* FREEBIE / NO PAYING * 2nd * Chapter 244 : would you even dare lay a finger on her?

Alexander was so furious his hands trembled, aching to unleash the same brutality on her that he’d shown those men in the elevator the night before. But he knew he couldn’t — not with her.

Did he really never like Ava before? That was hard to believe, even for him.

Half an hour later, Ava’s calm voice broke through his swirling thoughts.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, I made smoothie bowl with muesli, banana, and some berries. Come have some.”

To Alexander, her words felt like a poisoned apple offered by an evil queen.

He was still wearing last night’s white dress shirt, rumpled and stained with exhaustion, the suit jacket and polished shoes from before long since gone.

Ava set down a steaming bowl on the table and smiled faintly when he walked in. “Eat while it’s warm.”

He probably hadn’t eaten at all since whatever business had dragged him to that hotel, she guessed. Knowing he had chronic stomach problems, some smoothie bowl was the only thing in the house she could prepare.

Alexander sat down, his gaze heavy on the swirling steam from the bowl, then shifted to Ava.

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked, voice clipped.

“I’m not hungry,” Ava replied simply — she genuinely wasn’t.

The moment hung awkwardly between them. Alexander’s gaze darkened, his eyes bloodshot, fixed on her without blinking.

Suddenly, he scooped up a spoonful of smoothie and sliced banana and lifted it toward her lips. Ava, startled but resigned, leaned forward to take a bite — only for Alexander to pull the spoon back at the last second.

She shot him a frustrated glare. “Are you going to eat or not?”

If he wouldn’t, he could just leave.

“Do you really want me to eat?” Alexander asked, a strange edge in his tone.

“I made it for you,” Ava answered truthfully.

He stirred the smoothie slowly, as if searching for something at the bottom of the bowl. “Ava, what do you actually want?”

Ava rubbed her temples, an oncoming headache throbbing behind her eyes. “Mr. Vanderbilt, I want you to eat some breakfast and then leave.”

When she looked up again, she saw a flash of something pained in his eyes, something that made her chest tighten against her will.

It was just a bowl of smoothie, yet somehow it felt like she was sending him off to an execution.

“Ava,” Alexander called to her softly, “come here.”

She sighed, then stood and stepped closer. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face against her stomach, voice low.

“The dead don’t come back,” he murmured. “Don’t regret it.”

Ava stayed silent, unmoving.

Feeling the weight of her silence, Alexander’s heart sank. How could he have ever convinced himself she liked him? She didn’t.

Maybe she never had.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, if you don’t want the smoothie, then don’t eat it,” Ava finally said, her voice even.

Alexander looked up at her, bitter amusement in his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes.”

For a fleeting moment, relief washed through him — he wouldn’t have to swallow the bowl of heartbreak.

But then another thought crawled in, dark and ugly: Why had he felt like he was going to die if he did eat it? Would he really have let her poison him, if she wanted?

He shook his head sharply, disgusted at himself.

Ava glanced at the clock, trying to hold herself together. “Have Jonathan bring you some clean clothes. I need to leave for the office.”

Alexander gripped her waist tighter. “And what about you being my mistress?” he demanded, his voice like ice.

Ava gently pried his hands away, her calm composure never breaking. “Mr. Vanderbilt, I never told you, but I already have someone I like.”

Alexander’s fingers twitched, jaw tightening, and for a second he wished he could just choke down the smoothie and end it all.

His voice was a shade lower, humiliated. “Didn’t you just get divorced?”

“I didn’t love my ex-husband,” Ava replied plainly. “There has always been someone else in my heart. Our relationship wasn’t… ambiguous. I needed your help, and you offered your terms — ten times, wasn’t it? I accepted that deal. But I divorced my husband because I didn’t love him. That’s the only reason.”

She picked up her work bag, an elegant, neutral-colored tote, and paused for a moment. Sometimes she thought Alexander, who was ruthless in the business world, was like a lost boy emotionally — a boy who had never learned how to love.

Alexander was left speechless, staring after her in stunned silence. He had believed she left her husband for him.

He was wrong. So wrong.

Turns out it was just his own wishful thinking.

When Ava walked out, the quiet felt suffocating.

Jonathan soon entered with a set of fresh clothes and leather shoes, and Alexander changed without a word before heading to the hospital.

He sighed, fingers pressing into the bridge of his nose.

Last time, it was his heart that hurt.

Now, even his head was splitting apart. 

*

The doctor examined Alexander carefully and spoke in a measured tone. “Mr. Vanderbilt, your temporary amnesia stems from stress. Today’s events likely triggered the headache. You need to relax and avoid overthinking.”

Alexander remained silent, his expression cold and unreadable. But inside, his skull felt as if it were being relentlessly pounded by a hammer. His vision blurred, splitting into double images.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, please try not to dwell on upsetting thoughts,” the doctor urged gently.

But how could he not?

Who does Ava really like?

The question burned through him, making him clench his jaw. Damn it — if he ever found out who the other man was, he’d kill him with his own hands.

Last night, they had made love — and in the morning, she’d tried to poison him while claiming she loved someone else.

Was she faking it the entire time?

His mind spun, the pain crashing over him like a tidal wave until beads of cold sweat rolled down his temples.

Alarmed, the doctor tried to administer a sedative, but it barely took hold. Alexander’s body eventually gave out, and he lost consciousness altogether.

---

Meanwhile, Ava had arrived at her office, determined to check the day’s headlines. She had anonymously exposed Hendra for plagiarizing student work, expecting the authorities to take their time.

