* FREEBIE / NO PAYING * 2nd * Chapter 236

Ava had other matters to attend to that day—pressing ones. She made her way to the Morales family company headquarters, where the atmosphere buzzed with quiet tension.

There, she spotted Wes waiting for her near the front office. He looked noticeably better than the last time they’d met—his color had returned, and his posture had straightened—but there was still a shadow in his eyes, the kind that lingered after trauma. The memory of being forcibly taken by Anita still haunted him.

“Ava,” he greeted, his voice lighter than she expected. “I’ve been waiting a while. I wanted to recommend a director for your project. Have you heard of Ray Rossi?”

Her brow arched slightly. “The one who directed The Gentleman?”

Wes nodded. “Yeah. That show has been a cult classic for a decade now. But two years ago, Ray was accused of sexual harassment. His reputation was destroyed overnight. His wife took the kids and left him. Ava, I met him at a bar recently. He’s… in a really dark place, but I still believe in his talent. You mentioned that series in a strategy meeting before. And from what I know of him—he’s not the type to do what he was accused of.”

Ava remained quiet, processing the name. She’d seen The Gentleman. More than once. Ray’s directorial style was nuanced and clever, the kind that stuck with you long after the credits rolled. But his fall from grace had been steep. Even now, his ex-wife regularly threw jabs at him online. The internet never forgot.

Wes hesitated before continuing, “And… there’s another reason. Ray’s ex-wife? She’s Mandy’s aunt.”

The mention of Mandy made Ava's eyes harden, a sharp flicker of hatred passing through them. Mandy still hadn’t woken up from her coma, and without her testimony, the details of Alfonso’s fatal car accident remained murky. The Ackerman family had been aggressively pushing to settle the matter with hush money, but Ava had refused every attempt to meet with them.

Not just Victoria, who bombarded her with bitter, guilt-laced messages—but also Mandy’s relatives, who called her incessantly. She barely kept her phone on these days, needing peace from the chaos.

As if on cue, it buzzed again.

She glanced down to see an unfamiliar number. Upon answering, a cold voice filtered through. “Miss Morales, have you reconsidered our offer? We can increase it to ten million dollars. Your father was dying of cancer. He didn’t have long anyway. Isn’t this a win for you?”

Ava’s grip tightened around the phone. The Ackermans had originally offered five million. Now they were trying to double it.

Without another word, she ended the call and slowly exhaled, pressing her fingers to her temple.

Wes, oblivious to the call but sensing her rising tension, continued, “Jessica—Mandy’s aunt—she’s now a pretty successful screenwriter. Mostly TV dramas about everyday life. After divorcing Ray, she took everything: the kids, the money, the contacts. She built her entire brand off his ruin. Funny thing is, she and Mandy don’t even get along.”

That detail snapped Ava out of her thoughts. “They don’t?”

Wes shook his head. “If they did, Mandy would’ve been more than just a ‘newcomer award’ winner by now. Jessica never helped her career. So it’s strange that she’s trying so hard to cover up for her now.”

Ava’s eyes narrowed. That didn't make sense. Unless Jessica had leverage—something personal, something binding—over Mandy or her parents.

She tapped her fingernail against the table absently. “Wes, take a few days. Rest. Regroup.”

He nodded, clearly still shaken from his encounter with Anita. “By the way,” he added, “Anita is Jessica’s cousin. Honestly… I wouldn’t be surprised if Jessica helped frame Ray. That woman’s capable of anything.”

Before Ava could respond, her phone rang again. Jessica Ruiz.

This time, there was no polite posturing. Jessica’s voice was sharp, almost gleeful.

“If you won’t accept the ten million, then be prepared for the consequences, Miss Morales. Don’t let your father die without peace.”

Ava’s blood ran cold.

“I’ve already switched the ashes,” Jessica continued, her tone almost bored. “What’s in your father's urn is a stray dog. I didn’t want to go this far, but you pushed me.”

Ava shot to her feet, heart thudding. “What did you just say?”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then a slow, satisfied sigh. “I’ve waited long enough. I thought you’d accept quickly. But since you’ve been wasting my time… this was necessary.”

Ava’s fingers trembled. She remembered how carefully she had held that urn during Alfonso’s funeral—how reverent she had been. To think it held the remains of an animal…

Jessica’s voice was almost cheery now. “His real ashes are still with me. I have people at the funeral home. The switch was clean. Nothing personal, Miss Morales—just business. Are you ready to talk now?”

Ava’s voice was icy with control. “Where?”

Jessica sent the address in a text a moment later.

“And for what it’s worth,” Jessica added smugly, “Mandy may never wake up. I’d be more forgiving if I were you. Besides, I heard the latest: you’re not Alfonso’s biological daughter, are you? Ten million for someone with no blood tie to him? That’s a pretty generous offer.”

