with unease.

Before she could gather her thoughts, he had already seized her and tossed her onto the bed.

His tall frame loomed over her, trapping her beneath him. Without hesitation, he pressed his lips against hers—not with affection, but with a biting frustration that made her flinch.

“Do you think I’m your fifth lover?” he growled low against her mouth. “Do you think I’ll bend to your every whim?”

Ava winced from the sting of his teeth and instinctively tried to shrink away. But her back hit the headboard—there was nowhere to run.

Alexander gripped her wrist again, tugging her forward. “I told you yesterday. And you still don’t remember?”

He was practically seething now, the veins in his arms taut with tension.

‘Proposing?’ he thought bitterly. ‘Damn it—didn’t I say it was my birthday?’

He steadied his breath, trying not to lose control. “Where’s my gift?” he asked, voice sharp.

Ava froze. “What gift?”

His gaze darkened.

“Ava, today is my birthday. You showed up needing a favor—and didn’t even bring a gift?”

Only now did it dawn on her. “Mr. Vanderbilt, I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “I’ll go prepare something right away.”

Alexander narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced.

Sensing his rising anger, Ava leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips. A small, gentle gesture.

He stilled.

Her tone softened as she looked into his eyes. “I’ll make it special. I promise you’ll be satisfied.”

For a moment, silence hung in the air.

Alexander studied her face, his expression unreadable. Then, with a quiet exhale, he released her wrist.

“It better be good,” he muttered, though the storm in his voice had passed.

As they descended the stairs together, Hugo glanced up in disbelief.

Alexander had gone upstairs moments ago furious—and now, not even ten minutes later, he was walking down calm and composed.

Hugo's eyes trailed down with suspicion, pausing briefly at Alexander’s trousers. That fast?

Alexander caught the glance and shot him a cold stare, not even bothering to explain.

Ava offered a quick goodbye to the others and turned back toward Alexander. “Mr. Vanderbilt, I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as she left, Hugo set the balloon he was holding down with a sigh.

“What happened?” he asked bluntly. “Did Ava calm you down that fast?”

Alexander said nothing, expression flat as he took a seat at the table.

“I wasn’t angry,” he replied dryly.

The others exchanged looks, eyes drifting to the trash bin in the corner—where the shattered remains of a wine bottle still lay.

No one called him out.

Even if Alexander wasn’t great at expressing tenderness, everyone could see it. When Ava needed something, he showed up. When she forgot, he forgave.

He was rough, yes. But when it counted, he was always there.

The drinks were refreshed, the mood lightened, and laughter soon returned to the table. Alexander’s icy composure melted just enough for him to join a card game with Colton and the others, his earlier frustration buried beneath his usual cool demeanor.

But Hugo couldn’t help but think—this man, for all his pride, is already far too soft when it comes to her.

--- 

After leaving, Ava immediately dialed Wes’s number.

The moment she learned he had been released, a wave of relief washed over her. Without hesitation, she jumped into her car and drove straight to pick him up. But when she arrived, her heart sank—Wes looked pale and disoriented, his steps unsteady and eyes glassy.

“Ava, I’m okay,” he murmured, swaying slightly. “The drug just hasn’t worn off yet. Please… just take me home. Thank you.”

His home was nestled in an unassuming residential neighborhood—quiet, modest, and a far cry from the spotlight he once lived under. Though Wes had tasted fame, much of his earnings had been drained by his former agency. This new chapter was his attempt at a fresh start.

Inside, his apartment was neat and sparsely decorated. The floors gleamed, the air smelled faintly of cedarwood, and the neighbors offered warm, curious glances. Ava gently helped him onto the sofa, then called his agent, informing them of the situation before preparing to leave.

Before she could go, Wes gripped her wrist weakly. “Ava… when I wake up, there’s something I need to tell you.”

His voice was faint, barely above a whisper.

Ava gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Rest first,” she said softly. “We’ll talk later.”

After the agent arrived to take over, Ava headed to the mall. Her mind turned to Alexander. She wanted to get him a gift—something thoughtful. But what could you possibly buy for a man who already had everything?

The options were endless, yet nothing felt quite right. It had to be expensive—of course—but also meaningful.

That’s when she saw it.

A bracelet.

Minimalist and masculine, made from rare wood with a deep brown finish and a subtly intoxicating scent. Priced at five hundred thousand dollars, it was understated yet luxurious—perfectly in line with Alexander’s taste. More than that, Ava was drawn to it instinctively. It had an earthy warmth, a quiet elegance. The scent reminded her of calm, of grounding energy—something she hoped could soften the storm he carried within.