But Marilyn was already waiting with fresh news. “Ms. Morales,” she reported excitedly, “Hendra was arrested last night. He stole multiple students’ works, including the late Rayna’s. It’s all over the news. Apparently, Rayna was so devastated after he exploited her work that she took her own life. There’s solid evidence — he’s finished.”

Ava froze, caught off guard. She had intended only to leak the information and allow it to simmer, expecting a slow-burn investigation.

How did it wrap up so quickly? she wondered, frowning.

Her entire plan had been thrown off balance.

Without hesitation, she called Alexander, but it was Jonathan who picked up instead. “Ms. Alvarez,” he greeted politely.

“Mr. Potter,” Ava asked, voice level, “did Mr. Vanderbilt have anything to do with what happened to Hendra?”

Jonathan did not hesitate. “Yes, he asked me to handle it.”

Ava let out a quiet sigh, thanked him, and ended the call.

Jonathan wanted to ask if she and Alexander had quarreled again — likely the cause of his current headaches — but he swallowed the question. The doctor was still inside with Alexander, after all.

Ava pinched the bridge of her nose, processing everything.

Originally, she had intended to have Ruiz Star Entertainment push forward with “The Eye of the Storm,” which would boost E.A. Corporation by saving on marketing costs. But with Hendra arrested so quickly, she wasn’t sure if Anita, the producer, would still move forward with the script.

At noon, news reached Ava about Ruiz Star Entertainment’s stance.

“With Hendra arrested, are those scripts we bought from him also stolen student works?” a reporter had asked them.

Ruiz Star Entertainment had scrambled to issue a public statement:

> Our company purchased three scripts from Mr. Thoriq Hendra, and we confirmed they were his original works. We will proceed with production of “The Eye of the Storm.”

They even posted a screenshot of the payment to Hendra on their social media, trying to shield themselves from backlash. While some critics accused them of enabling plagiarism, most people reasoned that since they had paid for the scripts, they were free to use them.

Seeing this, Ava allowed a faint smile to touch her lips. “Marilyn,” she instructed calmly, “reach out to Anita. Tell her those scripts were also stolen. Warn Ruiz Star Entertainment that if they keep filming, there could be consequences.”

Ava knew Anita still had her personal contact number. A subtle reminder from her would shake them up.

But that wasn’t truly Ava’s goal. She wanted Ruiz Star Entertainment to keep promoting “The Eye of the Storm” and help E.A. Corporation save millions in advertising. However, she needed to build a paper trail now to shield herself from any future scandals.

If she stayed silent, E.A. Corporation might appear to have orchestrated the downfall of Ruiz Star Entertainment, damaging its own brand image. Ava was careful — she needed to protect both the company and her own interests. Having Marilyn send this reminder would serve as evidence later, proving she had done her due diligence.

With that, Ava leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing in determination. The chessboard was set — and she intended to win. 

---

As expected, Anita barely glanced at the message from an unknown number before deleting it.

Unfazed, Marilyn fired off another:

[Ms. Ruiz, we have purchased the script and all its rights. Ruiz Star Entertainment cannot legally produce it.]

Anita smirked at her phone. She’d already confirmed with Hendra that the script was stolen from a deceased student, but Hendra had sworn no one else had ever seen it.

[Get lost,] Anita snapped back. [Ruiz Star Entertainment owns the rights now.]

Marilyn replied sharply:

[Ms. Ruiz, we purchased the script first. If you insist on moving forward, you’ll bear the legal consequences.]

Anita scoffed.

[Ruiz Star Entertainment can handle it,] she wrote with a final flourish.

Ava, reading over Marilyn’s shoulder, sighed. “That’s enough screenshots,” she said calmly. “Let them go. Don’t contact Ruiz Star again.”

Meanwhile, Ruiz Star was pushing “The Eye of the Storm” all over social media, hyping it to the skies.

Ava remained unfazed. “Tell Ray to focus on shooting. I want the final cut finished as soon as possible. This is E.A. Corporation’s first show.”

Marilyn nodded, brightening as she thought about the new actress they had cast for the lead. “Ms. Morales, I believe in this project. Ray’s got a sharp eye. The actress may be new, but she’s talented. With good direction, this show will make waves.”

Hearing that, Ava finally felt some weight lift from her chest. At least one thing was moving in the right direction.

Later, as she was about to leave the office, a string of messages from Rachel popped up on her phone:

[When did you tick off Farah? She’s been trashing you in all those chat groups.]

[Now her friends are spreading rumors about you “seducing men.”]

[They’re saying vile things. The Valcrosse family is no joke, Ava. Be careful.]

Ava’s heart sank for a moment. The Valcrosse family was among the top five powerhouses in New York, and Farah, alongside her brother Colton, usually got anything they wanted.

It was clear Farah was still furious about the Alexei scandal.

A moment later Rachel called, worry ringing in her voice. “Ava, you really need to watch your back. Farah is ruthless. No one in those groups knows you personally, so no one’s defending you.”

Ava exhaled slowly. “Let her say what she wants. We’ll focus on the show. As long as the filming stays on track, I don’t care.”

But her mind was already turning toward something else: the living conditions of the artists under E.A. Ray was still crashing in a crumbling rental, refusing to use any production funds on himself.

New York’s rents were astronomical. Many young artists earned decent money, only to see it vanish paying for moldy, windowless basements.

If Ava could give them a better place to live, she knew it would boost morale and draw even more talent once the company built a name for itself.

She soon found the perfect option: a property about to hit the market.

The building was designed as employee housing, with about a hundred rooms, each around 550 square feet. Rent for the entire property was one million dollars per month—steep, but not outrageous considering New York standards.

Given the 300 million she’d just received from Charlie, Ava decided it was well worth it. These rooms, with proper management, could be a haven for her team.