Ava hung up without another word.

Jessica snorted on the other end, then turned back to her lunch meeting as though nothing had happened.

Ava remained seated for a long time, her mind in turmoil. Her knuckles were white, hands balled into fists.

Swapping ashes... how could they?

A wave of nausea rolled through her chest, but she forced herself to stay still.

Breathe. Think.

Emotion wouldn’t help her now. But justice would.

And she would get it—one way or another.

---

Meanwhile, Alexander had arrived at Vanderbilt Manor.

The rich aroma of home-cooked food drifted through the air as he stepped inside. The glow from the chandeliers cast a golden hue across the dining hall, where a table was already set with a spread of elegant dishes. Vivienne and Cordelia were waiting, their faces expectant.

"Alexander, you haven’t eaten yet, have you? Come, sit," Cordelia said, gesturing toward the seat at the head of the table.

Alexander handed his coat to a nearby servant, rolled up his sleeves with casual indifference, and took his place at the table.

Almost immediately, Cordelia’s gaze landed on the bracelet encircling his wrist. Her eyes widened with emotion. "Agarwood? Where did you get that bracelet?"

Alexander glanced down at it, puzzled. "What about it?"

"Marken loved these," she said, reaching over to gently grasp his wrist. Her fingers trembled slightly as she brought the bracelet closer, breathing in the scent. Her eyes began to well with tears. "It’s kyara agarwood… Marken had one just like it, made it himself, but he couldn’t wear it often because of his work."

Feeling her grief, Alexander slowly pulled his hand back, uneasy beneath her sentiment.

Across the table, Vivienne gave a small cough—a subtle warning.

Cordelia snapped back into the moment, realizing she’d veered off track. She quickly reached for the serving utensils and filled Alexander’s plate. "Eat while it’s hot. Your grandmother and I made all of this ourselves for your birthday. We didn’t prepare a gift, so… this meal is it."

Alexander paused at that.

He hadn’t expected anything. Not from them. Not ever.

It was the first time in his life anyone had gone out of their way to make him a birthday dinner. Though he didn't particularly crave sentimentality, something about the gesture made him pick up his chopsticks.

"This soup was made by your grandmother. It’s her blessing to you," Cordelia added.

He took a small sip. The flavor was odd—too strong, too bitter—but he swallowed it anyway. "Thank you, Grandma."

After a few more bites, Alexander set his utensils down and looked between the women. "What did Marken leave behind?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

Both Vivienne and Cordelia exchanged a glance. Before either of them could speak, soft footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Alexander’s eyes narrowed as Victoria emerged from the shadows.

His expression immediately darkened.

Vivienne rose slightly, her voice calm but purposeful. "This is what Marken left behind. Now that you're divorced, you can marry Victoria and fulfill Marken’s final wish. Tonight, the two of you should formalize your relationship—and ideally, start a family."

Victoria stepped forward delicately, her eyes soft with false innocence.

Alexander rose abruptly from the table, the chair legs scraping harshly against the floor.

But just as he stood, the room swayed.

His vision blurred. His temples throbbed. He looked at the bowl in front of him—and realized.

The food had been drugged.

The birthday dinner they’d lovingly prepared had been laced.

His stomach churned. His throat tightened with rage and disbelief.

"I don’t like her," he said coldly. "And I will not marry her. Marken might still be alive—"

Vivienne cut him off sharply. "Don’t be ridiculous. Your grandfather told me himself—Marken’s gone. I wish it weren’t true, but it is. And if you’re not feeling well… let Victoria help you."

Victoria moved closer, reaching toward him.

Snapping, Alexander grabbed her wrist and shoved her back with a force that sent her sprawling onto the polished floor.

"Get out," he growled.

Victoria gasped, tears of pain filling her eyes.

Vivienne was livid. She surged forward and grabbed Alexander by the front of his shirt. "What’s wrong with you? We gave you everything tonight—and this is how you repay us? Do you even consider me your grandmother anymore?"

He didn’t resist her grip. But his voice, when he spoke, was like frost.

"I do consider you my grandmother. But what do you see when you look at me? A person? Or just Marken’s shadow? I’m not your substitute for him. I’m me. I bleed. I feel. But you… you never cared to ask."

With that, he brushed her hand away and turned to leave, his expression ice-cold.

"I won’t come back here again."

But just as he stepped past the table, Vivienne—consumed by rage—grabbed a wooden chair and hurled it toward his back.

Cordelia screamed.

Alexander hadn’t expected it. Not from her. Not from his grandmother.

The chair struck him hard across the back of the head.

Time seemed to freeze. His body staggered forward, then crumpled to the ground. Blood began to trickle from his temple.