“This one?” the saleswoman asked, carefully lifting it from the velvet tray. “It’s a fine choice. There’s a legend tied to this bracelet—if a couple can both appreciate its scent, their bond will be long-lasting. Peaceful. Meant to be.”

Ava didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take it.”

Once the purchase was made, she held the wrapped box in her hands and exhaled, feeling an odd flutter of anticipation. She hadn’t bought it just to impress him—it felt like something more.

But fate had other plans.

Just as she exited the mall, she ran into the last person she wanted to see.

Victoria.

The tension was immediate.

Victoria was dressed to perfection, but her eyes were cold, and her smile venomous. She was there too, clearly hunting for a gift—though the one she had originally chosen had reportedly gone up in flames the night before.

Their shoulders collided—deliberately.

The force of it made Ava stumble back a few steps. The bracelet slipped from her fingers and hit the tiled floor with a soft clatter.

Victoria’s sharp gaze fell to the sleek box, though she couldn’t tell what was inside. Her lips curled into a sneer.

“Is that the little gift you bought for Alexander?” she taunted. “How pathetic. He’s already divorced you, and here you are, still desperate to please him.”

Her voice dripped with contempt.

Ava bent to pick up the bracelet and dusted it off, the edge of her mouth lifting in a cool smile. “You’re one to talk. I’d say you’re in even worse shape than I am.”

The words struck a nerve. Victoria’s expression twisted with rage—clearly still reeling from Alexander’s indifference the night before.

Without warning, she lunged forward and tried to snatch the bracelet from Ava’s hands, as though breaking it might restore some shred of her dignity.

Ava wasn’t having it.

With practiced calm, she shoved Victoria backward and swung her handbag, the corner connecting squarely with Victoria’s temple.

The crack of impact echoed sharply.

Victoria reeled, stunned—her perfectly styled hair now a mess of tangled waves. But the shock wore off quickly, replaced by wild fury. She lunged again, clawing at Ava’s neck with unhinged desperation.

Ava barely registered the chaos—her pulse quick, her instincts sharper. She ducked and stepped back, poised to defend herself again.

Fortunately, mall security intervened just in time. Two officers stepped between them, restraining Victoria before the scuffle could escalate further.

Ava stood tall, still composed, while Victoria, disheveled and snarling, glared at her through tangled strands of hair. Her lipstick was smudged, her expression feral.

One officer turned to Ava. “Are you alright, miss?”

Ava adjusted the sleeve of her coat and nodded, her tone even. “I’m fine.”

Victoria, on the other hand, looked anything but.

And for once, Ava didn’t feel shaken. She felt grounded—like the wooden bracelet still clutched in her palm. Solid. Steady. And just a little bit scented with power.

--- 

On the second floor of the shopping mall, Lucca Reinaldi leaned casually against a wide balcony railing. The early evening light framed him like a portrait—his posture relaxed, his sculpted features half-lit by the glow of overhead chandeliers. One hand braced his chin, and his amber gaze drifted lazily over the scene below.

"Are all the women in New York this... wild?" he mused aloud, voice laced with both curiosity and amusement.

His eyes, dazzling like starlight, should have carried warmth—but they didn’t. Behind that gleam was a cold detachment, an observer who never got too close.

Beside him stood a tall, sharply dressed man—his brother—expression as austere as the finely cut lines of his suit.

“I’m catching my flight soon,” the older man warned. “Don’t stir up trouble here.”

Lucca gave a half-laugh. “My dear brother, when have I ever caused trouble for the family?”

“You know very well. Cut ties with those messy women while you still can. I don’t want to see your name in another scandal.”

The elder Reinaldi turned and left, not waiting for an answer.

Lucca tilted his head and kept watching the commotion on the floor below. His lips curved slightly. “I got it,” he muttered.

His gaze caught on a familiar face—Victoria Laurent—and something in his expression shifted. It wasn’t recognition so much as quiet intrigue.

Victoria had been screaming moments earlier, venom aimed directly at Ava—but the instant she noticed Lucca, it was as though someone had pressed the mute button. Her demeanor changed instantly. Graceful, poised, composed. She smoothed her hair back behind her ear, forcing a smile that barely masked her disdain.

'That lowly woman probably doesn’t even know who Lucca is,' Victoria thought smugly.

With feigned generosity, she said coldly, “Ava, I don’t want to argue with you today.”