For many artists accustomed to cramped, suffocating studios, a 550-square-foot clean, bright room would feel like paradise.

She did some quick digging on the developer: Yorker Realty Company, a giant among the country’s top three real estate groups.

Ava reached out through her network and soon dialed the company president.

“Hello, Mr. Tan? This is Ava Alvarez. I heard you’re about to open a new employee dorm building for rent?”

On the other end, Richie Tan was dealing with the ear-splitting shrieks of his daughter May, who was in tears over a fight with her boyfriend. The call was an unwelcome interruption.

“Who is this?” he snapped, annoyed.

“This is Ava Alvarez—the one who did the Manhattan Project renovation.”

“Ah… Ava Alvarez?” Richie paused.

May’s ears perked up when she heard that name. Wasn’t Ava Alvarez the woman Farah kept complaining about? The one supposedly “seducing men left and right”?

May quickly scribbled a note on a torn piece of paper and held it up to Richie:

[Dad, agree to it. I’ll handle her. I want to see her myself.]

Richie sighed. He spoiled May too much and usually cleaned up her messes afterward. “Yes,” he finally said on the call, “the building is for rent. One million per month. I’m surprised you got my number so quickly. I’ll have someone meet you.”

“Perfect,” Ava agreed. “I’ll be waiting in Suite 1001 at the Broadway Bar, 5 p.m. tonight.”

Richie hung up and turned to May, suspicious. “What are you scheming now?”

May’s eyes gleamed. “Dad, this woman is a man-stealer. I don’t want her trying to seduce Vincent, too. You know how much I love Vincent! If she goes after him, what will I do? I need to teach her a lesson!”

Richie shook his head. “Don’t go too far. Ava’s a big name. She handled the Manhattan Project, so she’s no nobody.”

May smirked, full of excitement, and grabbed her phone to call Farah and their friends.

*

Farah had caught wind that Ava was heading to Broadway Bar tonight and wanted to rent May’s apartment. A smug, almost predatory look crossed her face.

“May, no wonder you’re always cautious,” she sneered. “Alexei’s already obsessed with her, Victoria’s been thrown out because of her, and now she’s after every guy in sight. Vincent could be next. Let’s take her down tonight so she can’t show her face here again.”

Ava had no clue about their scheme. She had a 7 p.m. meeting and arrived at the bar, settling into a private room while rehearsing her words.

Meanwhile, Farah and her clique were brimming with anticipation. Farah, especially, was nearly giddy.

Colton, sitting in the living room reading the paper, noticed her excitement and frowned. “Where are you going?”

Farah was supposed to stay for dinner, yet she was already reaching for her coat.

“I have something to take care of,” she answered breezily.

Colton’s voice sharpened. “Stop chasing after Alexei all the time.”

“I know,” she dismissed, and left with a toss of her hair.

She climbed into her car, gripping a small jar of ointment with a cruel glint in her eyes. The ointment was specially made: if smeared on Ava’s face, it would cause horrific rashes for a month, maybe even leave permanent pockmarks. Without her beauty, Alexei would surely lose interest.

A slow, triumphant smile spread across Farah’s lips as she met May and the others outside Broadway Bar. Everyone was buzzing with excitement, especially Farah and May.

“When we get in, don’t say a word,” Farah instructed. “Grab her, hold her down, and we’ll each slap her ten times. Once she’s on the floor, I’ll put this ointment on her face.”

These women, spoiled socialites, weren’t as extreme as Victoria’s circle—at least they hadn’t brought acid.

Inside, Ava was waiting in private room 1001, going over her talking points for the meeting. Half an hour later, Farah, May, and four other women barged in. Ava raised a brow, immediately sensing the hostility radiating from them.

Farah stepped forward with a vicious snort. “Hold her down! Each of us will slap her ten times!”

May and another woman lunged forward.

Ava didn’t wait for them to touch her. She stood, calmly but coldly. “Ms. Valcrosse, is there really no end to your obsession with me?”

Farah’s face twisted. “Bitch! You seduced Alexei. If it weren’t for you, he’d be mine. I’m going to ruin your face, then you can kneel and bark like a dog to apologize!”

The others laughed mockingly, emboldened by Farah’s rage.

Ava’s expression darkened. She gripped her purse tightly, then suddenly swung it straight into May’s head.

May, pampered and unprepared, whimpered from the pain, tears springing to her eyes. Ava seized the moment to kick another woman squarely in the stomach. Chaos erupted.

“Bitch! Who told you to seduce men? Next, you’ll go after our boyfriends too! Beat her!” one woman screamed.

Ava, quick and unflinching, landed a kick to another girl’s knee, sending her crashing into the chairs. But there were seven of them, and they swarmed her in a frenzy.

Without hesitation, Ava grabbed Farah by the hair, slammed her face-first onto the table, and shattered a wine bottle against its edge. Holding the jagged glass inches from Farah’s eye, she spoke with lethal calm.

“Keep moving, and I’ll make you blind.”

The women froze in collective terror, their eyes wide, breaths shallow. Farah’s pupils quivered, unable to comprehend how close she was to true disfigurement. She could feel the sharp glass brushing her eyelashes, cold and merciless.

One woman screamed and hid her face.

“Shut up!” Ava barked, her voice a whip crack in the silence.

They fell silent instantly, trembling.

Farah slid off the table, her legs giving out beneath her, urine pooling beneath her feet. May, staring in horror, tried to help her up but recoiled from the sour smell.

“Farah… you…” she stammered, too shocked to finish.