Vivienne stood frozen in place, the weight of what she had done settling like a stone in her chest. "I—I didn’t mean…"

Cordelia rushed forward and shoved her mother away. "Mom, what are you thinking?! That’s Alexander! He’s your grandson!"

Vivienne shrank back in horror, her hands trembling. "He was being so stubborn. He’s always been like that—cold, hard to love..."

But her voice cracked.

Cordelia didn’t answer. She was already screaming for help, calling the staff, dialing emergency numbers. Alexander was unconscious, blood seeping into the carpet beneath him.

The news reached Cornelius within the hour.

His fury was volcanic. Without hesitation, he had Vivienne bound and exiled from New York.

"I never want to see her again!" he roared.

Vivienne wept, pleading to speak with him. But Cornelius refused to listen. His eyes—usually tired with age—burned with icy finality. He even turned to Cordelia and warned with a voice that left no room for question:

"If anything happens to Alexander, you're next."

Cordelia stood frozen, unable to utter a single word.

--- 

Frederick returned in the dead of night, striding into the hospital like a storm long overdue. The moment he saw Cordelia, he didn’t speak—he acted. The back of his hand lashed across her cheek with a sharp crack.

"You wicked woman!" he roared.

Cordelia reeled from the blow, her face flushing red, swelling rapidly under the force of the strike. But in front of Frederick, she didn’t dare utter a word of protest. She simply clutched her cheek in silence, trembling as shame and fear warred in her expression.

Elsewhere in the hallway, murmurs whispered through the cold, sterile air like the rustle of dry leaves. The other members of the Vanderbilt family were gathered, some sitting stiffly, others pacing. Their expressions were unreadable—masks of worry, yes, but underneath? More than one pair of eyes flicked toward the operating room with something far colder than concern.

If Alexander never woke up... the presidency of the Vanderbilt Group would be vacant.

Cornelius sat slumped in a waiting chair at the end of the corridor, his cane shaking in his grip. He had taken several emergency heart pills already, his chest tight and his vision dim. The years weighed heavy on his hunched shoulders.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, voice hoarse and cracking with restrained fury. “If anything happens to Alexander... everyone involved will pay the price.”

The words fell like a death sentence, quiet but absolute.

Cordelia, still cradling her bruised cheek, recoiled even further into herself. And Victoria? She had already been cast out—shipped back to the Laurent family like unwanted freight. But even they had refused her, disowning her with cold efficiency and locking their gates behind her.

Cornelius closed his eyes and gave a chilling order to the man beside him. “Within two days, destroy the Richter Group. Bankrupt them. And send Victoria to prison. I want her there for the rest of her miserable life.”

Silence fell like a shroud. No one dared to speak. Cornelius was no longer issuing warnings—he was delivering final verdicts.

Cordelia sat frozen in her seat, trembling like a leaf in a storm. Then came Frederick’s voice, calm but cutting like a blade.

“Sign the divorce papers.”

Cordelia's head snapped up in shock, eyes wide. “Frederick, no… please. Don’t do this. I’ve given you two children—our family—”

But Frederick's eyes burned with a fury she’d never seen before. His hand closed around her throat—not to harm her, but enough to make her stop, to force her to listen.

“And when you did this to Alexander,” he growled through clenched teeth, “did it ever cross your mind... he is your son?”

He shook with rage, voice ragged with heartbreak. “You and my mother—you gained his trust! He trusted you with his life, and you used that to destroy him!”

Cordelia’s tears poured down her face now, her words faltering and broken. “I thought... I really thought it was a birthday celebration... It was your mother! It wasn’t me—”

“Shut up!”

Frederick’s voice exploded in the corridor, echoing off the pristine white walls. Even the nurses down the hall paused mid-step. He turned his face away from her, eyes filled with a disgust that cut deeper than any slap.

Cordelia crumbled. Her knees buckled slightly as she staggered back, still crying. “I didn’t mean to... I swear... I love you, Frederick... Please, don’t leave me... I’ll fix this...”

But Frederick refused to look at her. He couldn’t. He closed his eyes as if the sight of her physically pained him. “Go cry somewhere else. You’re a disgrace. Don’t make a scene here.”

Cordelia’s face went pale, the color draining from her skin. Her sobs grew quieter—less from guilt and more from helplessness.

In the center of it all, the emergency room light glowed a steady, ominous red. Every flicker was a reminder that behind those doors, Alexander was fighting for his life. Nurses passed silently, their soft footsteps echoing down the hallway like an unsaid prayer.

Cornelius struck the marble floor with his cane, the sharp crack reverberating like thunder. “Ridiculous,” he muttered bitterly. “Utterly... ridiculous.”

A scandal had ripped through the Vanderbilt family like a blade through silk.

And it was nothing short of tragic. No—it was farcical.

