* FREEBIE / NO PAYING * 2nd * Chapter 242

Dear Gentle Readers, 

This author would like to apologize for last chapter. It has around 8000 words and should have been free / no-paying chapter because usually paid chapter is around 3000 words. 

Nevertheless, to make your money worth and as an apology, this chapter will make up for ut with 12000. 

Grazie e scusami,

Yours, E.C. 

P.S. This author would like to disclose that there are mentions of abuse and suicide in this chapter therefore if this is something that might trigger you or cause you any discomfort, please do skip this, step away, and take the time for yourself. This author wishes you well and will see you in the next one... This author would also like to say that there is a message in this chapter that he wants to convey. Because eventhough this is fiction but in real life, there are such parents who will believe a teacher more than their own kids, perhaps because they never thought the person they respect and trust would do the unthinkable. If you are a parent, please listen to your kid from time to time and pay attention to them because sometimes there are things that are not spoken aloud but shown in signs ... 

*********

When Serena returned to Le Châteauesque Manor, the first thing she did was head to the sink, scrubbing her hands over and over until her skin felt raw. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she caught sight of a faint bite mark on the curve of her neck.

Her mind instantly conjured the memory of Alexander — the way he had buried his head there, his breath hot against her skin, those low, sultry groans echoing in her ears.

A flush of heat crept up her cheeks, and she splashed cold water on her face to banish it, trying to scrub away not just the bite but the lingering traces of him.

Gathering her composure, she called for Marilyn, who arrived promptly and neatly, as always.

“Miss Morales,” Marilyn greeted, her tone crisp and professional.

Serena appreciated Marilyn’s steady presence. She was the perfect assistant: loyal, discreet, and never intrusive.

“Marilyn, have someone discreetly investigate Hendra’s reputation at school,” Serena instructed. “I want them to blend in with the students to hear the real stories, not the ones teachers tell on paper. And what’s the update on Mr. Rossi?”

Marilyn adjusted the files in her arms. “Mr. Rossi’s recovering, but he’s still living in that alleyway. He can’t afford anything better at the moment.”

Serena’s brow furrowed. She’d made up her mind to build a solid team around her, but housing was a critical first step if they were ever going to stand tall together.

Marilyn continued, “Also, Miss Morales, here are tomorrow’s documents. Our team has been scouring the New York Film Academy for scripts, but so far, nothing stands out.”

Serena nodded decisively. “Forget the script search for now. Pull them back to focus on Hendra.”

Although S.M. Corporation was still in its infancy, Serena had built an efficient, well-oiled operation. The company even had its own paparazzi network, gathering behind-the-scenes intelligence — a slightly unsavory but necessary tool in their new entertainment industry pursuits.

Many of her current employees had followed her from the old Morales Group. Working in film now, they found the gossip and intrigue unexpectedly thrilling, a welcome break from their previous dull routines.

Marilyn hesitated for a moment, then finally spoke. “Miss Morales, I’d like to request a couple of days off. I’m meeting with my boyfriend’s parents to finalize our wedding plans. We’ve picked out a house and already paid half of it down. The mortgage has been covered for six months, so... it’s time.”

Serena smiled, genuinely touched, and without a second thought, transferred $100,000 to Marilyn’s account. “Consider this my wedding gift.”

“Miss Morales, that’s far too much!” Marilyn protested, wide-eyed.

“I’ve already approved your leave. And if you need more time, just call me,” Serena replied with a gentle firmness that brooked no argument.

Marilyn had only been by her side for a few months, yet they’d developed a kind of effortless synergy that made the long days easier.

After Marilyn left, Serena settled down at her wide oak desk, the documents stacked like a small fortress before her. She read through them one by one, mind sharp despite the hour, and only finally set them aside at two in the morning, her eyes burning from fatigue.

With a resigned sigh, she slipped into bed, the quiet of the manor pressing in around her like a heavy, restless blanket. 

*

Meanwhile, Rayna had returned to the New York Film Academy.

The final class of the night wrapped up a little after 8 p.m. — it was Hendra’s class. The lecture hall still buzzed with energy, students chatting excitedly, eager for feedback from their well-connected instructor.

Only Rayna sat curled in a corner, shrinking into her chair, eyes darting to the clock every few minutes. When the class ended, she clutched her books and tried to slip out unnoticed.

But Hendra’s voice cut through the hum.

“Rayna. Come to my office.”

Her feet rooted to the ground. Her face went pale.

After the other students had left, Rayna trudged behind him like a prisoner on her way to sentencing. Hendra, now fifty, with hair graying at the temples, walked briskly through the corridor, nodding politely at staff and students who greeted him with respect.

Inside his office, the polite smile he’d worn vanished. He motioned for her to sit.

Rayna, just nineteen, her third year of college, sat with her legs shaking.

“You saw Ava, didn’t you?” Hendra asked, adjusting his glasses. “Did you hand her the script?”

“Yes,” Rayna said quietly, eyes fixed on the floor.

He nodded, then patted her shoulder in what might have seemed gentle to an outsider — but Rayna felt ice crawl down her spine.

“You didn’t say anything else, did you?”

Rayna stiffened and shook her head. “No.”

“Good.” His smile returned, this time sly and predatory. He leaned in and hugged her. Rayna could barely breathe.

“Ava is nobody. That script is nothing special. If she asks for revisions, just act incompetent. The Vanderbilt Group is looking to invest billions. I’ll handle it.”

His hand crept to her thigh, and Rayna felt her breath catch in her throat, nausea welling.

“Look at you,” he sighed, fingers grazing her shoulder blade, “you’ve gotten even thinner. You should eat more.”

She felt like throwing up, but forced her body still.

Hendra’s voice dropped low, almost bored. “Lie down on the table. I need to check your body.”

Rayna’s eyes widened, horror crashing over her. “I — I have to go home, I have something to do,” she stammered.

He grabbed her by the neck, squeezing until marks bloomed against her pale skin. “What do you have to do? Your father is teaching at some no-name private school, your mother’s selling vegetables — I know everything about your family. You only had one class tonight.”

Rayna felt her bones turn to water. He had researched her entire life. Quiet, poor, desperate girls like her were easy prey.

Reluctantly, she climbed onto the table, trembling violently. The books she’d been holding clattered to the floor, pages fluttering like helpless birds.

Hendra was no longer capable of true intimacy. But he had found other ways to torment.

Rayna retched, bile rising, staining the polished wood of his desk.

He slapped her across the face. “How many times has it been, and you still throw up?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The world blurred through tears and sickness.

In less than three minutes, he was done. He grabbed her by the hair.

“Clean up the mess.”

Sobbing, Rayna nodded, wiping the table with shaky hands after he left.

When she finally staggered home, the tiny apartment felt painfully bright and cramped — about 300 square feet with two small bedrooms, a cramped living room, a galley kitchen, and a bathroom no bigger than a closet.

Her mother, Lorna, was in the kitchen, frying potatoes. The warm smell of oil felt suffocating.

“Mom, can I have thirty dollars?” Rayna asked from the doorway, voice small.

Lorna didn’t turn around, her spatula moving quickly through the pan. “What for? I gave you twenty this morning. The girl upstairs gets by on five a day. The cafeteria isn’t expensive. You don’t need more.”

Rayna stood frozen, words tangled in her throat.

“Rayna, understand our situation,” Lorna continued, exasperation rising. “Don’t compare yourself to others. Compare your grades. We sold our house for your tuition and to move here. We’ve sacrificed everything. Be more obedient.”

Rayna stared at the floor, pain tightening around her heart.

“I — I need it now. I’ll pay you back,” she whispered.

Lorna slammed the spatula down. “Pay me back? From what? You don’t even have a job. I work from dawn to dusk delivering vegetables. Your father’s salary is a pittance. Don’t push us!”

Rayna shrank back, tears springing to her eyes.

“Fine,” Lorna finally sighed. “Recite the passages I told you to memorize and write me a reflection essay. After that, I’ll give you the money.”

Rayna nodded, shoulders slumped.

In the tiny living room, she sat at the rickety table and opened a book, memorizing passages like a robot. Her mother, who never went to college, insisted on these high school–style drills, refusing to believe things worked differently in university. Rayna had tried explaining professors didn’t assign rote memorization, that classes weren’t even in the same room every day — but Lorna wouldn’t hear of it.

So Rayna complied, scribbling out a thousand-word essay with tears blurring the ink.

At last, Lorna handed her the crumpled bills. “Don’t waste it,” she warned.

Rayna took the thirty dollars and practically ran to the pharmacy, pulling her hoodie low and keeping her head down. Her thin frame and pale skin drew pitying looks from the clerk, who quietly slipped the pill into a small paper bag.

“If you have problems,” the clerk murmured, “talk to someone you trust.”

Rayna couldn’t even manage a nod. She found a dark alley and swallowed the pill there, praying she wouldn’t throw it up.

When she returned home, she paused outside the apartment door, overhearing her mother’s voice through the thin walls.

“Rayna is getting more and more disobedient,” Lorna complained to Ygor. “She asked me for thirty dollars today! When she was in high school, she never even carried money. Now she wants fifty a day, who knows what for!”

Ygor sighed, his voice soft but tired. “I spoke to her professor. Rayna’s at the top of her class. Mr. Thoriq says she’s a good student, serious. It’s a big deal for our family. Even if I’m working overtime, I’m proud of her. She’ll make good money when she graduates.”

Rayna’s knees nearly buckled under the weight of those words.

Lorna sighed in reply. “Well, she needs to learn to be frugal.”

Just then the door creaked open, and Lorna looked at her with faint annoyance.

“What are you doing standing out here? Your dad’s home, and you’re just loitering. Later, I want you to explain exactly what you spent that money on.”

Rayna stepped inside silently, and the door closed behind her with a final, heavy thud. The hallway beyond was swallowed by darkness, leaving her feeling like she was trapped inside a cage of her own making — no escape, no light, and no way forward.

---

Ava woke up early, ate a quick breakfast, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door. By the time she sat down at her company desk, her phone buzzed with a call from Jonathan.

“Ms. Alvarez,” Jonathan said carefully, “Mr. Vanderbilt would like you to come back to work—”

Ava, still exhausted from the night before, nearly slammed her laptop shut. “Is he out of his mind? Mr. Potter, I’m serious. He needs a mental hospital. He must have hurt his brain and turned into an idiot!”

Jonathan’s hand trembled as he glanced over at Alexander, who sat right in front of him. Ava’s voice was on speaker, every word cutting through the silence like a knife.