But Ava didn’t buy the act. Without warning, she slapped her.

A sharp crack rang out.

Victoria staggered, clutching her cheek in disbelief.

Ava’s voice was calm, but every word hit like a blow. “Miss Laurent, I actually do want to argue today. The Laurent family’s been quite busy lately, hasn’t it? Alexander may have promised a three-billion-dollar investment, but... as long as the contract isn’t signed, anything can happen.”

Victoria’s chest heaved, fury dancing in her eyes—but she didn’t retaliate. Not with Lucca Reinaldi watching from above. If she lost face now, she might lose more than just pride. The Laurent family was hanging by a thread, clinging to Alexander’s pending investment to stay afloat.

She glanced upward. Lucca was still watching.

With gritted teeth and a pitiful expression painted on her face, Victoria spun on her heels and left without a word.

Ava stood in place, momentarily baffled by her sudden retreat.

She picked up the gift bag she had brought for Alexander and left the mall.

---

At the villa, Hugo was lounging on the couch, phone in hand. He read a message from a friend and chuckled. "[Why is Lucca in New York today?]"

Everyone in the industry knew Lucca Reinaldi, the notorious playboy from Italy, whose name was often splashed across tabloids beside some scandal or glamorous affair. Even Alexander had heard of him.

Hugo tossed his phone aside. “The Reinaldi family's latest movie’s about to launch globally. Word is, they’re recruiting directors in Stellaria. No wonder the group chat’s on fire tonight.”

That name—Reinaldi—sparked something in Alexander’s memory. He recalled Mikhail once mentioning that the Reinaldis’ youngest daughter was still missing. But this visit wasn’t about that; the search had been entrusted to Victor. No, Lucca had come for something else.

As it happened, Hugo and Lucca had a casual friendship—connected by fame, shared vices, and the film world. Lucca texted him, suggesting a drink.

Hugo, glancing at Alexander, replied: Come to the villa.

---

Meanwhile, Ava was en route, turning down a narrow corner when she was rear-ended by a sleek, custom-painted sports car.

She stepped out, brows furrowed. The car behind hers gleamed like a polished gem under the streetlights.

A moment later, the driver stepped out—and Ava recognized him immediately. It was the man from the mall balcony.

Lucca Reinaldi.

He recognized her too—the fierce beauty from earlier.

Ava inspected the dent in her bumper, glanced at her watch, and sighed. She was going to be late.

“How much are you planning to pay?” she asked curtly, turning to face him.

Her breath caught slightly when she saw him up close.

He was stunning—gorgeous in a way that was almost unfair. Where Alexander was sharp, intimidating, and regal, Lucca was magnetic, warm-blooded, almost sensual. He radiated effortless charm, the kind that drew people in before they realized it.

Lucca gave her a slow, appreciative look. Then, with a grin, he pulled out a checkbook and scribbled a number. “Three million,” he said, tearing it off and handing it to her. “For the car... and for your face. Cured my bad mood for the day.”

He blew her a kiss, climbed back into his car, and peeled away with a flourish.

Ava stared at the check, stunned. Where do people like him even come from?

She shook her head, pocketed the money without complaint, and continued toward the villa.

---

Inside the villa, the air was thick with the aroma of food and the sharp tang of liquor. But Alexander was nowhere to be seen.

“He’s upstairs,” Hugo said, nodding toward the staircase. “Drank on an empty stomach and started feeling sick.”

Ava headed upstairs, retracing familiar steps. The door to the bedroom was closed. She entered quietly.

Alexander stood by the window, a glass of warm water in one hand, the other resting on his abdomen. He looked pale, clearly unwell, but still intimidating in that quiet way of his.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” she said softly.

She approached and handed him the gift—a bracelet.

Alexander looked at it, then at her. The wood was of exceptional quality, smooth and fragrant, designed for both elegance and calm.

He didn’t speak, only extended his wrist.

Ava took his hand gently and slipped the bracelet on. Against his fair skin, the rich wood gleamed with understated beauty.

“It must have cost you,” he murmured.

Ava met his eyes. “It was worth it.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased.

The corner of his mouth curved ever so slightly. “Not bad. You know my taste.”

He kept his gaze fixed on her, then suddenly pulled her close. Her back met the wall behind her.

He kissed her nose, then leaned in, about to kiss her lips—

“Lucca’s here!” Hugo’s voice echoed from downstairs.

Alexander paused, then let her go immediately.

Ava, halfway through pushing him away, straightened herself.

Saved by the bell.