Farah’s mind was a blur, tears streaming down her face, humiliated beyond repair. Ava, unbothered, pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of Farah’s soiled pants, capturing her disgrace in a single frame.

Farah collapsed fully onto the ground, sobbing.

No one dared to get close to Ava again. In that moment, they understood: if Ava had truly swung that broken bottle, Farah might never see again.

May, voice trembling, tried to salvage her dignity. “I’m from Yorker Realty. If you touch me, my dad will come after you, you devil.”

Ava’s cold gaze flicked over her, unmoved.

Seeing Ava’s icy composure, the rest of the girls scrambled to gather Farah, terrified and half-crying, and hurriedly fled.

When they returned home, the Valcrosse house was filled with relatives enjoying a warm family dinner. At the sight of the girls staggering in—hair matted, eyes red, clothes torn, and Farah reeking of urine—the entire room fell silent.

Colton’s sharp eyes landed on Farah, his face darkening. He didn’t even ask what had happened, too disgusted to bother.

Other relatives quickly gathered around. “What happened to you? Didn’t you just go out for a few hours? Why are you like this? And your pants—are they wet?”

Elders who had been chatting by the table froze, stunned at the spectacle.

The girls, feeling safe now, finally burst into tears, their sobs echoing through the house. Farah was the worst—her tears and shame mixed with an overwhelming stench that filled the air, her spirit completely broken.

No one had ever seen her look so pitiful. 

Farah’s mother, Georgina Valcrosse, who had always spoiled her daughter, felt her face darken the moment she saw Farah in such a wretched state.

She raised a hand and snapped at two servants nearby. “Take Farah upstairs. Draw her a hot bath.”

Farah, sobbing so hard she could barely catch her breath, stumbled away with the maids supporting her.

The rest of the family, who had been drinking and chatting comfortably just moments earlier, fell into uneasy silence. They all recognized that Georgina’s fury was never to be underestimated.

Forcing a polite smile, Georgina turned toward the girls who had accompanied Farah home. “Come in and sit,” she coaxed. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

The girls were still red-eyed and trembling, but they obediently sat down on the plush velvet sofa, clutching tissues as they tried to steady themselves.

May, voice shaking, finally broke the silence. “It was Ava. She’s always throwing herself at men, you know? We only went to talk to her tonight, to tell her to stay away from Alexei — we meant no harm. But she completely lost control. She fought us. She smashed a bottle, tried to blind Farah with the shards… it was terrifying. She’s a lunatic!”

At this, the girls began to weep again, their fear genuine.

Georgina listened carefully, her expression unmoved, and only after they had finished did she offer a gentle pat on the hand. “It’s alright. I’ll make sure you get the explanation you deserve. The driver will take you girls home.”

As they left, May kept glancing anxiously over her shoulder, clearly not at ease.

Georgina turned to her son, Colton, who was still nursing a half-finished glass of whiskey. Her gaze was cold and sharp. “Who exactly is this Ava?”

Colton considered his words. He’d seen the state Farah was in and knew the girls had likely provoked Ava, but still — Ava had clearly crossed a line.

“She’s Alexander’s interior designer on the Manhattan Project,” Colton replied. “There are… rumors he’s involved with her.”

Georgina’s lip curled with disgust. “A mistress, then?”

Colton shrugged faintly. “You could call her that. I doubt Alexander is serious about her.”

Georgina’s voice dropped to a low, furious growl. “Colton, I want you to find that woman and teach her a lesson. Farah must not be humiliated like this.”

Colton sighed, slipping on his coat. “And how far should I go, exactly?”

Georgina’s eyes burned with rage. “Did you hear what those girls said? Ava almost destroyed Farah’s face. If she’s so vicious now, what will she do next? Farah will never be safe if that woman stays around.”

Colton pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You should also keep Farah in check. Chasing after some man like that, doesn’t she feel any shame?”

Georgina drew in a sharp breath, clearly offended. “That’s no excuse for someone to raise a hand against the Valcrosse family! Go handle this.”

Colton shook his head, already resigned, and stepped out into the night. “Fine. I’ll deal with it.”

Sliding into the driver’s seat of his car, he lit a cigarette, the ember briefly illuminating the hard look on his face. Then he grabbed his phone and called Alexander.

At that moment, Alexander was just coming to, a doctor checking his vitals, while Jonathan stood nearby, looking concerned.

“Mr. Montague, how are you feeling?” Jonathan asked carefully.

Alexander leaned back against the hospital pillows, rubbing his temples, still fighting off the pounding ache in his skull. He noticed it was already evening, the windows outside cloaked in dusk.

His phone vibrated. Colton.

“Yeah?” Alexander answered, voice hoarse.

Colton got straight to the point. “Do you still give a damn about that Ava?”

Alexander frowned, his tone instantly sharpening. “Why?”

Colton exhaled a stream of smoke into the night air. “She attacked Farah. My mother wants me to make her pay.”

Alexander sat up straighter despite the pain, his eyes suddenly razor-sharp. “Colton, would you even dare lay a finger on her?”

Colton’s fingers hovered over his phone, a flicker of hesitation betraying his uncertainty. Alexander still cared about Ava — that much was painfully clear.

“She’s planning to ruin Farah’s face tonight. If I don’t step in, my mother will,” Colton warned.

Alexander’s reply was ice-cold, utterly unshaken. “Stay out of it. If you hurt her, you hurt me.”

Colton’s expression shifted, a glimmer of disbelief breaking through his usually stoic mask. Why does it seem Alexander cares about Ava even more after losing his memory?

“Alexander, are you serious?” he pressed.

Alexander swallowed a painkiller, his voice low and resolute. “I’m serious, Colton. For now, you can’t touch her.”