Jonathan desperately tried to hint to her, “Ms. Alvarez, actually, coming back is a good thing… Mr. Vanderbilt trusts you—”

Please, he thought, just stop talking.

But Ava was beyond reasoning. “I beg him to trust someone else! I’m done with this job! I must have been crazy to ever work as his secretary. Mr. Potter, you should quit too! Working for him will only shorten your life! He’s moody, has a sharp tongue, is self-righteous, stingy, and obsessed with sex. All he ever thinks about is sex! In short, I’m not coming back!”

Jonathan’s posture sank lower with each insult, while the temperature in the room seemed to drop another degree with every word she spat.

Then Alexander calmly took the phone from Jonathan, his pen poised between his fingers. “Ava.”

Ava froze. For a second, her mind went blank. She looked at her phone screen in disbelief — Jonathan’s number, still.

Alexander leaned back, voice deceptively calm. “I consulted Jonathan. Our agreement was for two months, and you still have a month and a half left. I have already fulfilled my side of the payment. Do you understand the consequences of breaching the contract? I can take legal action against you until you face financial ruin.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall, his tone icy. “It’s nine o’clock now. If you are not in my office by ten, I’ll have the Vanderbilt Group’s PR department deal with you.”

Ava knew exactly what that meant — the Vanderbilt Group’s PR team never lost. Anyone who went against them ended up bankrupt, or worse, in prison.

Alexander hung up without another word.

Jonathan stood there, head down, too afraid to breathe. Alexander, still cold from Ava’s tirade, ordered, “When she arrives, guard the door. Don’t let anyone else in.”

Jonathan nodded and slipped out, sweating through his shirt. In all his years working for Alexander, he’d never seen anyone dare to insult the man like that.

At precisely 9:50, Ava arrived at the Vanderbilt Group’s top floor, anxiety chewing through her. She eyed Jonathan and asked under her breath, “Mr. Potter, how’s Mr. Vanderbilt’s mood today?”

If she weren’t truly afraid he might hunt her down like prey, she would never have come.

Jonathan sighed, shoulders drooping. “Not good.”

Ava shivered. “Did he…hear everything I said?”

“Yep,” Jonathan confirmed with a look of pity.

Ava sucked in a deep breath and pushed open the office door. The air inside felt colder than a winter storm. Alexander looked up, eyes steady as she entered.

She stood before his massive black marble desk, unease rolling through her. “Mr. Vanderbilt,” she said, voice tight.

At just the sound of her voice, Alexander seemed to relax. He frowned, studying her outfit — a simple short cotton jacket, straight-leg jeans, high heels. Casual, but on her, it looked effortlessly chic.

He didn’t speak, just pushed an empty coffee cup toward her. “Make me a coffee.”

Ava blinked. That’s it? she thought. She’d braced herself for a hurricane, but he was just…calm? Quickly, she took the cup and escaped to the break room.

When she returned, he was already in an overseas conference call, eyes locked on the screen. She placed the coffee on the desk and quietly sat down on the sofa, listening.

After the meeting, Alexander launched directly into an internal strategy session about a $200 million script investment, his voice sharp and composed, with no hint of amnesia.

When the meeting wrapped up, he tossed his briefcase toward her. “Come with me to a social event.”

Ava opened her mouth. “Mr. Vanderbilt, I—”

He cut her off coolly. “You have over a month left. Do your job.”

Biting her lip, she shouldered his bag and gathered up the documents. As they left the building and slid into the sleek black car, her thoughts kept turning back to last night. An uneasy feeling settled in her chest.

Their destination was a glossy high-rise where Alexander was meeting a tall, striking blonde named Ramona Hernandez. The woman greeted him with open admiration, barely glancing Ava’s way.

Alexander shot Ava a pointed look. “Wait outside.”

Ava nodded and found a quiet corner to take a work call from the New York Film Academy. Just as she was about to share a few recommendations, her eyes caught a glimpse of two familiar figures in the lobby — Alexei and Farah.

Farah’s face twisted with instant hostility the moment her eyes landed on Ava.

“Ava! What are you doing here?!”

The hotel, belonging to the Volkov family, had been the backdrop for what Farah thought would finally be a quiet meal with Alexei. Yet seeing Ava here again sent fury spiking through her veins, darkening her features.

Ava, in the middle of a phone call, froze at Farah’s voice and instinctively covered the receiver, but Farah was already storming over like a thundercloud.

“Are you stalking Alexei now? Can’t you go play around with some other man? Leave him alone!”

Before Ava could even react, Farah’s outstretched hand sent Ava’s phone crashing to the marble floor. The screen spiderwebbed instantly.

Farah’s eyes, wild and red, practically burned with contempt. She had always harbored a deep dislike for Ava, one that flared brighter every time they crossed paths.

Alexei, quick on his feet, retrieved Ava’s phone and rounded on Farah. “Can you please calm down and act reasonably?”

Farah’s rage only grew at seeing Alexei take Ava’s side. “Reasonable? You think I’m being unreasonable? I heard she was seducing Alexander too! Who knows what filthy tricks she’s using!” Her voice cracked, trembling with disgust.

Seeing Alexei block her path, Farah lunged forward anyway. In the scuffle, she sank her teeth into his arm in a sudden fit of rage. Without thinking, Alexei’s hand came up and struck her sharply across the cheek.

The sound of the slap echoed, shocking everyone into silence.

Farah stood frozen, eyes wide with disbelief, her cheek blossoming with a deep red mark. Ava’s breath caught in her throat. Farah wasn’t just anyone — she was from the Valcrosse family, Colton’s sister. One careless act here could erupt into a dangerous family feud.

Farah slowly raised a trembling hand to touch her stinging cheek, hatred practically seeping from her pores. “Just you wait!” she spat before turning on her heel and running off in tears.

Alexei ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Ava, this isn’t your fault. I’ll go talk to her.”

Ava knew Farah might forgive Alexei eventually, but she herself would never be forgiven. That kind of grudge was deep and sharp.

Noticing the worry on Ava’s face, Alexei reached for her hand. Farah’s nails had left thin, angry scratches there, already oozing pinpricks of blood.

Wordlessly, he retrieved a bandage from his pocket and gently covered the cut. Before either of them could say another word, a familiar voice cut through the hallway.

“Ava.”

Alexander stood a few paces away, a file of documents in one hand, his gaze unreadable.

Ava instinctively withdrew her hand from Alexei’s and hurried toward Alexander.

Alexander’s eyes flicked from Ava to Alexei, an unmistakable chill creeping over his expression.

Alexei raised a brow and greeted smoothly, “Mr. Vanderbilt, long time no see.”

Alexander didn’t bother responding. Instead, he turned toward a nearby private room and walked ahead without another glance.

Ava managed a polite nod to Alexei before following.

As soon as they rounded a corner, Alexander pulled her sharply to his side, frustration simmering just below the surface.

“How many men are you juggling, exactly?” His tone was clipped, dripping with accusation.

First there was Lucca, now Alexei. Who would be next?

Ava winced at his grip, the sting on her hand reminding her of Farah’s earlier attack.

Alexander’s eyes locked on hers, swirling with something between jealousy and confusion, before he abruptly let her go.

“Come inside with me,” he ordered gruffly.

Leaving her out here — with men, with conflict — wasn’t an option.

Reluctantly, Ava followed him in, the tension clinging to her like a second skin.

Inside the spacious, modern meeting room, Ramona was wrapping up a discussion with several high-ranking officials from both companies. The air was heavy with stale coffee and the faint scent of expensive cologne.

Once the final pleasantries were exchanged, Ramona dismissed her executives with a casual wave, leaving only herself, Alexander, and Ava seated on the sleek leather sofa.

Ramona leaned toward Alexander, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper — too soft for Ava to catch. A moment later, Alexander’s voice rose, abrupt and sharp.

“She’s just my secretary,” he said flatly.

Ramona’s red-painted lips curved into a sultry smile as she stood and, without hesitation, slid herself into Alexander’s lap. Her manicured fingers wrapped possessively around his neck, and her golden hair cascaded over his shoulder.

Alexander stiffened, clearly about to push her away, but then caught Ava’s expression — cool, distant, unreadable — and paused. Instead, he let Ramona settle against him, allowing her laughter to ring out as she leaned close to his ear, her lips brushing his skin with every word.

Ava looked away, refusing to watch. But Ramona’s low, husky voice still crawled into her ears like poison.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” she purred, “there’s a lounge here. I need to speak with you privately.”

Ava’s grip tightened on the documents in her hands until her knuckles whitened.

She heard the scrape of chairs and then their footsteps.

“Don’t let anyone else in,” Alexander ordered coolly.

It was painfully clear what was about to happen. Ava straightened her back and stared ahead, expression unmoved.

Alexander hesitated, as if expecting a reaction from her. But Ava didn’t so much as flinch, her gaze fixed on the closed door.

His jaw tightened, annoyed, before he finally turned and followed Ramona into the lounge.

Inside, Ramona tried to kiss him, but Alexander stopped her, his expression ice-cold.

Outside, Ava could hear muffled voices and the thud of a table shifting. The sounds twisted in her stomach.

She waited. And waited. Two agonizing hours ticked by, the silence around her growing louder by the minute.

When the lounge door finally opened, Ramona emerged, hair mussed and blazer half-buttoned, the crimson smear of her lipstick gone. Her eyes glittered with satisfaction as she smiled at Alexander before departing with her team.

Alexander approached Ava, his tone indifferent, as though nothing had happened. “Let’s go,” he said.

Ava felt lightheaded, refusing to let herself think too deeply.

Alexander, as if bored, added casually, “Experiencing different people can be nice, Ava. You should understand that.”

His collar was still stained with a faint trace of Ramona’s lipstick.

Ava’s eyes narrowed, her stomach churning. “You’re a busy man, Mr. Vanderbilt. It’s expected,” she replied evenly.

Alexander smirked, catching the faint edge in her tone. “Not a compliment, I see.”

In the car, Ava sat across from him, a cloud of Ramona’s perfume lingering nauseatingly in the air.

Alexander flexed his wrist, his dark gaze fixed on her. “You juggle plenty of men yourself. Why can’t I? A bit of indulgence does no harm.”

Ava turned her face to the window, disgust rising in her throat.

“It has nothing to do with me,” she shot back coldly. “You don’t have to flaunt it.”

Alexander leaned closer, voice dropping. “Ava, is your period over?”

Ava froze, her head snapping around, unable to bear the suffocating scent of another woman. In a white-hot rush of rage, she slammed the documents in her hand directly against his head. Papers flew in every direction, fluttering down like a snowstorm.