*

When they descended the staircase together, Lucca was already seated in the lounge, casually chatting with Colton. His striking features lit up when he spotted them, his eyes trailing up the polished banister toward Ava. He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, well. Three times in one day. Fate’s being bold,” he remarked.

Ava blinked, momentarily startled by the coincidence, while Alexander’s jaw tensed. Without a word, he placed a firm hand on her waist and guided her down to sit beside him on the couch.

The possessive gesture wasn’t lost on anyone—especially not Lucca. His gaze lingered on Alexander’s hand, then back at Ava. Though he hadn’t intended to flirt, he couldn’t help noticing how familiar her presence felt. There was something about her that stirred memory, even if he couldn’t quite place it.

The room buzzed with conversation, laughter flowing easily—until the doorbell rang again. The sound cut through the air like a knife.

Victoria arrived.

Her entrance, gift in hand and smile too perfect to be genuine, shifted the mood instantly. A subtle tension seeped into the atmosphere like a draft through an open window.

“Hope I’m not late,” she said sweetly.

Alexander didn’t even look at her. His hand remained right where it was—resting casually but firmly on Ava’s waist.

Victoria’s eyes flicked toward Hugo, recognizing his betrayal. It was clearly him who had leaked the address. A silent challenge passed between them.

Choosing not to make a scene, Victoria took the seat next to Lucca. She turned toward him with a polite smile. “Didn’t your sister come to New York with you?”

Lucca gave a soft laugh, rubbing his temple as if the thought of his sister gave him a headache. “She wanted to, but her health wouldn’t allow it. Weak heart. My family practically wraps her in velvet. My older brother listens to her like she’s royalty, and my parents would lasso the moon if she asked for it.”

He leaned back, sounding more tired than amused. “She used to be into jewelry design. Now she’s obsessed with traditional Stellarian painting. Sent me here to find a master artist, as if I’m her errand boy.”

“Isn’t Mr. Remmington the master of Stellarian painting?” Victoria asked casually. “His works are legendary.”

Lucca nodded, lips curved in amusement. “That’s the one. But he’s famously reclusive. Doesn’t meet anyone.”

All eyes subtly shifted toward Ava.

It was no secret by now—Ava was Remmington’s final and most prized student.

She didn’t flinch under the weight of their collective gaze. Instead, she calmly studied the bottles of sparkling water on the table, her expression unreadable.

Victoria, irritated by Ava’s quiet poise, decided to stir the pot.

“Ava is Mr. Remmington’s last disciple,” she announced to Lucca, her tone laced with fake sweetness. “If you want to see him, just ask her.”

Everyone knew Remmington couldn’t be swayed by fame or fortune. Even his own students had no guarantees when it came to introducing others.

Still, Victoria delivered her remark with a smug smile, clearly throwing Ava into the fire.

Lucca’s eyes found Ava’s again. “Miss Ava, would you mind?”

Ava returned his look with a courteous smile. “Mr. Reinaldi, I’ll do my best to speak to my teacher. But if he refuses… I won’t be able to change his mind.”

Her tone was warm, but honest.

But then came the curveball.

“Well then,” Lucca said, suddenly intrigued, “you can teach my sister yourself. She’s driving me mad every day. When are you free to come with me to Italy?”

Ava froze, caught off guard.

She had no time for such a trip. E.A. Corporation was still fragile—its survival dependent on her next move. She had no resources locked in, no major breakthroughs. Everything hung by a thread.

And yet…

Lucca reached into his pocket and offered her a sleek, minimalist business card. The embossed golden emblem shimmered under the light.

Ava’s pupils contracted when she read the name.

It was the Reinaldi Films—the largest film empire in the world. Their IPs had been turned into global theme parks, household brands, billion-dollar franchises. This wasn’t just an invitation—it was the doorway to everything E.A. had ever dreamed of.

She reached out to take it, lips parting. “Mr. Reinaldi, I—”

Suddenly, pain flared in her thigh.

She looked down to see Alexander had pinched her leg under the table.

His face was stone. Cold. As if carved from marble.

Across the table, Victoria caught the tension and poured gasoline on the fire.

“Ava really is beautiful,” she said lightly. “And I heard Mr. Reinaldi is still single, isn’t he?”

Unofficially? He was surrounded by admirers. Officially, no one had claimed the title.

Lucca raised an eyebrow, amused. His gaze flicked from Ava to Alexander.

“I’m not interested in her that way,” he said, almost teasing. “My sister’s just a handful.”