Colton exhaled, frustrated but resigned, and ended the call. Without another word, he phoned Georgina, telling her he wouldn’t interfere.

On the other end, Georgina erupted in fury, Farah’s muffled sobs echoing through the line. Farah was trembling beneath a thick blanket, her voice cracking with terror every time someone tried to comfort her.

“Farah, calm down,” Georgina pleaded, reaching out to soothe her daughter’s panic.

Farah only shrank further. “Don’t kill me! Don’t ruin my face!”

Watching her daughter unravel, Georgina felt her heart twist painfully. She couldn’t believe Colton refused to intervene. Driven by anger, she called Richie to explain what had happened that night.

Over at Richie’s home, May had arrived with tears streaming down her face, a swelling bruise on her forehead. Richie’s features tightened with rage.

“I’ll handle that designer myself,” Richie decided, his tone cutting through the tension like a knife.

Business-minded and assertive, Richie was not a man who tolerated disrespect — especially not when his daughter was involved. Seeing May so distraught made something in him snap.

At nine that evening, Richie arranged to meet Ava in a café. Ava, still running errands and not yet home, headed straight there.

She arrived to find Richie waiting, immaculately dressed in a tailored suit, every inch the image of polished authority. His eyes briefly widened with surprise at how striking she was in person — but the moment passed, replaced by a steely, unyielding glare.

“Ms. Alvarez,” he began coolly, “did you hit my daughter?”

Ava’s voice was calm, unflinching. “Mr. Tan, I was surrounded by several people that night. I had no choice.”

Richie’s tone sharpened. “I’ve never laid a hand on May, not once in her life.”

“And if I hadn’t fought back,” Ava replied evenly, “I would have been beaten by a group of people. Mr. Tan, I thought you wanted to discuss business.”

Richie studied her, noting how her demeanor was neither timid nor arrogant, but composed, almost indifferent. It amused him, in a way.

“Ms. Alvarez, I’m reasonable,” he said, swirling the coffee in his cup. “If you apologize to May and she feels satisfied, I’ll consider what you asked for.”

He made it sound so polite — but the message was crystal clear: no apology, no business.

Ava stood up slowly, the faintest trace of fire in her gaze. “First of all, I’m trying to rent a property from Yorker Realty, not begging for charity. You didn’t offer me a discount, so if you don’t want to rent to me, I’ll find someone else. Threatening me won’t change my mind. Looks like we’re done here.”

Richie’s eyes flicked outside the café window, catching sight of Marilyn waiting in the car. A sly smile crept over his face.

“Marilyn,” he mused, tapping the table, “her boyfriend is Vincent Burke, isn’t he?”

Ava froze slightly, confused. She’d never bothered to ask Marilyn for details about her boyfriend.

Richie chuckled, his tone turning sinister. “My daughter is chasing after Vincent. You know that?”

Ava’s jaw tightened, a slow burn of anger rising in her chest. “You know he has a girlfriend, yet you let your daughter go after him?”

Richie lifted a shoulder, utterly indifferent. “So what? They’re not married. Even if she gets Vincent, who says they’ll wed? My daughter likes excitement. She’ll date him for a few months, then get bored and move on. That’s just how she is. I don’t interfere, as long as she’s happy.”

He took another leisurely sip of coffee. “Vincent just got promoted at Yorker Realty, and is engaged. If May takes him away now, imagine the blow to your driver, Marilyn. Think carefully about whether you really want to refuse my offer.”

Ava’s lips parted, stunned. It was a thinly veiled threat — apologize to May, or watch Vincent get stolen away by a rich girl’s whim.

Richie stood then, buttoning his jacket with a composed, elegant gesture. “In this world, Ms. Alvarez, you’ll learn the hard way. Some people are simply born above others.

“May has parents who love her and a powerful family. She doesn’t have to work like you do. Her allowance alone might be more than you could ever earn. Her face —” he paused, a sneer forming “— is not something you can touch.”

Without waiting for her response, Richie strode away, leaving a faint trail of expensive cologne lingering in the air.

Ava stood frozen for a long moment, a bitter taste in her mouth, before she finally turned to leave the café, shoulders heavy with exhaustion.

--- 

Marilyn immediately noticed something was off in Ava’s expression and asked gently, “Ms. Morales, are you feeling alright?”

Ava shook her head, forcing a faint smile before sinking back into the car seat. As the engine rumbled to life, she turned to Marilyn, her voice low. “Marilyn… is your boyfriend Vincent Burke?”

Marilyn blinked in surprise. She was sure she’d never mentioned his full name. “Yes,” she replied carefully.

“You’ve been with him for seven years?” Ava continued, a quiet intensity in her tone.

Marilyn’s face softened, breaking into a sweet, hopeful smile. “Yeah. I even took time off recently to get engaged. We bought a small place together — didn’t tell his parents yet. His mom wanted us to move in with them, but I just… couldn’t. I convinced Vincent to buy a new place, even if it’s tiny. We split the down payment, a million each, on a thirteen-hundred-square-foot home.”

Marilyn paused, then added sheepishly, “I had to borrow half a million from some friends to make my share.”

The way she spoke, a faint smile lingering in her eyes, made Ava’s chest ache.

She was only twenty-three. How hard must she have worked to save that much money, at such a young age?

Ava pressed her fingers to her temples, a throbbing headache forming. She heard Marilyn ask worriedly, “Ms. Morales, you really don’t look well. Are you sick?”

Ava did feel unwell. She was torn — if she apologized, it might ruin Marilyn’s engagement. But if she didn’t, May would torment her, and Farah’s mother might make things even worse.

Marilyn drove on, oblivious to Ava’s turmoil.