She flung the car door open.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, I’m done. I quit.”

Without looking back, she climbed out and slammed the door behind her.

Alexander said nothing, only watched her retreat through the tinted window.

Ava stepped away, swallowing down a bitter knot in her throat, and hailed a taxi.

Inside the car, Alexander glanced at the scattered papers on the floor. With a small frown, he began gathering them one by one. Then he pulled out his phone and typed:

> “What are the signs of a jealous woman?”

“My secretary threw documents at my face; should I fire her?”

“What to do if my secretary flirts with other men?”

Only the first question seemed to have any answers, though even those looked suspiciously childish. Still, Alexander studied them carefully, committing each to memory.

Jealousy means tantrums, tears, throwing things…then a gift to make up for it.

He exhaled, closing the phone with a decisive snap.

“So,” he mused under his breath, “she really was jealous.”

A sly smile touched his lips. The hours he had spent putting on an act with Ramona suddenly felt worth it.

He hadn’t even touched that woman. Word was, she’d worked her way through half the top executives she encountered, charming but opportunistic. Inside the lounge, he’d pushed her away immediately, then asked her to help him act. Ramona had played her role well, even putting on a loud performance behind the closed door, shrieking until her voice went raw.

As they walked out, she’d thrown Ava an ambiguous smile, but Ava had been too numb to notice.

Alexander finished collecting the papers and dialed Jonathan.

When Jonathan pulled away from the curb, Alexander leaned back in his seat, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Do you think Ava might like me?” he asked, his voice almost teasing.

Jonathan, gripping the wheel, nearly sighed. Like you? He couldn’t see any proof of that.

Alexander continued, more to himself than anyone.

“She got divorced, didn’t she? Why else would she leave her husband, if not for me?”

The corners of his mouth curled upward with self-satisfaction.

“Even though she was married,” he murmured, “I can’t bring her into the Vanderbilt family. But keeping her as my lover… that’s possible.”

Jonathan wisely stayed silent, focusing on the road.

Alexander’s tone darkened a shade.

“If she doesn’t like me…” he added slowly, “then I’ll be angry.”

Jonathan had no response.

Meanwhile, Ava felt a sick burn in her chest, the memory of Alexander’s so-called “socializing” enough to make her stomach twist.

When she returned to the office, she poured herself a cup of bitter black coffee, letting its acrid taste try to drown out the lingering sting of hurt.

--- 

Then Wes walked in, a grin lighting up his youthful face. “Ava, my movie premieres tomorrow! The pre-sale box office has already crossed a hundred million dollars. If it keeps going, it should hit at least two billion in the final tally!” His voice was bright with excitement, practically vibrating with pride.

Ava let out a sigh of relief, the tension momentarily melting from her shoulders. She had invested half the production money into Wes’s film, so a huge box office meant her financial worries would ease. “Great job, Wes,” she said warmly, offering him a reassuring smile.

Wes looked slightly shy at her praise, his fingers fidgeting at the hem of his T-shirt.

“Can I invite you to the first screening tonight? It’s not the grand premiere, just an internal preview,” he asked hopefully, eyes gleaming.

Ava remembered she had missed the actual premiere because she had been at the hospital with Alexander, and guilt made her hesitate. Wes had been the first artist she’d ever signed, and she couldn’t keep turning him down.

“Sure. What time?” she asked, her tone gentle.

“Seven o’clock! I’ll wait for you here after work,” Wes replied, his grin breaking wide again.

Ava glanced at her watch; it was still early, and she needed to see Rayna before the day was over.

“I have to head out this afternoon, so you go ahead and get busy,” she told him. “I’ll buy the tickets and text you the theater location later.”

Wes’s eyes sparkled with happiness, and he nodded eagerly. “Okay!”

After settling things with Wes, Ava made her way toward the New York Film Academy, her mind shifting to the next task.

She arrived just as the sun streamed through the towering campus buildings, casting long golden rays over students hurrying between classes. Knowing Rayna’s schedule, Ava waited outside the lecture hall as students poured out for lunch.

With her graceful posture and polished aura, Ava stood out among the sea of young people. Several male students couldn’t help but approach her, politely asking for her contact information, which she declined with an apologetic smile. Her complexion glowed under the sunlight, framed by sleek, carefully styled hair, giving her an almost ethereal presence. Even students still inside the classroom couldn’t resist glancing her way.

After turning down three hopeful admirers, the bell finally rang, and Rayna was the last to slip out of the lecture hall, moving cautiously.

When she saw Ava, her steps faltered, eyes darting in all directions before settling on her.

Ava lifted her hand in greeting, a gentle wave. “Rayna.”

Rayna’s lips parted, but no words came out. She spotted an empty chair nearby and led Ava there nervously. “Ms. Morales, please, sit. Would you like some water? I can get you some.” Her voice trembled with uncertainty.

“There’s no need, Rayna,” Ava replied softly. “I came to talk about the script.”

Rayna hesitated, then pulled a folder from her tote bag with shaking hands. “I’ve revised it...please take a look.”

Ava took the folder, flipping through the pages as Rayna fidgeted beside her, visibly consumed by guilt. Her heart clearly wasn’t in this work.

Ava studied her for a moment. “Rayna, I heard you’re the top student in this major?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Rayna nodded, lips quivering, tears pooling in her eyes as her hands twisted in her lap.

Ava sighed, the disappointment plain on her face. “This script doesn’t read like it came from a top student. I reviewed your grades, and you’ve been number one since you started here. Every teacher praises your creativity, yet this script is uninspired.”

Rayna’s shoulders slumped, her voice breaking. “Ms. Morales, this is...the best I could manage right now, I...”

Before she could finish, a voice called out behind them, brisk and confident. “Rayna, Ms. Morales—what a coincidence?”

Ava turned and saw Hendra approaching, trailed by a group of acting students. Some of them recognized Ava and quickly fell silent, unsure how to react.

Ava stood to greet him, her expression professional. “Mr. Thoriq, I came to get a sense of the environment here. These students are from the acting department? They seem quite impressive.”

The group straightened up a little at her praise. Hendra, a legend among them, commanded respect. His scripts had launched the careers of several well-known actors, and his mentorship was considered priceless. If he took a liking to a student, they were practically guaranteed a future in the industry.

Hendra beamed, giving Rayna’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “Did you show Ms. Morales the script yet? If she’s satisfied, it’d be good to talk more.”

The nearby students immediately caught the subtext: Hendra was working hard to secure an investment for Rayna. They all admired how supportive he seemed.

Ava nodded politely. “I’ve read it, but there are some points I want to discuss with Rayna. It’s perfect timing that you’re here.”

“Ms. Morales, would you like to continue this discussion in my office?” Hendra offered with a polite smile.

“Of course,” Ava agreed.

Since Hendra had arrived, Rayna’s complexion had paled to an almost ghostly white. Ava tried to hold Rayna’s hand, but she flinched away, startled, making the moment painfully awkward.

Hendra stepped in smoothly, covering for her. “Rayna’s introverted, Ms. Morales. She spends her days buried in scripts and has trouble communicating with others. Please don’t take it personally.”

Ava said nothing, but a chill prickled down her spine. She’d done a background check on Hendra and found nothing but glowing reviews. Still, sometimes people who seemed too perfect rang warning bells.

“Mr. Thoriq, shall we go?” she asked.

Hendra gave the students a quick instruction before guiding Ava and Rayna to his office. The others watched with a mix of envy and admiration—Rayna seemed especially favored, and that meant big money might follow.

Inside Hendra’s office, he offered Ava a comfortable seat and motioned for Rayna to sit on a small sofa tucked against the far wall.

Rayna’s knees nearly buckled when she saw that sofa. Just a week ago, Hendra had raped her there. Almost every inch of this suffocating space felt tainted to her, a silent witness to the nightmares she’d endured. She lowered her gaze to the floor, trying not to breathe too loudly.

Hendra, meanwhile, poured Ava a glass of water with a practiced elegance.

“Ms. Morales, I understand you’re not fully satisfied with Rayna’s script. She hasn’t been quite herself lately,” he said smoothly, as if offering a harmless excuse.

Ava studied Rayna, noting how tense and vacant her expression was. Something was off—deeply off.

They spent a while discussing the script, Ava calmly going over the necessary revisions. When she stood to leave, Hendra quickly stopped Rayna.

“Rayna, stay here and look through your senior colleagues’ scripts on my desk,” he ordered in a pleasant voice. “Get some inspiration, and then fix yours for Ms. Morales.”

Rayna nodded, her movements mechanical, like a puppet on strings.

As soon as Ava left, the gentle façade crumbled. Hendra shut the door hard, then stalked toward Rayna, grabbing her by the arms and forcing her down into the chair Ava had just occupied, the seat still faintly warm from Ava’s presence.

His voice was low, poisonous. “Rayna, if I hadn’t run into you today, were you planning to tell Ava something?”

Rayna shivered violently, a sour taste flooding her throat. She clutched her stomach, barely able to keep herself from retching.

---

Hendra finished in just two minutes, then slapped Rayna across the cheek with a twisted sense of satisfaction. He controlled the force, ensuring he left no visible marks.

Every time he forced himself on her, Rayna would retch afterward. It only made Hendra more pleased, as if her suffering confirmed his absolute power and left her too terrified to resist.

“You always throw up,” he sneered, buttoning his shirt. “Haven’t you gotten used to it? Your dad called again. He has such high expectations for you, Rayna. You can’t let him down, can you? How would his colleagues look at him if you failed? Think about that.”

Those words pierced Rayna’s heart like a dagger.

She threw up twice more, the bile burning her throat, leaving Hendra looking genuinely disappointed.

“Fix that script,” he snapped. “If Ava’s still not satisfied, just stay away from her.”

Rayna’s voice trembled. “Got it, Mr. Thoriq… please…”

Hendra fastened his belt, reeking of cheap cologne and sweat, then walked out without a backward glance. As soon as he left, Rayna broke down again, vomiting helplessly, her entire body shaking.

When she finally composed herself and stepped out, she froze at the sight of Ava standing by the office door.

Rayna instantly shrank back, panic gripping her chest. Ava noticed her haggard, pale face — even worse than before she’d stepped away for just a moment.

“Ms. Morales,” Rayna stammered, her voice thin as paper.

Ava silently offered her a tissue. Rayna hesitated, then took it with trembling hands.

Ava calmly pointed inside. “I left my phone.”

Rayna stepped aside to let her in.

The office had been hastily tidied, and Rayna had washed her face, masking the horror that had just unfolded. Ava retrieved her phone from the chair, where it had been hidden in the seat crevice — the screen still recording.