Then, as if bored of the topic, he shifted gears. “By the way, Mr. Vanderbilt… You’ve met my sister, haven’t you? She mentioned corresponding with you.”

Alexander’s eyes sharpened. For the briefest second, Ava saw hesitation.

“I’m not familiar with her,” he said coldly.

Lucca tilted his head. It wasn’t the denial that threw him—it was the way Alexander said it. Distant. Formal. Avoidant.

Still, Lucca turned back to Ava with a grin. “So, Miss Ava, are you willing to come to Italy?”

She hesitated. Her heart said yes, her ambition screamed yes, but Alexander’s presence beside her felt like a wall she couldn’t climb.

She shook her head gently. “Not right now.”

A real shame. Opportunities like this didn’t knock twice.

Not long after, her phone buzzed—Marilyn was calling. Something urgent at E.A.

Ava stood to leave, offering polite goodbyes. Alexander got up too. “I’ll see her off.”

But when they reached the car in the yard, he climbed in after her, without asking.

And didn’t say a word.

Ava blinked in surprise. “Mr. Vanderbilt?”

Alexander settled into the passenger seat with practiced ease, his voice low but firm. “Don’t get too close to Lucca. He’s a legendary playboy in Italy—has enough ex-girlfriends to form a parade down the Amalfi Coast.”

Ava gave a quick, almost reflexive nod, eager to deflect and exit the conversation. But then Alexander turned toward her, a sly smile playing on his lips. His fingers brushed casually across the bracelet on his wrist, the motion deliberate.

“Anything he can do,” he murmured, his voice silk over steel, “I can do better.”

Ava tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Her heart thudded once—hard—before she managed a calm response. “Then let me ask you something.” Her tone was light, but her gaze remained fixed ahead. “If I said I don’t want you investing in the Richter Group… could you still walk away?”

Alexander’s smile faltered. His brows drew together, eyes narrowing slightly.

Ava let out a quiet laugh, tinged with something bitter. “Then don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Without warning, Alexander leaned closer. His hand reached out, firm yet gentle, and pulled her toward him. His gaze bored into her, scrutinizing every flicker of emotion on her face.

“If I do walk away from it… what will you give me in return?” His voice was low now, intimate.

Ava’s thoughts raced. She calculated quickly—if the Richter Group lost Alexander’s investment, Victoria’s influence would collapse. The company might go under in six months. That meant less energy for Victoria to aim at her, more breathing room for Ava to fight her own battles.

“What does Mr. Vanderbilt want?” she asked softly.

His answer came without hesitation. “I want you to divorce your husband.”

His words were clear, absolute. His eyes—dark, unflinching—searched hers with an intensity that made her pulse flutter.

Ava paused for only a moment before raising an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

“Ava,” he said, his voice rougher now, “I don’t want to keep kissing you while imagining you going home to that loser.”

Before she could react, he took her hand and lifted it, kissing each fingertip slowly, reverently. His lips were warm against her skin, igniting a line of fire along her nerves.

The air inside the car grew thick. Her fingers curled instinctively, her breath caught in her throat. Every part of her was alert, aware.

“I promise you,” she said, voice barely a whisper.

That was all he needed.

In one smooth motion, Alexander pulled her into his lap, guiding her to straddle him. One hand, the one wearing the bracelet, slid behind her back as he pressed her down against him. His mouth found hers—hungry, deliberate, heated.

Ava gasped, startled. Her hand flew to the car window, bracing herself as she tried to push him back. “You only asked for a divorce,” she said, breathless. “I never agreed to sleep with you.”

Alexander stilled.

For a moment, the car was silent but for the faint sound of their breathing and the muted thrum of the night outside.

Then he laughed softly, the sound curling through the air like smoke. “If I pull three billion dollars from the Richter Group now,” he murmured, “what do you think the industry will say?” He leaned close again, his breath warm against her cheek. “They’ll say I’m heartless. That I abandoned my ex without a second thought. That I broke my word.”

Ava didn’t answer. Her thoughts tangled with the weight of what his gesture might mean—not just for Victoria, but for herself.

When he reached for her again, she didn’t resist. She only turned her face away, letting him press his lips to the hollow of her throat, then lower. Her hands trembled slightly, not from fear—but from everything else.

Eventually, Alexander helped her straighten her clothes with a kind of care that felt unexpectedly intimate. When he finally stepped out of the car, the air that rushed in felt sharp against her flushed skin.

He knocked on the window once.

She rolled it down.