When they arrived back at Ashbourne Manor, Ava’s phone began to ring. Charlie. She let it go unanswered.

Moments later, Richie’s name appeared on the screen. She ignored that, too. Then an unfamiliar number popped up, relentless. With a sigh, she finally picked up.

A cold, steely female voice came through the line. “I’m Farah’s mother. Are you Ava?”

Three calls from powerful figures in a row — Ava felt her patience snapping.

She ended the call without replying, threw on her coat, and headed straight for the hotel where Alexander was staying.

But when she arrived, the front desk manager gave her a sympathetic look. “Mr. Vanderbilt already checked out, Ms. Morales.”

It was like someone had swung a hammer at her chest. Her ears buzzed, her vision dimmed. Without a word, she turned and walked outside.

Snow was still falling, heavy and silent, covering the world in bone-deep cold. She wandered along the roadside, numb, for nearly an hour without realizing how far she’d gone.

A horn blared nearby. She turned her head dizzily to see Alexander’s familiar car pulling up, its headlights slicing through the snowy gloom.

He’d just been discharged from the hospital. The sight of Ava, shivering, hair wet, coat clinging to her shoulders, made his brow crease. He leaned out and honked again. “Get in.”

Ava staggered over and climbed in, half-frozen.

Alexander tossed a soft blanket toward her. “Dry your hair,” he ordered.

They drove through the storm, finally stopping in front of Manhattan Villa.

She’d designed every line and detail of this place, yet it was the first time she’d actually stepped inside since the project was finished.

Alexander glanced around, satisfied. “Jonathan told me you were the designer here. Not bad. I canceled my hotel — I’ll stay here from now on.”

Inside, he opened a cabinet, retrieving a pair of white women’s slippers and setting them before her. “Put these on.”

The floors were warmed by radiant heating, and she could feel the gentle heat rising around her. Seeing Alexander squatting down, ready to help, she hurriedly removed her shoes herself.

She was startled, though — the slippers fit perfectly.

As she looked around the villa, she noticed the strict security measures in place. Nothing could slip past without Alexander’s permission — not even a mosquito.

She caught sight of the pair of matching black men’s slippers next to hers, clearly designed as a couple’s set.

Alexander sprawled lazily on the living room sofa. “Why’d you go looking for me at the hotel?”

Ava’s gaze drifted around the beautiful interior she’d designed — the polished marble floors, the soft lighting, the cozy ambiance — all of it now overshadowed by a sense of helplessness.

She remembered why she had come.

Those powerful families breathing down her neck, May’s threats, Farah’s mother’s icy scorn — it was too much. She’d come hoping Alexander could shield her.

She hated that she needed him.

Alexander, lighting a cigarette but not yet bringing it to his lips, eyed her. “What’s the matter? Changed your mind about my proposal?”

Ava stayed silent, wrestling with her pride.

He pulled her closer with a low laugh. “What, someone bullied you again and you can’t handle it? Finally learned you have to run to me?”

She clenched her fists, forcing the words out. “Yorker Realty’s Richie… and the Valcrosse family.”

Alexander’s expression darkened. Those were powerful names.

He lifted her chin with two fingers. “You’re really something. One woman, offending all the major families in Silver Bay? What are you thinking?”

Ava lowered her eyes, voice flat. “They came after me. I’m just defending myself.”

Alexander’s arms tightened around her. “You’ve got feelings for someone else but still end up coming to me. Not afraid you’ll betray him?”

Ava’s eyes glistened. “He’s gone.”

Alexander stilled. “He left you?”

“He died,” she whispered.

Something shifted in his face, then he hugged her more fiercely. Dead? That meant no rival to compete with. In a twisted way, he was relieved.

Snow continued to fall outside the tall windows, the world beyond turned white and silent.

For a moment, Ava felt a strange sense of surrender. She’d been pushed around, insulted, cornered — Richie’s threats, Farah’s mother’s scolding, May’s games.

Maybe Alexander really was the only shield she had left.

Yet the thought made her feel filthy, as if she were selling herself.

She tried to pull away, shame burning in her chest, but Alexander gripped her wrist tightly.

His eyes were cold, his voice steady. “You regret it now? Too late. You walked into the lion’s den on your own — I’m not letting you leave so easily.”

“How did you manage to offend the Valcrosse family?” Alexander asked, his tone calm but edged with curiosity.

“I hit Farah,” Ava replied bluntly.

Alexander raised an eyebrow, surprised but not shocked. It was entirely her style.

“Farah’s mother, Georgina, spoils her beyond belief,” he explained, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Farah’s been a brat all her life. Anyone who crosses her pays for it, courtesy of Georgina. That woman won’t let this slide.”

In other words, against Georgina’s influence and resources, Ava’s little tricks would be meaningless.

“So what do I do now?” Ava asked, a note of quiet anxiety in her voice.

Alexander traced his thumb lightly along her fingers, toying with them as if savoring the feel of her skin. “Didn’t I already make you an offer?” he murmured.

He leaned closer, close enough that she could feel his breath warm on her neck. “Besides,” he added in a teasing whisper, “you don’t hate being with me, do you? You like it rough, Ava… even if you can’t say it out loud.”

A flush rose to Ava’s cheeks. It was true — she did like how he handled her in bed, though she’d hardly been with many men and was still embarrassed to admit it.

Alexander smirked, sensing her tension. He nipped lightly at her fingers, a wolfish grin on his face. “I like it that way, too,” he murmured. “Don’t you think we’re a good match?”

His teasing sent a small shiver running from her fingertips straight to her heart.