Hendra hadn’t noticed it, since Rayna was always forced to hand over her own phone during these “meetings.” Seeing the recording light on Ava’s device, Rayna’s legs nearly gave out. Her breathing became ragged as realization hit: Ava had left it there on purpose.

Rayna dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “Ms. Morales, please… please don’t listen to it. I’m begging you.”

Ava frowned, scanning the office for hidden cameras before reaching down to pull Rayna to her feet. Then she led her into a quiet corridor.

“If you don’t want me to listen, I won’t,” Ava said softly. “But Rayna — is this really the life you want?”

Rayna’s eyes brimmed with despair. “I have one year left until I graduate. I’ve lasted this long, I can hold on a bit longer. If I break now, I’ll become a joke at school, and my parents will lose face.”

Ava was silent for a moment, then handed Rayna her phone. “If you want to delete it, go ahead. I haven’t heard it.”

Rayna’s fingers trembled over the screen. For a full ten minutes, she said nothing. Finally, in a voice no louder than a whisper, she asked, “Ms. Morales… can I trust you?”

She had tried trusting people before — sponsors, managers — but they all knew Hendra. Word always got back to him, and when it did, the punishment was savage.

Ava gently clasped Rayna’s shaking hands. “I promise you, no one will hear about this from me. No one.”

Rayna lowered her eyes, then took a deep breath. “I have some scripts. No one knows I wrote them. If you like them, I can give them to you, but… don’t put my name on them, please.”

She looked so small, so fragile, biting her lip before adding, “Um, could you give me a hundred dollars? I need to send them by local express delivery, and I… I don’t have that much.”

Ava reached for her wallet and offered five hundred in cash, but Rayna took only a single bill, eyes wary. “A hundred is enough. I’ll give you any change left over.”

“I’ll send the scripts to you after class tonight,” Rayna promised, her voice steadier now. “Then we can talk about price. I’ve hidden them… even my parents don’t know.”

She explained in a defeated tone how Ygor, her father, trusted Hendra completely. Whenever Rayna wrote something, Ygor would proudly show it to Hendra, ignoring her protests.

“Mr. Thoriq is prestigious,” Ygor would scold her. “He’s willing to mentor you. You should be grateful.” He’d shame her, tell her she was being childish for wanting privacy, ignoring how Hendra took credit for all her work.

At home, Rayna had no locked door, no private refuge. Her parents could barge in anytime, rummaging through her notebooks.

Every act of resistance was labeled ungrateful, unfilial.

Ava wanted to ask outright if Hendra had threatened her, but Rayna’s darting, terrified eyes made the answer clear enough.

Instead, Ava tore a page from her notepad and scribbled her company address. “If you need me, send word here,” she instructed softly.

Rayna memorized the address, then handed the note back, a trace of fear still clinging to her voice. “Got it.”

That moment revealed how suffocating her world truly was — so trapped that even a scrap of information felt dangerous. Ava watched her, heart heavy, vowing to do whatever she could to get Rayna out of that nightmare.

---

Back at her company, Ava sat in her glass-walled office, flipping through contract revisions while absently checking the clock. The sun was beginning its descent, casting an orange glow across her workspace. At around 5 p.m., a local courier arrived, handing over a bundle of bills along with three handwritten scripts bound with simple twine.

Ava set aside her paperwork and carefully untied the bundle.

The first script instantly gripped her — a taut, edge-of-your-seat crime drama filled with chilling twists and a finale that revealed the killer in a shocking turn. The murder scenes were raw, disturbing, yet elegantly crafted. Ava could hardly believe a nineteen-year-old had written something this masterful.

Eagerly, she skimmed the second script, which was a moving portrayal of lower-class struggles, so heartbreakingly vivid that it left her throat tight. The third returned to crime, again probing deep into human psychology with a ruthless honesty.

Rayna had undeniable talent. Ava picked up her phone without hesitation and dialed. “I want all three scripts. Tell me your price,” she said as soon as the call connected.

But a man’s voice, coarse and unfamiliar, answered instead. “Who is this?”

Ava guessed it had to be Rayna’s father. “I’m a friend of Rayna’s. May I speak with her?”

On the other side of the line, Ygor felt a flash of shame and fear. Just this afternoon, he and Lorna had confronted Rayna, suspecting — thanks to gossip from a pharmacist — that their daughter had secretly bought contraceptives. They’d cornered her, demanding answers. She had only dropped to her knees and sobbed.

Swallowing hard, Ygor covered the receiver. “Rayna’s helping her mother with dinner,” he said awkwardly. “What scripts? Did you show them to Mr. Thoriq?”

“I’ve already spoken with Mr. Thoriq,” Ava lied smoothly.

Ygor sighed, feeling momentarily relieved. He glanced at Rayna, still kneeling on the kitchen floor with her head bowed. “We’ll talk later,” he grumbled, and hung up.

Turning on Rayna, he hurled a cup of cold water at her, the droplets splattering across her pale face. “Admit it! The woman who sold you those pills described you perfectly. Who have you been with? Do you feel no shame?”

Rayna flinched, her shoulders trembling, but stayed silent.

Ygor’s voice softened, pained. “Did a man trick you?”

Rayna shook her head, biting her lip so hard it almost bled.

The softness in Ygor’s face vanished, replaced by pure rage. He slapped her so hard her head whipped to the side. “So it was voluntary! How did I raise such a shameless daughter?”

Tears stung Rayna’s eyes as she choked on a sob.

Ygor, boiling with a mix of helplessness and fury, grabbed his phone and called Hendra. In a pitiful, deferential tone, he pleaded, “Mr. Thoriq, does Rayna have a boyfriend? She’s been acting strange — sneaking around. We don’t know how to manage her.”

Rayna’s stomach twisted as she watched the only adult she might have trusted, once, place his faith in the very man who had destroyed her.

On the other end, Hendra played his part flawlessly, his voice calm and dignified. “Rayna is an outstanding student. Investors are showing interest in her writing, though some revisions will be needed. As for her personal life, I do not meddle.”

Ygor, desperate to be a good father, blurted out, “A woman just called about Rayna’s scripts — said they were very good. Is she the investor?”

Rayna froze, her blood running cold.

Hendra’s voice grew deceptively gentle. “Oh? Someone called about Rayna?”

Ygor was about to answer, but Rayna suddenly lunged forward, grabbing his pant leg. “Dad, don’t tell him!”

Ygor’s confusion turned to rage. If Rayna wouldn’t even trust her teacher, who could she trust? With a harsh shove, he knocked her away.

“Mr. Thoriq,” he continued, “someone called about the scripts. If Rayna can sell one, it would help the family. But she’s behaving like she’s hiding something. Her mom and I don’t know what to do, we’re uneducated…”

Hendra’s interest sharpened, a thin smirk creeping across his face.

Rayna, heart pounding, slapped the phone from Ygor’s hand, her scream raw and unhinged.

Ygor and Lorna stared at her, stunned. They’d never seen their daughter like this.

Rayna didn’t wait — she bolted, grabbing her own phone and running from the house.

Ygor pointed after her, spluttering in disbelief. “She’s gone crazy! I was talking to her teacher — her teacher, for God’s sake! Does she want to ruin everything?”

Lorna hesitated only a moment before running after Rayna, but she was already gone.

Rayna didn’t stop until she reached a cramped bookstore on a dim street corner. The place offered free scrap paper and pens. She sat at a rickety metal table, tears falling as she wrote:

> “Ms. Morales, if you can, take all three scripts. Please destroy Hendra. I don’t know if begging will work. I truly don’t want to live anymore. These stories are my soul. If you ever make money from them, please give my share to my parents.”

Unable to afford express service, she folded the letter and sent it via standard city delivery.

When she finally returned to her apartment complex, her legs felt like lead. That was when she saw Hendra waiting, a smile that made her blood run cold plastered across his face. Ygor and Lorna were descending the stairs, all hopeful, as if salvation had come.

Ygor clasped Hendra’s hand with a trembling grip. “Mr. Thoriq, thank you so much for coming in person. You are such a good teacher!”

Lorna pushed Rayna forward like a sacrifice. “Rayna, speak to Mr. Thoriq about your scripts. Maybe this time they’ll really get recognized.”

Rayna stood there, paralyzed, feeling as if three mountains had been stacked on her back. Her voice would not come. 

Finally, Hendra pulled open the car door with a thin, calculated smile. “Rayna might have something going on at school,” he told Ygor and Lorna smoothly. “Let me talk to her alone. I’ll bring her back later, or let her stay with the senior students in the dorms to discuss the scripts. Maybe it’ll spark some inspiration.”

Ygor and Lorna, oblivious and eager to please, beamed at him, happy to entrust their daughter to someone they believed was helping her career. They didn’t even look twice as Hendra led Rayna away.

Inside the car, the moment the door slammed shut, Hendra’s expression turned from kindly to monstrous. He roughly pulled Rayna toward him, unfastening his belt with a cold efficiency and striking her sharply across the cheek. Her head snapped to the side, skin burning where his hand had landed.

Outside, Ygor and Lorna still stood there, smiling, none the wiser to what was happening inside.

Hendra wrapped a hand around Rayna’s throat, cutting off her breath until she felt her eyes swim with black spots. Once he got his release and lost interest, he shoved her like a discarded rag toward the passenger seat, breathing heavily with a look of disgust.

“Your father’s right,” he sneered, adjusting himself. “You’re a disobedient girl. We’ll talk more about those scripts at my place.”

Rayna gagged, nearly retching, and Hendra tossed her a cheap plastic bag with a mocking laugh.

“Your parents are still outside watching,” he warned, voice low and poisonous. “Feels terrible, doesn’t it? If you don’t play your part and explain those scripts properly, don’t think about going home for the next half month.” 

---

Meanwhile, Ava, after making a call, decided to check on Rayna in person. Before she got in her car, she dialed Rayna again.

Under Hendra’s iron stare, Rayna answered the call with a forced, sleepy-sounding yawn. “Ms. Morales, I’m exhausted today. Let’s talk another time, okay?”

Ava hesitated, sensing something was off, but didn’t push further. She’d already promised Wes she’d watch a movie with him.

She bought the tickets online, quickly snapped a photo of them, and sent both the image and the address to Wes — but in her hurry, she accidentally sent it to Alexander as well.

Alexander, still working late under the harsh fluorescent lights of the Vanderbilt Group conference room, noticed a new message from Ava. He glanced at it, expecting something business-related, but froze. Two movie tickets. A location.

Was this her way of making peace?