Leaning against the frame, he looked at her—really looked. His dark eyes held something unreadable, something real.

Ava pressed her lips together, turned away, and quietly started the engine.

Alexander stood at the curb and watched her drive off into the night. A slow, satisfied grin played across his face as he turned back toward the villa, his steps light.

Inside, it was clear to everyone—he was in a very good mood.

Victoria, watching him from across the room, felt something inside her snap. Her knuckles turned white as she clenched her fists. She wanted nothing more than to storm outside and strangle Ava with her bare hands.

Alexander sank onto the leather sofa, lounging like a king. He raised a glass and casually joined the ongoing conversation, tossing out a witty comment that made the group laugh.

Even Lucca smiled, offering a toast, his eyes glinting with amusement.

But Victoria?

She was seething in silence, every smile from Alexander cutting deeper than the last. 

---

On the drive home, Ava found her focus slipping.

Her hands tightened instinctively on the steering wheel every time Alexander’s face flickered into her thoughts—more specifically, the way his soft hair had brushed against her skin earlier that evening, the sensation impossibly vivid.

She had seen so many versions of him over time: the cold aristocrat, the ruthless businessman, the domineering lover, the untamed storm of passion. She’d endured all of it. But what she couldn’t brace herself against—what truly unraveled her—was his rare, disarming gentleness.

It wasn’t just affection. It was dangerous. A poison sweet enough to swallow willingly, but lethal all the same.

With a sigh, she leaned back against the car seat and stared out through the windshield at the blur of passing lights. Her mind, flitting between emotions and practicality, finally anchored itself in work.

She rubbed at her temples, pushing Alexander from her thoughts. She couldn’t afford the distraction. Not now. Though she had ambitious plans for E.A. Corporation’s future in the film industry, their current profits were modest at best. And if she wanted to uncover the truth behind the decades-old hospital baby switch—if she wanted to stand equal to someone like Anita—she needed power, influence, and time. None of which came easy.

Elsewhere in the city, Alexander had finished another round of drinks, the remnants of the night winding down as Hugo returned from escorting the last guests out.

When he stepped back into the room, he found Alexander reclining on the sofa, one arm draped lazily across the back, a rare, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

"You didn’t even sleep with her tonight," Hugo said, raising an eyebrow. "So what’s with the victorious grin?"

Then he noticed the bracelet on Alexander’s wrist—subtle, sleek, unmistakably gifted—and immediately understood.

“She gave you that?” he asked, lips twitching.

Alexander tilted his head, fingers brushing the charm lightly. “She promised me she’d get a divorce.”

Hugo froze mid-motion. “Wait. Seriously?”

Alexander nodded, the satisfaction in his eyes barely contained. “Ava may be difficult at times… but she doesn’t lie.”

Hugo gave a dry laugh. “Well, congrats. That means you’re not her fifth lover anymore.”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I don’t want to be a lover,” he said. “I want to be the one.”

That shut Hugo up.

Later that night, Alexander left the villa and checked into one of his hotels. Though he owned several properties in New York, he rarely stayed in any of them. Hotels offered neutrality. Detachment. Fewer memories.

After a long shower, steam curling around him like a second skin, the alcohol caught up with him, clouding his head in a dull warmth.

He grabbed his phone and typed out a message.

[Let me know when your divorce is finalized. It needs to be soon.]

Ava, now back at Le Châteauesque Manor, saw the message flash across her screen and replied simply:

[Okay.]

The deadline for the agreement with the Laurent family loomed, and the Richter Group was holding its breath.

Victoria, more anxious than ever, had noticed that even her latest birthday gift to Alexander had been returned—sent back with no explanation. That, more than anything, had made her realize his attitude had shifted. This time, it wasn’t anger or indifference. It was distance.

But none of it mattered to her, so long as the Vanderbilt Group invested in the Richter Group. That was the only thing that could keep them afloat.

Meanwhile, Alexander waited. One eye on the clock. One eye on his phone.

Then, an hour later, his screen lit up.

It was a photo.

A divorce decree.

He stared at it for a moment in silence. Then, slowly, a smile broke across his face.

He dialed her number without hesitation.

"You really did it?" he asked, his voice low.

Back at Le Châteauesque Manor, Ava was tidying up. She had once arranged the house to make it seem like a man lived there—scattered shirts, extra shoes, a faint masculine scent in the air. All for show. Now, it was time to erase the illusion.

“Yes,” she replied calmly. “Mr. Vanderbilt, you haven’t signed the contract with the Richter Group yet, have you?”