Seeing her guard finally slip, Alexander scooped her up effortlessly and carried her into the master bedroom — the largest and most meticulously decorated room upstairs, a space that echoed his sharp, almost cold taste.

In the very villa she’d designed, she found herself laid down on the bed by its owner. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

It was Alexander’s first night in this villa — and neither of them had expected to share it.

Ava lay stiffly on the bed, unsure how to act. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.

But there was only silence.

When she opened her eyes again, she found Alexander still standing by the bed, looking down at her with a playful, taunting expression.

Her face turned hot with shame.

Moments ago, she had refused him, even told him she had feelings for someone else — yet here she was, offering herself up. The thought made her feel cheap, hollow.

But against people like Richie and Georgina, what choice did she have?

Alexander reached down, grabbing her wrist and placing it over the buttons of his crisp shirt. “Help me take it off,” he ordered softly.

Snapped back to the moment, Ava fumbled awkwardly with the buttons, her hands trembling, taking an eternity to undo even one.

Alexander sighed in frustration, grabbing her hands. “Weren’t you married? How can you be so clueless about this?”

His harsh tone stung, making Ava shrink away, ready to retreat.

But he pulled her back roughly. “Damn it, do you even know how to be a mistress? You should be proactive. Or do you expect me to serve you?”

His words cut like a knife. Ava felt them burn through her chest, humiliating and raw.

She didn’t want to hear more, so she forced herself to rise on tiptoe and kissed him, clumsily but sincerely.

Alexander’s expression softened in an instant, his frustration dissolving. “That’s more like it,” he murmured against her lips.

One hesitant kiss was all it took for him to seize control, as he always did.

He lifted her effortlessly and carried her to the windowsill, where the snow was drifting in through a crack in the window, delicate flakes swirling around them.

The cold air stung against her flushed skin, while the heat of the room wrapped around them like a cocoon. It was a heady collision of ice and fire, and in that charged moment, Alexander held her close.

“Ava,” he whispered roughly, “it’s settled, then.”

Her eyes shone, half-dazed, about to respond — but he moved suddenly, and all she could do was cling to him, overcome by sensation.

Alexander was relentless that night, and by the time he finally set her back down on the bed, dawn was breaking across the sky.

Thinking she had fallen asleep, he quietly stepped onto the balcony to make a call.

Ava’s lashes fluttered open, her body aching and weak, the soreness blooming with every breath.

She heard his low voice through the half-open balcony door.

“I’ll get rid of her when I’m tired,” Alexander was saying, calm and casual, “but I’m not tired yet.”

Ava’s heart seemed to freeze in that instant. She lay back down, her face pale.

The physical ache in her body twisted into something much deeper and darker, pooling in her chest.

She stared up at the ceiling, her eyes blank, even as she heard the balcony door creak open and felt him step back into the room.

Quickly, she shut her eyes, pretending to sleep.

*

Alexander stepped outside for a smoke, the cool dawn air biting at his skin. Afterward, he brushed his teeth, the mint lingering on his tongue as he returned to bed.

His phone buzzed — a call from Cornelius. The old man’s voice was rough, demanding to know if Alexander had a “steady woman” outside. Alexander had laughed it off, assuring him there were no marriage plans for Ava, nothing serious. Cornelius scolded him with a few harsh words, then hung up, leaving Alexander alone with his thoughts.

He lay on his side, tapping Ava’s delicate nose with a finger. Was he truly belittling her? He studied her sleeping face. Such a beautiful woman, sharp and unyielding — how could he not take her seriously?

With a faint sigh, he gathered her into his arms, letting the calm rhythm of her breathing pull him into sleep.

At six in the morning, Ava stirred. She hadn’t slept all night, thoughts churning restlessly until she reached a conclusion. Alexander wanted her body; she wanted his power. It was a fair trade, nothing more, nothing less.

As she tried to slip away from the bed, his hand shot out and caught her wrist. “It’s Saturday. Sleep a bit more,” he murmured, voice still rough from sleep.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, I have things to do today,” Ava replied, her tone polite but distant.

Alexander opened his eyes, taking in the faint bruises and bite marks scattered across her skin. His gaze darkened with possessive heat.

“Take off the blanket,” he ordered, his voice dangerously low.

Ava hesitated, then took a deep breath and flung the blanket aside. The marks trailed from her neck all the way down, a map of their night together. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, color rising in her cheeks.

Alexander pulled her back against him, satisfied in a primal, unspoken way. “From now on,” he murmured, “no one else touches you.”

He didn’t want to dwell on her past. But the thought of another man laying a hand on her? Unacceptable.

Still half-trapped under him, Ava felt the weight of his gaze.

He coaxed gently, “Other men won’t care if you’re comfortable, you know.”

Alexander wasn’t gentle, but he was skilled — he always made sure she reached her pleasure before taking his own. After learning what she liked, their last two encounters had left her more than satisfied. Naturally, that satisfied him, too.

Because of those words, Ava felt a strange ache bloom inside her. Held by him, her gaze grew hazy.

That was what Alexander wanted — that soft, half-surrendered look.

He leaned closer, brushing his lips against her ear. “Where do you want to be kissed?”

The question ignited a spark inside her, but she pushed him away, breathless. “I really have things to do today,” she insisted.

Reluctantly, she got up, dressing by the bedside while Alexander’s dark eyes roamed over her body, tracing every inch like a connoisseur.

How could someone be so perfect, he thought, as if she was made just for me.

Ava adjusted her blouse, then met his eyes, her voice husky but careful. “Mr. Vanderbilt.”

He noted the rare softness in her tone, so unlike how she addressed others, and it sent a current of satisfaction through him. “What is it?”