Across the table, the other executives observed Alexander checking his phone, their faces tight with worry. But no one dared interrupt him.

A few tense minutes ticked by before Alexander set the phone down, checked the time, and abruptly stood.

“The movie starts at seven,” he calculated, “and it’s already six-thirty.”

He straightened his suit jacket, commanding as ever. “Meeting adjourned. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

The stunned executives scrambled to respond, but Alexander was already striding toward the elevator, Jonathan close behind, bewildered.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” Jonathan called out, voice laced with confusion, “the quarterly review isn’t finished—”

Alexander didn’t even break stride. “Ava asked me to a movie. Reschedule the meeting for tomorrow.”

Jonathan stood speechless as his boss disappeared into the elevator, a faint smile ghosting across Alexander’s usually cold features as he murmured to himself, half amused, half hopeful.

--- 

Ava had just finished getting changed when Wes called to check if she was ready. Assuming he hadn’t seen her earlier message, she patiently repeated the details: fourth floor of the nearby mall. Wes’s voice immediately brightened with excitement, and he set off without hesitation.

But Alexander arrived first.

He had never stepped foot in a movie theater before and stood awkwardly near the entrance, unsure what to do. Dressed sharply in a perfectly tailored suit, he looked completely out of place among the casual moviegoers. His tall, commanding presence drew curious glances, and his posture was so refined he might have been mistaken for a model in an advertisement.

Alexander paid no attention to the stares. His dark eyes were locked on the escalator, scanning the steady stream of people until, finally, he saw her.

Ava.

She stepped gracefully off the escalator, her light purple down jacket wrapped elegantly around her slender frame, a white scarf softly framing her delicate features. A chill of emotion rippled through Alexander’s heart, but his relief instantly froze when he noticed the man walking beside her.

They were chatting comfortably, Ava even handing Wes her phone, and laughing over something on the screen.

Alexander’s face tightened, a sharp flicker of anger flashing through his gaze. A storm brewed behind his composed exterior.

Ava felt a prickle of unease, as if someone were watching her. She looked up and froze when she spotted Alexander leaning against the glass balcony, still as a statue in the middle of the bustling lobby.

Why was he here?

The sight of him brought a smirk to her lips. After all, she thought bitterly, it made sense — he had a lover, and now maybe a movie date, too. The disgust in her chest was sharp and acrid.

Next to her, Wes was disguised in a hat and mask, trying to stay under the radar since the premiere was for his own film and fans might mob him if they recognized him. Yet Alexander, so conspicuous in his presence, drew more attention than Wes ever could.

“Wes, wait here,” Ava told him. “I’ll go grab the tickets.”

Wes nodded, excitement gleaming in his eyes as he headed off to buy popcorn.

Alexander watched Ava purchase the tickets. She didn’t even glance in his direction but returned to Wes, who held a large bucket of popcorn with a silly grin.

The fury in Alexander’s veins boiled over.

He stalked forward, his eyes drilling into Wes like a predator about to pounce.

“Who is he?” Alexander demanded.

Ava blinked, startled, as if he had caught them red-handed.

A few curious onlookers began to notice the tension. Fearing Wes would be recognized and cause a scene, Ava quickly positioned herself in front of him.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, this isn’t your business,” she said icily. “Your date should be arriving any minute. Please don’t disturb us.”

Alexander bristled, jealousy gnawing at his chest. She invited him to this movie, didn’t she?

“Ava, get rid of him, and I won’t be mad,” he ordered coldly.

Ava nearly laughed from exasperation. Grabbing Wes by the sleeve, she steered him toward the ticket check.

Alexander followed, refusing to be left behind, but was quickly stopped by the ticket checker.

“Sir, please show your ticket.”

Alexander hesitated, realizing he didn’t have one. Accustomed to negotiating million-dollar contracts but clueless about something so simple as a movie ticket, he fumbled and ended up showing the staff a photo Ava had sent earlier.

“Put me next to them,” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the ticket checker replied politely, “the show is sold out. You’ll have to wait for the next screening.”

Helpless, Alexander stood in the lobby, watching Ava and Wes disappear inside together. A flicker of frustration crossed his usually impassive face.

The ticket checker, sensing his sour mood, awkwardly looked away.

Just then, a familiar voice called out.

“Alexander?”

He turned to see Raphael, there on a date with Bridgitte. Raphael’s eyes went wide with disbelief.

“It’s really you?” Raphael laughed, rubbing his eyes as if to make sure.

Alexander’s gaze dropped to Raphael’s tickets and saw that one seat was directly next to Ava’s. Without hesitation, he snatched it and handed it to the ticket inspector.

Raphael stared, stunned. “Bro, I only have two tickets!”

Thinking fast, Raphael released Bridgitte’s hand and whispered, “Hey, why don’t you go check out those handbags downstairs? I’ll watch the movie with my cousin.”

Bridgitte looked annoyed at being dismissed, but the promise of a new designer bag and Alexander’s intimidating presence convinced her to leave.

Raphael shoved the second ticket into Alexander’s hand and rushed after him.

The ticket inspector blinked in confusion, then sighed and let them through. “What a strange world,” he muttered.

Inside the darkened theater, Alexander quickly found Ava. She was seated with Wes, the glow of the screen highlighting her delicate profile as she cradled a bucket of popcorn.

She hadn’t noticed him slip into the empty seat beside her.

Raphael sighed, settling into a seat behind them. From the look on Alexander’s face, he knew this was about to get very, very messy.

*

As the theater lights dimmed, the opening credits rolled across the screen. Alexander barely paid them any attention, his gaze constantly drifting to where Ava and Wes whispered together beside him. He clenched his jaw.

Halfway through the movie, Ava felt a hand brush against her leg. She assumed it was Wes and didn’t react at first. But when the touch repeated — firmer this time — she glanced down and followed its path, only to see Alexander’s large hand resting possessively on her thigh.

Her entire body stiffened. Popcorn tumbled from her trembling fingers as she shot him a furious look. Alexander raised an eyebrow coolly, leaning in until his warm breath ghosted her ear.

“Besides messing around with men,” he murmured, voice low and mocking, “what else do you know how to do?”

The bitter thought crossed his mind — she’d be happy with anyone, wouldn’t she? A Richard, a Caterlington, some random stranger…

Ava found herself torn between rage and exasperation. She turned back to the screen, determined to ignore him. Onscreen, Wes was having his first passionate on-screen kiss, a moment the studio had hyped endlessly. Couples in the audience began leaning into each other, emboldened by the romantic mood.

Ava leaned forward, about to tease Wes about the scene — but Alexander seized her arm, his expression oddly anxious.

“You want to kiss him?” he blurted.

Ava nearly dumped her entire tub of popcorn over his head. Unable to stand another second beside him, she stood abruptly, muttered something about the restroom, and walked out.

Alexander followed her.

In the theater’s bright, echoing corridor, Ava took a steadying breath, her voice softening despite her irritation.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, what exactly do you want?”

He looked genuinely confused. “Why are you the one who’s angry? Shouldn’t it be me?”

Ava let out a humorless laugh, momentarily speechless. She decided to put things plainly.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, what are we, really?” she asked evenly.

His silence spoke volumes.

Ava continued, her voice calm but cutting, “Even if there was… something between us, it’s over. I’m no longer your secretary. You don’t own me. If I want to…mess around, that’s my business, not yours.”

Her eyes held a quiet plea — let me go.

Alexander didn’t respond. His throat worked as if trying to find words, but nothing came.

As Ava turned to re-enter the theater, he grabbed her wrist, his grip unsteady, almost desperate.

“You think I enjoy being angry with you?” His voice was rough, edged with a confusion that made her pause. “I don’t even know what’s happening to me.”

Ava tugged her wrist free. “Mr. Vanderbilt, if you have issues, go vent them on someone else. Seeing you just ruins my mood.”

His shoulders seemed to collapse under the weight of her words, his eyes shadowed and bleak. This time, he didn’t try to stop her as she walked away.

He stood there alone for a long moment, until a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Alexander, want to grab a drink?”

It was Raphael, who had been hovering awkwardly nearby. He’d caught a glimpse of their argument, but was too polite to admit it.

Alexander didn’t answer, face a hard mask of indifference.

Raphael, half-jokingly, tried to lighten the mood. “Maybe Ava likes normal men. You’re too…perfect. Makes people feel small. Don’t be sad.”

Alexander shot him a withering look. “Who said I’m sad?” His tone was ice.

“She’s divorced,” he added flatly. “At best, that’s her ex. A pitiful man. Probably dumped too.”

He turned away, fists clenched at his sides, and stalked off to the car park. The entire trip to the cinema now felt like a humiliating joke. Anger churned inside him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Once back at his hotel, Alex called, voice bright with excitement.

“Alexander, the box office just crossed a billion. Congratulations — your investment is going to quintuple at least!”

Alexander barely registered the news, distracted and unsettled.

Hugo, forever nosy, read off gossip headlines from his phone.

“Wes was spotted leaving the theater with a woman,” Hugo announced gleefully. “Photos are blurry, but she looks a lot like Ava.”

He scrolled down, laughing. “Free publicity for the movie! When it crosses 1.5 billion, you’ll make ten times your money with all the bonuses.”

Alexander said nothing.

“Alexander?” Hugo prodded.

Alexander continued staring out the window, a heavy stillness about him. Finally, he spoke.

“Did I have a bad relationship with her before?”

“Her?” Hugo hesitated. “You mean Ava?”

Alexander nodded, eyes distant.

“I don’t know,” Hugo said carefully. “You always told us you didn’t care about her. That you weren’t tired of her yet.”

Alexander exhaled slowly, trying to steady the confusion twisting inside him.

“Did she get divorced because of me?”

“I can’t say for sure. We all thought you were just having fun with her,” Hugo admitted.

Alexander let that settle in, almost comforted by the idea that maybe the raw emotions eating at him were just leftover confusion from his injuries.

“Understood,” he said at last.

Hugo was about to continue when he realized Alexander had already hung up.

Alexander sat back at his desk, tried to focus on documents, and saw an unread email from Anita. He rarely checked personal mail, but something made him open it.

Anita, ever ambitious, had written in flowery terms about Wes’s popularity, how he’d been seen with Ava, and finally asked whether Alexander intended to “do something” about it.

Anita had once tried to trap Wes on Alexander’s behalf but backed off after a single phone call from him. Now, seeing the photos, she was clearly itching for permission to meddle again.

Alexander typed back a short reply:

[We have nothing to do with each other.]

Then he closed the laptop and tried, once more, to drown out thoughts of Ava with work.