The great Vanderbilt name, dragged through blood and betrayal. A once-proud legacy now reduced to whispered curses in a hospital corridor. 

---

Ava stood just outside the café, a gentle breeze rustling the edge of her coat. She’d come to meet Jessica, but something didn’t sit right. The air felt unusually heavy, charged with unease. She checked her phone out of habit. No calls. No messages.

Alexander was supposed to be at Vanderbilt Manor tonight, having dinner with Cordelia. Everything should have been calm. Ordinary.

Just as she stepped toward the entrance, her phone buzzed sharply in her hand. Jonathan.

Her heart skipped.

"Miss Alvarez," came Jonathan’s voice, tight and shaken. "Mr. Vanderbilt is in the emergency room. It's bad."

Ava froze. For a second, she thought she’d misheard.

"What? I thought he was having dinner with his family?"

There was a pause on the other end—too long. Then Jonathan exhaled heavily, his voice weighted with disbelief.

"Mrs. Vanderbilt—Vivienne—hit him with a chair. He... he didn’t see it coming."

Ava’s blood ran cold.

"She hit him?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it aloud would make it more real.

Jonathan’s voice cracked. "Yes. And that’s not all. The doctors say he was drugged, too. It’s... serious, Miss Alvarez."

For a moment, Ava couldn’t move. Her fingers tightened around the phone. Her chest felt like it was caving in.

"Which hospital?" she asked, her tone suddenly sharp with urgency.

Jonathan quickly texted the address.

Without another word, Ava turned on her heel and raced toward her car. As she slid into the driver’s seat, her hands were already moving—dialing the team back at Le Châteauesque Manor.

"Find out what leverage Mandy’s parents had over Jessica," she ordered crisply. "And dig into the real reason behind Jessica and Ray’s divorce. I want answers tonight."

Then she hung up, started the engine, and floored the accelerator.

The city lights blurred past her windshield, but her mind was locked on one thing—Alexander.

And the fact that someone had dared to hurt him in his own home.

*

By now, the hospital corridor had grown eerily quiet, its fluorescent lights casting pale reflections on the polished floor. Most of the Vanderbilt family had already been dismissed—Cornelius had seen through their opportunism, their thinly veiled attempts to stake their claim on the CEO position. He had no patience for it. He’d sent them all away.

Now, only three people remained.

Cornelius sat hunched on a narrow bench by the wall, flanked by Frederick, who leaned against the opposite side with his eyes closed, and a visibly rattled Rita. The silence was thick with unspoken dread.

Suddenly, the sharp click of high heels echoed from the corridor.

Serena came into view, her cheeks flushed and her breath ragged from running. Beads of sweat clung to her brow. She paused as her eyes landed on Cornelius, sitting quietly under the unforgiving lights.

Her chest tightened.

He looked so much smaller than she remembered—older, more fragile, like a tree weathered by too many storms. Even in his own poor health, he sat there in vigil for Alexander, the grandson who had been his pride and his greatest disappointment.

Serena’s throat tightened as she approached.

“Grandpa,” she whispered, kneeling beside him and gently clasping his trembling hand.

Cornelius looked up at her, his eyes rimmed with red. His hand patted hers with a slow, shaky rhythm—comforting her, or perhaps himself.

Across the bench, Rita sat frozen. Her gaze locked on Serena—on Ava. Her brows drew together in confusion, disbelief washing over her in waves.

Why is Ava here? And why is she calling him Grandpa?

But the question barely left her mind before a more jarring realization struck.

Wait... Ava is Serena? Serena—the ex-wife?

Rita's thoughts spiraled in disarray, her face pale as she struggled to process what she was seeing. Her mind raced, but her lips didn’t dare move. With Alexander still behind the ER doors, now was not the time for questions.

Meanwhile, Serena—Ava—had no attention to spare. Her heart ached as she turned to Cornelius.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly, her voice soothing, steady. “He’ll be okay. He has to be.”

Frederick, seated nearby with his arms folded, opened his eyes briefly at the sound of her voice. His gaze fell on her—on the woman he had never officially met, and yet who now stood at the very heart of their family’s storm. He said nothing, just closed his eyes again, silently absorbing the moment.

Cornelius let out a long breath.

“Serena,” he murmured, “what a mess this all is. You never should’ve divorced that boy. He didn’t understand what he was losing.”

The words hit Serena like a stone in her chest.

Rita’s breath caught in her throat.

It’s true then… They’re the same person. Ava… is Serena.

Her world tilted as she sat there, silent but inwardly unraveling. She wanted to ask something—anything—but fear, confusion, and the gravity of the moment silenced her.

The light above the emergency room still glowed red.

Serena didn’t move. She stayed, determined to wait, her meeting with Jessica long forgotten. Whatever happened next, she would face it here—alongside the man who had once been her husband.