Alexander let out a short chuckle. On her end, Ava tossed a pair of men's slippers and two shirts into the trash.

She had also let Liam go earlier that evening. He had stayed on payroll despite contributing little recently, and she’d told him frankly their partnership was over. To her surprise, he had accepted her decision with guilt and grace.

“Where are you?” Alexander asked.

“Upper West Side,” she replied.

Ava hung up and carried the trash downstairs.

When she returned to her room, something caught her eye—two pristine shoe boxes placed neatly at the threshold.

Inside were two pairs of elegant designer heels. Silver with crystal accents. Black with satin straps.

Her brows furrowed.

'Rachel?' she wondered. The style resembled a pair Rachel had once gifted her.

She was still examining the shoes when the doorbell rang.

And standing at the entrance—

Was Alexander. 

Ava wasn’t surprised in the slightest when she opened the door and saw him standing there.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, please come in,” she said calmly, stepping aside.

Alexander’s sharp eyes swept over the apartment’s interior before drifting to the shoe cabinet. He opened it out of habit. Inside were only a few pairs of neatly arranged women’s shoes—two of which he recognized as the ones he had picked out for her himself. There wasn’t a single pair of men’s shoes. That detail made him inexplicably satisfied.

“I thought you’d drag out your divorce,” he said with a smirk, “but you handled it quite... decisively.”

Ava’s spine stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she moved to the kitchen to fetch water.

“There was no reason to keep it going,” she said over her shoulder. “He never loved me.”

Alexander casually slipped off his shoes and took out a pair of large slippers—ones she had specially bought in his size. That, too, pleased him. While Ava poured water, he suddenly hugged her from behind, catching her off guard. The glass in her hand nearly slipped.

“He really didn’t,” Alexander murmured against her ear. “He was a cheating bastard. And a loser.”

Ava said nothing. Her hand reached out and pressed the button on the water dispenser, trying to ignore the warmth of his arms and the pounding of her own heart. When he tried to kiss her, she dodged deftly.

She returned to the living room, placed two glasses of water on the table, and sat down.

Alexander didn’t push further. In fact, he seemed in a good mood as he sank into her sofa, completely at ease—probably because he now knew there was no other man living here.

“You asked me to cut off my investment in the Richter Group, and I agreed,” he said lazily. “But that can’t be your only condition, Ava. And it’s not mine, either.”

She glanced at him. She knew there had to be more.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” she began, lifting her eyes to meet his. “I no longer wish to engage in... that kind of arrangement with you. You can call it ungrateful, or self-righteous, but I just—can’t anymore.”

Alexander’s brow furrowed slightly. He didn’t understand. Was she lying? Every time they'd been together, she had responded to him—visibly, audibly. He remembered her flushed cheeks, her breathy moans. That hadn’t been pretend.

The room was silent for a long beat before he spoke again.

“What will it take for you to agree, then?”

There was no malice in his voice, just cool inquiry. His eyes, usually unreadable, flashed with something unreadable—perhaps curiosity, perhaps vulnerability. He didn’t pull her close or raise his voice. Instead, he waited.

Ava pushed the glass of water toward him, her expression resolute.

“Give me another condition. One that doesn’t involve my body.”

Alexander leaned back, resting one arm along the top of the couch. Then, quietly, he said, “Be my assistant.”

She blinked. “Your assistant?”

“The Vanderbilt Group is expanding into film and television,” he explained. “I heard from Hugo that you’ve started investing in that field, too.”

He picked up the water she’d given him, turning the glass slowly in his hand. The bracelet on his wrist caught the light, shimmering faintly.

“You won’t need to submit any documents. Just follow me to work. I’ll pay you separately,” he continued, his tone casual but firm. “With the Vanderbilt name behind you, you’ll get access to every contact in the industry. It’s mutually beneficial.”

He suddenly leaned in, voice brushing against her ear like velvet. “You don’t want sex? Fine. But at least give me a kiss.”

Ava froze.

His breath was warm, his lips brushing her earlobe. “What?” he whispered. “Are you unwilling?”

She turned her face slightly, studying him. She still didn’t fully understand his angle—he already had Jonathan, the most capable executive assistant imaginable. Bringing her in would be redundant. Maybe even reckless.

But what he said wasn’t wrong. She needed resources. Badly.

‘Just a kiss?’ she thought.

Before she could respond, Alexander pulled out a pen, tore a check from his pad, and wrote an amount: $1,000,000.