---

When Anita saw the email, a cold gleam lit up her eyes.

Without Alexander, did she have any reason to fear Ava anymore? Her lips curved into a cruel smile as she picked up the phone.

“Go grab Ava,” she ordered her subordinates sharply.

Anita had waited far too long for this moment. Now that Alexander had seemingly washed his hands of Ava, she was determined to make Ava suffer, to shred every ounce of her dignity.

Meanwhile, Ava and Wes had just stepped out of the mall, still buzzing with excitement about their latest movie.

“Ava, the real-time box office estimate has already crossed a billion,” Wes said, his cheeks flushed with pride. “I’m about to skyrocket in value! E.A. Corporation is going to make a killing.”

Ava chuckled, patting the side of his car. “Rest up while you can. I’ll have more roles lined up for you soon.”

In truth, E.A. Corporation was barely hanging on — Wes’s fame was their only lifeline. Ava’s hopes rested on a stack of scripts Rayna had passed her. If these films succeeded, they might just keep the company afloat.

She’d even devised a risky plan: cast Wes as the male lead with a new, unknown actress as the female lead. If Wes’s popularity could elevate her, they’d gain another star. She felt a tiny pang of guilt for using Wes so shamelessly, but as president, she had no other choice. She’d make it up to him one day.

Once Wes drove off, Ava turned to get into her own car.

But before she could reach for the handle, two men grabbed her from behind.

Right there at the mall entrance, in broad daylight, people bustled by, oblivious to what was happening.

She opened her mouth to scream, but a sharp blow to the back of her neck cut her short, plunging her into darkness.

---

Forty minutes later.

Cold water splashed over her face. Ava sputtered, blinking through the droplets clinging to her eyelashes.

She was in a dank warehouse, the stench of mold and dampness crowding her senses.

In front of her, Anita lounged in a cracked leather chair, a whip coiled loosely in one hand, her expression smug and venomous.

“Ava,” she drawled, “long time no see.”

Ava took in the scene calmly, though her muscles tensed beneath her soaked jacket.

Anita twirled the whip with practiced ease, like a cat toying with a mouse.

“You always had Alexander backing you up. Now he’s thrown you away, hasn’t he? No one’s coming to save you this time,” Anita sneered.

She flicked her wrist, the whip lashing across Ava’s padded jacket, sending tufts of white down feathers floating into the air.

“Strip her,” Anita ordered her bodyguards with gleeful malice. “I want her naked, and then whip her fifty times. Let her see what happens when she crosses me.”

Fifty lashes. Ava knew that would leave her body shredded and scarred for life.

Two men stepped forward, reaching for the zipper of her jacket.

But Ava’s voice rang out, clear and composed, stopping them cold.

“Ms. Ruiz,” she said evenly, “you’re making a mistake. Alexander was never my real protector. My backer is someone even Alexander fears. Think very carefully before you touch me.”

Anita narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “What are you talking about? You’re just a designer.”

Ava met her stare, unwavering. “Jessica’s fleeing abroad, isn’t she? Didn’t she call you for help? I destroyed her and took over the Morales family business. My real name is Serena Ava Morales. I was Alexander Vanderbilt’s wife. Even if he hates me now, he wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me because Cornelius Vanderbilt is behind me. That’s who I answer to.”

Anita’s knuckles whitened on the whip handle.

“You expect me to believe that nonsense?”

Ava gave a faint, dismissive smile. “Call Cornelius Vanderbilt. I know his personal number. He told me to reach out if I ever felt wronged — and Alexander is furious with me because I went to Cornelius about him. Go on, try him.”

There was such a calm confidence in Ava’s voice that Anita wavered.

She was no fool; she’d survived the cutthroat world of entertainment precisely because she knew when to back off.

Anita chewed her lip, then gave a curt order to her bodyguards. “Lock her up. I’ll verify this myself.”

While Anita’s men left to investigate, they accidentally crossed paths with Charlie’s people.

Charlie had only just been discharged from the hospital, and when he heard Ava had been taken by Anita, he didn’t hesitate to send his own men.

Anita recognized Charlie — they’d dealt before — and seeing him come to fetch Ava only confirmed her worst fear: Ava had powerful allies she hadn’t known about.

Not wanting to risk crossing these forces, Anita handed Ava over immediately, her hands practically shaking.

Charlie had no interest in provoking Alexander again, either. The sight of Ava tied up made him break out in a cold sweat.

At a quiet restaurant, Charlie’s men cut her free.

Ava’s expression remained distant, her eyes cool and unreadable. From Anita’s hands straight to Charlie’s, she was already calculating what her next move would be.

---

“Ms. Alvarez, there was a misunderstanding last time. Let’s talk properly today.”

Charlie’s voice was smooth, almost pleasant, but Ava knew better than to be lulled by his civility. Judging by his expression, Anita’s people hadn’t told him her true identity—he still thought she was just some woman Alexander was involved with.

He casually pulled out a check for twenty million dollars and slid a small white bottle across the table toward her.

“This medicine,” he said in a low voice, “can kill without leaving a trace. A heart attack. Quick and clean. Alexander’s busy all the time; no one would question it.”

His gaze turned sharp. “You’ve done well to fool him, Ava. He trusts you. If you give him something, he’ll take it without a second thought. Once it’s done, I’ll transfer another eighty million. That’s a full hundred million dollars in your pocket. A lifetime of freedom. Tell me—how much can you possibly earn working for him?”

Ava stared at him silently, her face unreadable.

Charlie leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave. “He saved you because he liked you. But when that interest fades—and it will—he can crush you like an insect. You have family. Friends. Do you really want to test how far he’ll go if someone uses them to get to you?”

A slow, burning anger rose in Ava’s chest. She had been trying to distance herself from the Vanderbilt family quietly, without drama. But they wouldn’t let her go. They wanted her entangled—whether through manipulation, fear, or blackmail.

Charlie went on, clearly enjoying the power he thought he had. “If you refuse, I’ll make sure everyone knows how much Alexander cares about you. He’s made enemies, Ava. Many. And the moment they find out you’re important to him? You won’t live long.”

Ava took a slow breath, reached forward—and handed the check back.

Her voice was calm and steady. “Mr. Vanderbilt, do you really think Alexander’s life is worth only a hundred million? That’s not even enough to insult a beggar.”

Charlie’s eyes darkened. The slap of rejection stung.

She added coldly, “Alexander gave me a two-hundred-million-dollar bracelet. I sold it for one-fifty. And now you’re offering me half that to risk my life poisoning him? You’re severely underestimating both him and me.”

His face twisted with frustration. Alexander’s casual generosity gnawed at him. That kind of wealth should’ve stayed within the Vanderbilt family—his family. To Charlie, it felt like watching his inheritance being squandered on a woman who didn’t belong.

“How much do you want?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Ava’s lips curved into a small, composed smile. “One billion. With three hundred million up front. If I’m going to betray a man like Alexander Vanderbilt, I need a sum that makes it worth dying for.”

“You’re insane,” Charlie snapped. “You think I’ll give you that and not kill you right after?”

Her smile didn’t falter. “If I were you, I’d be happy I’m greedy. It means I’m motivated. All I care about is the money. The more you give, the harder I’ll work for you.”

He hesitated. He didn’t have a billion—but scraping together three hundred million? Doable, barely. If he lived frugally and moved a few pieces on the board, he could make it happen.

“If you cross me,” he said, voice low and lethal, “you’ll regret ever being born.”

When Ava was dropped back at Upper West Side, her back was soaked in cold sweat. It was nearly 10 p.m. when she stepped inside and locked the door behind her, her breathing shallow and erratic.

Anita first, and now Charlie.

Two predators, one night.

She was lucky to have walked away alive.

Her gaze fell to her hands. In one, a nondescript white bottle—no label, no instructions, just a vessel of death. In the other, a check for three hundred million dollars.

Charlie had agreed.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city, a string of photos appeared on Alexander's phone—pictures of Ava sitting across from Charlie, of the check, of the white bottle being handed to her.

Ever since the raid on Charlie’s villa, Alexander had ordered someone to monitor his cousin closely. He knew Charlie wasn’t sharp enough to stay quiet.

But he hadn’t expected this.

He stared at the photos for a long time. Ava had taken the check. She’d taken the poison.

She had agreed to the deal.

A spike of pain lanced through his chest. His throat tightened. Rage, disbelief, heartbreak—they all tangled inside him.

She was planning to betray him.

The smart move would be to eliminate her. Cut the weakness before it destroyed him.

But as Alexander lay back against his pillows, his mind didn’t dwell on strategy—it wandered.

To her.

To the feeling of her skin beneath his palms, the heated breath shared in a fogged-up bathroom. Her voice, playful and defiant—“I came to have an affair with you. Isn’t it thrilling?”

He closed his eyes.

The memory burned like fire under his skin.

At three in the morning, Alexander jolted awake, drenched in sweat. His muscles were tight, his body painfully rigid, a sharp ache throbbing through him.

Breathing hard, he swung his legs off the bed and dragged himself into a freezing cold shower. Ice water coursed over him, extinguishing the fire in his veins. Only then did he feel the storm within him settle, if only slightly.

When he stepped out, steam billowing around him in the frosted winter air, he didn’t feel relief.

He felt empty.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t know what he was going to do next. 

---

The next morning, Ava arrived at the office early and handed a set of scripts to Ray, hoping they could finally begin production. Though Ray was most famous for his award-winning historical dramas, his earlier crime series had also garnered critical acclaim. The man was, without question, a genius behind the camera.

As Ray skimmed through the pages, his expression shifted from mild interest to wide-eyed astonishment. His cheeks flushed with enthusiasm, and his fingers gripped the paper a little too tightly.

"Ms. Morales, where did you find these?" he asked, voice tinged with disbelief.

"A student from the New York Film Academy," Ava replied. "She specializes in screenwriting. Extremely talented."

Ray downed a gulp of cold water, visibly rattled—in the best way. He had joined E.A. Corporation with tempered expectations. But these scripts… they were something else.

"I can shoot them. I want to shoot them. Please let me direct these scripts," he said, eyes bright with urgency.

Ava exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. Getting Ray on board was a major step forward.

"I was also thinking…" she began cautiously, "what do you think about Wes for the male lead? His film’s doing well in theaters, and his name alone would bring attention. For the female lead, though, I’d like to cast a newcomer."

Ray nodded slowly. "Wes has the acting chops, sure. But crime dramas, especially ones like this, don’t come cheap."

"Would a $200 million budget be enough?"

Ray nearly choked. He had been about to suggest $80 million.

"Enough? It’s more than enough!" he said, almost breathless.

"Don’t worry about the funding," Ava said. "What we need now is people—especially the right actress. I’ll handle that part. I want filming to start within a month."

Ray raised an eyebrow, impressed by her resolve. “I’ve been getting dozens of DMs a day—people begging to know what I’m working on next. I’ll tap into that and find us the perfect female lead.”

Ava grinned and rubbed her temples. “I don’t know how I forgot that. Alright, you handle casting. We’ll shoot everything. I’ll talk to the writer.”

Ray left the meeting positively glowing, and Ava finally felt a small weight lift from her chest.

She had just turned toward her office when the receptionist approached with a neatly wrapped package. Surprised, Ava opened it—and froze. Inside was a handwritten letter. The sender: Rayna.

As she read it, a sinking feeling gripped her. The tone was hauntingly final, like a farewell.

She called Rayna immediately. No answer.

Panic surged. She threw on her coat and headed to her car, only to receive another call—this one from her contact at the New York Film Academy.

"Ms. Morales," the voice said urgently, "a student’s threatening to jump from the twelfth floor. Her name is Rayna Vega."

The name knocked the breath from Ava’s lungs.

She sped to the campus, praying she wasn’t too late.

But when she arrived, it was already over.

Police tape flapped in the cold morning breeze. A crowd of students had gathered, their phones raised. Rayna lay on the ground, blood seeping into the concrete beneath her body, now concealed beneath a white sheet.

Ava’s vision blurred. She could hardly hear the students whispering around her.

“They say she fought with her family.”

“I heard her dad slapped her in front of everyone right before she jumped.”

“Mr. Thoriq tried to talk her down… he almost did, but her father pushed her over the edge.”

Ava’s heart clenched. Ygor and Lorna stood off to the side, wailing—Ygor’s voice cracking as if the slap had only just echoed in his ears.

Maybe now he understood. But Ava couldn’t feel sorry for them. Not yet.

Winter’s chill bit through her coat. The air felt thinner. How much pain had Rayna felt, not just in that final fall, but over the years? Ava wrapped her arms around herself as the police began dispersing the crowd.

“Stop looking. Please clear the area. No photos. The deceased’s identity must remain protected.”

Ava allowed herself to be ushered toward the wide, sunlit schoolyard. The sunshine did nothing to warm her.

Two hours passed before the reality settled in.

Rayna was gone.

Ava sat alone on a bench, shaking. Her mind circled helplessly back to the letter. Rayna must have known. She had already decided. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the audio recording Rayna had once begged her to delete.

She hovered her thumb over the play button, then hesitated.

Before she could press it, Hendra approached.

His face was pale, his gait slower than usual.

“Ms. Morales,” he said with a heavy sigh, clutching at his chest.

She nodded. “Mr. Thoriq.”

He exhaled dramatically. “No one saw this coming. Were you here to see Rayna?”

“I was,” Ava answered.

“Did she give you any scripts?”

“She did.”

“I’d like to pass them along to her parents. It might comfort them.”

Ava’s jaw clenched. The request struck her like ice to the spine.

She smiled—but it was cold, hollow. “Rayna gave them to me as a gift. She wrote that in her letter. They’re mine, and they stay with me.”

Hendra’s expression twisted. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Rayna to be that careful. Those scripts—Ava could see it in his eyes—meant money. Attention. And now, because of that letter, they were out of his reach.

He said nothing and walked away, seething.

Ava watched him go, her breath fogging in the air. Her hands were still trembling when she finally climbed into her car.

She waited until she could breathe normally again, then pressed play on the recording.

Only a few sentences played—but they were enough.

Enough to confirm what Rayna had hinted at. Enough to understand what Hendra had done.

Ava’s entire body tensed. Her memories of NYU came rushing back, familiar pain crawling under her skin. How Ygor had trusted Hendra. How oblivious everyone had been to Rayna’s reality.

Women knew.

Women recognized silence, shadows, and shame in one another.

Ava’s face went pale with fury, her fists tightening in her lap.

Bringing Hendra down had been Rayna’s final wish.

And the price she’d paid for those three scripts.

Now, it was Ava’s to fulfill.

--- 

Meanwhile, Hendra had already tracked down Rayna’s parents.

They were a pitiful sight, collapsed in each other’s arms, sobbing so hard they could barely breathe. Lorna’s cheeks were streaked with tears as she glared at Ygor, still resenting him for that last slap he’d given Rayna before she died. Ygor, on the other hand, was drowning in guilt, wishing he’d held back, wishing he could turn back time.

Hendra approached them calmly, a slight, unreadable smile on his lips. “Rayna might have argued with you because of those scripts,” he offered, his tone mild, almost pitying. “She was an adult now. She no longer needed you to review them before handing them to me. Maybe… your lack of trust pushed her this far.”

Lorna sobbed harder, unable to speak through the wail in her throat. Ygor managed to croak, “The scripts… where are the scripts? Those belonged to Rayna. We want them back.”

A faint flicker of amusement passed through Hendra’s eyes. He didn’t care one bit about Rayna’s life or death. There would always be more students like her—talented, naive, desperate to please. All he wanted were those scripts, which he knew could bring him fame and fortune.

“They’re with a woman,” he replied smoothly. “Here’s her phone number. You can contact her yourself.”

Ygor hastily scribbled down the number, then collapsed into fresh sobs.

Hendra looked at them with silent disgust. Parents like this always infuriated him. They tried to rule their children with iron-fisted authority, then fell pathetically apart when the consequences hit. They would rather scold Rayna than listen to her, and then turn spineless in front of strangers.

He’d seen it countless times — families that raised timid, obedient children who’d never dare fight back. Those were his favorite targets.

He even recalled another girl he had taken advantage of, who had later developed depression and dropped out of school. Her parents, blind and self-righteous, had called her “too fragile” instead of helping her. She was still hiding away at home, broken, while Hendra had wrung a few profitable scripts out of her before discarding her.

Rayna, he thought, might have been the only one who found a shred of courage in the end—when she jumped.

And yet, Hendra felt nothing but cold amusement. He was simply waiting for Rayna’s parents to confront Ava, so he could swoop in and seize the scripts.

Later, he even called Ygor to emphasize just how “valuable” those scripts were, trying to fan the man’s obsession.

Before Rayna’s body had even been cremated, Ygor called Ava.

“Ms. Morales,” he rasped, voice ragged with grief, “I’m Rayna’s father. I heard she left some scripts with you. Please, return them to us. They’re her legacy.”

Ava’s voice was calm but distant. “Rayna and I made a clear agreement. She sold those scripts to me, Mr. Vega.”

Ygor’s voice turned harsh, defensive. “What do you mean? I’m her father! Everything of hers belongs to us. You’re taking advantage of a dead girl? How can you live with yourself? She was our only daughter! If you don’t return the scripts, I’ll sue you!”

Ava’s patience frayed. If this man had cared for Rayna even a fraction more while she was alive, she wouldn’t have jumped from a rooftop.

“Mr. Vega,” she replied evenly, “Rayna was nineteen. She was legally an adult. We signed a contract. Even if you sue me, it won’t change anything. Please, allow me to handle this matter. Give me a few days.”

What she wanted was time — time to reveal Hendra’s monstrous true face, so Rayna’s parents might finally see the truth.

But Ygor blindsided her by running to social media instead.

New York Film Academy was the most prestigious film school in the country, and news of Rayna’s suicide had already spread like wildfire.

Using his grief to fuel public outrage, Ygor created a F******k page titled Rayna’s Father.

Since the police hadn’t released the reasons for Rayna’s death, speculation ran rampant, and the page quickly drew tens of thousands of followers. To prove his identity, Ygor posted photos of himself with Rayna:

My daughter has died, and a woman named Ava took away her scripts. I demand justice.

Of course, there were thousands of women named Ava across the country, and no one could identify which Ava he meant.

Ava saw the post and felt a deep, cold disgust. Ygor was a puppet; this had to be Hendra’s doing. Hendra would stop at nothing to reclaim those scripts.

She had once felt a trace of pity for Rayna’s parents. Now, that pity withered. If they hadn’t been so blind, so cruel, their daughter might still be alive.

Her eyes turned icy.

While Ygor’s online campaign grew, Hendra called Ava again.

“Ava, I’m really sorry about all this,” he said, voice dripping with false sympathy. “Ygor is just… he’s in so much pain. Don’t mind what you’re seeing online. He’s acting out of grief.”

Ava almost laughed.

No wonder Rayna had chosen to jump. With monsters like Hendra circling, there was no safe way out.

He was methodical, strategic — picking victims from poor families, the ones with no safety nets, the ones whose parents would break their spirits and then hand them to him on a silver platter. Talented but terrified kids, desperate to please. He had always known how to pick them.

She had nothing more to say to him. Without another word, Ava hung up.

--- 

Meanwhile, the online news about Ava continued to snowball, quickly catching the attention of New York’s upper circles.

Who among them hadn’t heard of Ava? Rumors had long swirled that Alexander Vanderbilt had taken an interest in this remarkable young designer.

One of Alexander’s subordinates, trying to curry favor, called him in a hushed voice.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, Ava has made headlines. If people dig up her real information later, it could be disastrous. Should we have it taken down?”

Alexander, fresh from working late, was still wearing the same dark suit from the office, its white collar pristine, buttoned all the way to the top. He flicked the ash off a cigarette with a flick of his elegant wrist, the faint glow lighting the hard lines of his face. His eyes, sharp and cold, focused on the ceiling above as if lost in thought.

“Leave it,” he said flatly.

His subordinate paused, startled.

Alexander knew Ava had made a deal with Charlie. The fact that she was still breathing was already a testament to his tolerance.

And so the rumors churned on, unstoppable. Ygor, still consumed by grief, continued to fuel the flames, prompting more and more people to join in the hate.

The public’s insults toward Ava reached a fever pitch.

Hendra, meanwhile, felt a dark satisfaction bubbling in his chest as he scrolled through the hate-filled comments. It was perfect. Soon he’d be able to sell off those scripts, and no one could touch him.

He dialed Anita with confidence, eager to lock down his plans. Anita had backed him on two previous projects, both of which had made her thirty times her initial investment.

“Mr. Thoriq, I’ll trust you again,” Anita agreed breezily over the phone. “I’ll buy one of those scripts for five million, and I’ll invest a hundred million to produce the film. Let’s have another good collaboration.”

Hendra ended the call with a pleased grin, convinced Ava was completely powerless. If she had connections, someone would have erased that scandal by now.