“Two months,” he said. “Be my secretary. Take whatever resources you want from the Vanderbilt Group. All I ask is that when I call, you come.”

He slid the check across the coffee table.

Ava’s fingers trembled. Her palm grew clammy. “Are you sure... no sex?”

“If you want it,” Alexander said with a smirk, “I won’t say no.”

Ava leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Mr. Vanderbilt, I intend to take a lot more from the Vanderbilt Group than you might think.”

That amused him.

Was she naive? Or just bold?

He had already offered her billions in the past. Now, he was simply repackaging the offer. Money didn’t matter to him—but to her, at this moment, it could be everything.

“Ava,” he said with a quiet confidence, “as long as I’m with the Vanderbilt Group, it will never go bankrupt.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. There was too much spinning inside her.

Alexander took her silence as agreement. He leaned forward, caging her between his arms on the sofa, and kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. It was slow and deliberate, coaxing rather than demanding. His lips brushed over hers again and again, until she finally responded.

His phone began to ring beside them, buzzing insistently on the table. The name on the screen was Victoria.

Ava’s eyes flicked toward it. She saw it clearly—and so did Alexander. He didn’t move to answer.

Then she did something that surprised them both—she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him back in.

His lips deepened the kiss instantly, moving from her mouth to her jaw, then her neck. The minutes ticked by. 

Breathless and flushed, Alexander finally leaned back and reached for his phone. Missed calls. Dozens—from Victoria, from the Laurent family.

He smirked.

They could wait.  

*

After nearly forty minutes of lingering kisses and heated embraces, Alexander finally pulled away. A quick glance at his phone reminded him of the time. Beside him, Ava lay slumped on the couch, dazed, her breath still unsteady and her body languid from his touch.

Her blouse had come partially undone during their kiss, and Alexander—always meticulous—gently reached over and fastened each button, his fingers moving with deliberate care. There was an odd tenderness in the gesture, more intimate than any words.

“I’ll have Jonathan send you my schedule for the next two months,” he said, his voice low and composed.

Ava’s face was flushed, her cheeks dusted with pink. Though they hadn’t crossed the final line into something physical, the weight of his gaze, the feel of his mouth, and the quiet restraint in his touch had left her reeling. It was more disarming than she expected—more intoxicating than sex itself.

A quiet pang of regret fluttered through her chest.

But if she said that aloud—if she hinted at wanting more—she feared he might take it the wrong way. He might walk out and sign a contract with the Richter Group, just to prove a point.

As her legs threatened to give out, she heard him speak again.

“How much longer until the Manston Manor villa is ready? The one you designed?”

His voice was casual, but his eyes were sharp, waiting.

Ava blinked, forcing her thoughts to catch up. “It’s almost finished. Darby Construction has been really efficient. Everything’s running smoothly. They’ll begin formaldehyde testing in about two weeks.”

Alexander nodded slowly. “Did you leave the studio?”

“Yes,” she replied.

A small chuckle rumbled from his chest as he reached out to steady her. She was still swaying slightly, her knees soft. “You’re really too weak.”

He didn’t say it unkindly. If anything, his tone held a teasing warmth. But there was a note of restraint too—a reminder to himself not to go further.

He had promised there would be no sex today. Just kisses. And she had agreed far too quickly, not realizing that sometimes, restraint could be its own exquisite torment.

Alexander turned to leave. Ava walked him to the door, trailing behind him quietly. At the elevator, just as he was about to step inside, he paused and looked back over his shoulder.

“Report to my office this afternoon,” he said coolly.

Ava nodded.

The elevator doors began to close, but suddenly his long fingers reached out, pressing the button again to reopen them. His eyes locked on hers, unreadable.

“One more thing,” he added. “Did you throw away your wedding ring?”

There was no heat in his tone, just curiosity. He was remembering that day she’d lashed out at him because of it. Now that she was officially divorced, it would make sense that she’d gotten rid of it.

Ava didn’t hesitate. “I threw it away,” she said plainly.

Alexander’s eyes glinted with amusement, a corner of his mouth twitching into a faint, knowing smile. “Good,” he murmured. “See you this afternoon, then.”

He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.

Ava stood there a moment longer, watching the doors slide shut.

Once they did, she finally exhaled and turned back toward her apartment. Her heart was still racing—not just from the kisses, but from the quiet shift between them. Something unspoken had changed.

Meanwhile, the moment Alexander exited the building, he made one call.

He contacted the Laurent family directly and informed them, without hesitation, that he had found a better business partner.

And this time, he wasn't bluffing.