In New York, money could move mountains — but only if you truly had it.

During dinner, his phone buzzed again. Seeing the name, Hendra immediately straightened his posture, respect lacing his voice.

“Mr. Reinaldi.”

Lucca Reinaldi, on the other end of the line, sat in a dimly lit bar. A swirl of neon lights played over his striking features. He’d overheard someone chatting about the news and decided to call.

“Mr. Thoriq, didn’t you say you’d send a student to Ava? Is that the student who jumped from the building?”

“Yes,” Hendra replied carefully, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. “I couldn’t stop it. The student passed the script privately to Ms. Morales, and now her parents want it back.”

Lucca’s expression darkened, a predatory glint flashing in his eyes. He ended the call without another word.

A woman leaning against him tried to hook his arm, pouting. “Mr. Reinaldi, stay in New York a bit longer, will you?”

He usually would have indulged her, maybe even kissed her, but thoughts of Ava tugged at his conscience. Annoyed, he pushed the woman away and strode out of the bar, throwing on his tailored coat.

The women behind him sighed in disappointment. Lucca was known to tip generously, and a single night could fill their pockets.

Ava, back at her office, was startled when Lucca’s name lit up her screen.

“Mr. Reinaldi,” she answered, surprised.

“Ava, has the online mess affected you?” His voice was smooth, but with a hint of uncharacteristic concern.

A faint smile curved her lips. “No, thank you.”

Lucca leaned against his car, tapping a finger against its sleek surface. “Why don’t you come to Vistalia for a while? Teach my sister to paint. I’ll handle everything here for you.”

Once, she might have considered it. But now, with E.A. Corporation depending on her, she couldn’t afford to leave.

“If your sister comes to New York, I’ll teach her for free,” Ava offered gently.

Lucca chuckled, half-amused, half-exasperated. “My sister’s a little princess. Everyone spoils her rotten — you might not like her.”

He sighed, then continued in a lower voice. “Ava, let me help take down the negative press. You only have to ask.”

She shook her head, her tone calm but resolute. “No need, Mr. Reinaldi. It’s all part of my plan. The more public attention, the bigger the fallout for Hendra when the truth comes out.”

Lucca fell silent, a faint admiration flickering in his eyes.

After they hung up, Ava immediately had her team apply for copyright registrations on the three scripts and investigate exactly which investors were tied to Hendra.

Ann soon reported back. “It’s Anita. She’s working with him again.”

Ava’s eyes darkened. Hendra’s arrogance — reaching out to investors before even securing the scripts — disgusted her. But if Anita was involved, she wasn’t worried. Anita was predictable, greedy, and easy to handle.

“Got it,” Ava murmured coldly, scrolling through the hateful comments still flooding in online.

[Ava is really shameless.]

[Why hasn’t anyone dug up her personal info yet? I’m dying to see who she really is.]

[She stole a dead girl’s work! God will punish her!]

She stood, calm as ever, and prepared to return to Le Châteauesque Manor.

Meanwhile, Ygor, his eyes bloodshot and swollen from days of crying, fired off yet another message online:

[That woman still refuses to return my daughter’s scripts. Shameless!]

Beside him, Lorna sobbed uncontrollably, waiting to bury Rayna in just two days.

--- 

The next morning, Ava quietly attended Rayna’s simple funeral. The atmosphere was somber and colorless, the early spring chill cutting through the thin black clothes of the mourners.

After the final prayers, she personally handed the three scripts to Rayna’s parents. Ygor shot her a cold, venomous glare, while Lorna’s eyes burned with blame and grief.

Ava, wordless, placed a delicate bouquet of lilies in front of Rayna’s photo, then turned to leave without another glance.

Moments later, Hendra arrived. Ygor immediately pressed the scripts into his hands as if passing off a burden he couldn’t bear.

“Mr. Thoriq,” Ygor said, voice hoarse with fatigue and grief, “these are Rayna’s scripts. She trusted you the most, and so do we. Please… show them to investors. Get them filmed. Keep her legacy alive.”

Hendra’s fingers trembled ever so slightly as he flipped through the first pages. His eyes glimmered — the story was pure Rayna: a masterpiece of taut suspense, an ingenious crime thriller destined for box office success.

Inside, Hendra wanted to cackle with triumph. Ava had caved under online pressure and surrendered the scripts. She had no clue how to handle the backlash.

But outwardly, he forced a grave, disappointed expression. Ygor, desperate, leaned closer. “Is something wrong, Mr. Thoriq?”

Hendra sighed theatrically, glancing at Rayna’s portrait with false sympathy. “Mr. Vega, let’s not discuss scripts at a funeral. If I speak about business now, Rayna’s spirit may never rest. I’ll try my best to find investors later, but I can’t promise anything. For Rayna’s sake, I’ll do what I can.”

Ygor looked crushed, while Lorna quietly sobbed at his side.

“Mr. Thoriq, thank you,” Ygor murmured, voice breaking. “Rayna troubled you so much… I hope this doesn’t cause you more hardship.”

Hendra patted his shoulder as if he were offering consolation, but his eyes were already shining with greed.

Few people attended the service. Rayna had been painfully quiet at school, living a life isolated from friends and support.

The funeral ended in a hush of drizzle and drifting incense.

When Ygor and Lorna returned home, the heartbreak sat heavy in the walls of their modest living room. And there, waiting for them like a ghost, was Ava, standing by their door.

The moment Ygor laid eyes on her, rage overtook him. He lunged for a broom, swinging it at her with shaking hands.

“You thief! Murderer!” he roared, voice cracking with pain. “Maybe you killed my daughter! Get out of here!”

Lorna tried to hold him back, but her eyes brimmed with equal hatred.

Ava stepped away from the broom calmly, staring at them, at their stubborn refusal to see their own mistakes.

Then she pulled a small recorder from her pocket. Its presence seemed to still the air.

“This is a recording Rayna left,” she said, her voice low, cutting. “I tried to help her, but she… she had an accident right after. Listen to what your precious Mr. Thoriq really is.”

She pressed play.

Rayna’s pleading voice broke through the silence, thin and terrified:

> “Mr. Thoriq, please, please don’t…”

“Why are you throwing up again? You’ve been raped so many times, and you’re still not used to it?”

“Please don’t do this…”

“Your parents trust me so much. Do you know what will happen if I tell them? Obey.”

The tape continued, punctuated with Rayna’s sobbing, Hendra’s sickening curses, and his cruel commands.

Ava’s eyes were cold as ice as she looked at the stunned couple. “That voice isn’t unfamiliar, is it? Rayna decided to jump after being slapped — did you know that? And then you invited this monster to her funeral? Aren’t you afraid of dirtying her path to heaven? You two are failures as parents.”

Her words sliced into them like knives.

Ava pulled out a folded letter. “This is from Rayna,” she went on, tone unforgiving. “She gave me these three scripts to protect them from Hendra, to destroy him. But when I tried to reach her, she was already dead. You controlled her so tightly — you should recognize her handwriting.”

Lorna ripped the letter from her hands, scanning the familiar scrawl. Tears poured down her face, wracking her body.

Ygor stood paralyzed, eyes blank, a man unmoored in grief.

Ava retrieved the letter, tucking it away. “And let me guess: Hendra told you to attack me online after Rayna died, didn’t he? Rayna trusted me to save her best work. You gave those scripts back to him, the same man who stole her TV scripts for years and kept every dime. You trusted him over your own daughter.”

Lorna collapsed to the floor, shrieking in agony. Ygor slumped like a broken puppet and fainted dead away.

Ava didn’t care. She had chosen this moment to shatter them because they refused to see their failures. It was a cruelty they deserved.

She turned and walked toward the door, her last words striking like a whip.

“Those three scripts will still find investors, but Hendra won’t share a cent with you, nor will he tell you the truth. If Rayna were alive, she would have been the greatest screenwriter of her generation. She was only nineteen.”

Nineteen. An age full of possibilities, stolen.

Behind her, Lorna’s anguished wails rose into the stale air. Ava ignored them. Rayna was already gone — no amount of crying could change that.

Lorna struggled to rouse Ygor, whose skin had gone ashen, and splashed cold water on his face until he came to. When he opened his eyes, the silence that fell between them was deeper, more desolate than death itself.

They had no more illusions left. Only regret.

--- 

By the next morning, they appeared slightly more composed—but their eyes still flickered with denial, clinging to a desperate, unraveling hope.

“Ava might’ve just been bluffing,” Ygor muttered, his voice low, uncertain.

“Rayna always respected us,” Lorna added weakly, though even she didn’t believe it anymore.

Their conversation was hollow, dry as parchment. Neither dared to shoulder the burden of their daughter’s death. They passed guilt between them like a hot coal, afraid to hold it for too long.

Then the phone rang. It was Hendra.

His voice, as smooth as ever, crackled through the receiver. “None of the three scripts were selected. I know this must be hard to hear... but I’m truly sorry.”

Ygor’s grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white. The memory of the recording Ava had given him resurfaced like bile in his throat—Hendra’s voice, Hendra’s betrayal. He wanted to punch something. Better yet, he wanted to punch Hendra.

But Hendra was untouchable. Too powerful, too protected. And that recording... it could never be made public. If it was, Rayna’s death would be dissected, twisted, debated by strangers.

People would say she’d seduced him.

Because that’s how this world works. In the court of public opinion, society always judges women first—and judges them cruelly. Rayna was already gone; they couldn’t let the vultures circle her memory too.

Ygor’s heart sank as he recalled his daughter quietly buying contraceptives on her own, shouldering shame that never should’ve been hers. Regret wrapped around him like a noose.

It was all Hendra’s fault.

Trying to steady himself, Ygor spoke into the phone. “Mr. Thoriq, since Rayna’s script wasn’t selected, please return it to us.”

But Hendra had already checked out. “The script was taken by the investors. They get thousands of submissions every day—impossible to track them all. If I come across it, I’ll send it back.”

Empty words. Thinly veiled excuses. He wasn’t going to lift a finger.

Lorna’s composure cracked. Her voice shot through the room like a whip. “You bastard! I swear, I’ll drag you down with me if I have to!”

But Ygor, eyes clouded and spirit fractured, had already ended the call.

Lorna turned on him, tears brimming. Her fury had nowhere left to go. All she could do was stare at the man beside her—the same man who couldn’t protect their daughter. The same man who hadn’t known what to say, then or now.

And together, they sat in their silence, drowning in sorrow they could no longer deny.

--- 

Author Note : this author is curious, does anyone remember this scene “I came to have an affair with you. Isn’t it thrilling?”?