“About the Valcrosse family and Yorker Realty?”

Of course. After giving him her body, she’d come to collect her price.

“I’ll call Richie,” Alexander agreed. “But the Valcrosse family isn’t so simple to deal with.”

If it were, he thought, she wouldn’t be here asking for my help.

He knew Ava well — ruthless and calculating outside the bedroom, tough as any man.

She let out a small sigh of relief. Richie was her immediate concern. If she could handle him first, at least Yorker Realty wouldn’t block her from getting employee housing.

“If the Valcrosse family makes trouble,” she added carefully, “you’ll help me, right?”

Alexander reached out and patted the space beside him. “Come here.”

She hesitated, then stepped closer.

His hand snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “If you satisfy me,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear, “I’ll handle everything.”

This jerk, Ava thought, but she forced a coy smile. “Mr. Vanderbilt, I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.”

Men, no matter how high and mighty they seemed, were all beasts once they’d claimed the woman they wanted.

After she left, escorted out by one of the house staff, Alexander stretched back on the bed, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

The pillow still held her faint perfume, sweet and lingering.

The first night in the new house, he mused, felt pretty damn good.

--- 

When Alexander met up with Hugo and Colton, the first thing they noticed was his unusually good mood.

Hugo’s sharp eyes quickly picked up on a faint hickey peeking out from beneath Alexander’s shirt collar. Without missing a beat, he reached over and tugged at the collar with a teasing grin.

“Who did you sleep with last night?” he asked, eyebrow arched.

Alexander barely hesitated. “Ava,” he replied.

Hugo didn’t even look surprised, only slightly amused. What truly intrigued him was that even with Alexander’s partial amnesia, his desire for Ava seemed undiminished.

“Alexander,” Hugo said, voice tinged with a note of wonder, “are you actually in love with her?”

The question sent a hush through the room.

Alexander stiffened. He was only just starting to figure out what it meant to like someone, and now Hugo was throwing around the word love?

He shook his head quickly. “No,” he denied, though the faint heat rising in his chest betrayed him.

Hugo laughed softly, knowing full well that none of them truly understood love — not the kind ordinary people dreamed about.

Colton changed the subject, cutting in with a practical tone. “Did Victor check your head? Any idea when your memory will fully return?”

He needed Alexander back to normal — there was still Marken’s case to investigate, and Alexander’s missing recollections were a critical piece of the puzzle.

“It shouldn’t take long,” Alexander said calmly. “It’s just the compounding of two head injuries. I’ll recover.”

Colton accepted that answer with a resigned nod. He’d been investigating alone for months, and a little more waiting wouldn’t break him.

After leaving the villa in Manhattan, Ava had gone straight to the office to work late.

With Yorker Realty no longer an option, she had to search for new resources to house their artists. The dorms needed to be organized before the web series launched, or no one would be willing to sign with E.A. Corp, no matter how many benefits they promised.

She had just pulled up a property listings site on her computer when her phone buzzed. Georgina.

She’d ignored the woman’s call the night before, and she knew Georgina had probably been seething with rage ever since.

When the line connected, Georgina’s icy voice sliced through. “Are you looking for trouble, Ava?”

Farah had cried all night, humiliated, her eyes swollen from shame. After replaying everything, she remembered Ava had taken photos of her in that humiliating state. If Ava spread those images, her reputation would be ruined forever.

Sobbing and furious, Farah had begged her mother, “Mom, you have to get those photos back! If they leak, I can’t live. I’ll kill myself!”

Though Georgina was outraged that Ava had dared to hang up on her, she had held back from sending men after her immediately. But now, hearing Ava’s calm, unbothered voice, all that pent-up fury came rushing back.

“You think you’re brave? Delete those photos of Farah from last night, or you won’t be able to handle the consequences,” Georgina threatened coldly.

Ava felt her patience snap. Georgina’s overbearing arrogance was so typical of the rich — the way they believed the world revolved around their whims.

Richie had that same quiet malice, while Georgina came right at you, all claws and fangs.

“What’s it worth to you, Mrs. Valcrosse?” Ava asked coolly.

Georgina’s eyes sharpened in an instant. If Colton hadn’t told her Ava was only a designer, she might have believed this woman came from money herself — who else could keep such a steady tone in the face of the Valcrosse family’s threats?

“Ava,” Georgina hissed, “if you don’t listen, you’ll find out the hard way.” Then she hung up without another word.

She slammed the phone down, her chest heaving. Farah, still trembling with dread, looked up at her. “Mom… is it fixed?”

“Don’t worry,” Georgina assured her. “I’ll find a way.”

Farah, terrified of seeing those photos surface, was too scared to even look at her own phone. She called Colton next, voice thick with tears. “Colton, please… get those photos back from Ava. If they go public, I can’t survive it.”

Colton pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He knew Alexander planned to take Ava to an art exhibition that evening, one showcasing paintings he wanted for the new house. Practically every socialite in town would be there.

Alexander had phoned Ava that morning, telling her to join him in picking out pieces for the walls.

Left with no other choice, Ava had handed over the dorm project to Marilyn, delegating a team to manage it while she prepared for the event.

--- 

At six o’clock sharp, Ava stepped into the grand venue on Alexander’s arm, a striking figure in a black spaghetti-strap dress that hugged her elegant silhouette. It was their first official event together. In the car earlier, Alexander had tried to kiss her, but she’d gently pushed him away, determined not to ruin her carefully applied lip gloss.

Together, they exuded a cool, detached presence, commanding attention the moment they crossed the threshold. Guests paused, conversations fading for a moment to watch the powerful pair make their entrance.

Inside, the hall glittered with opulence. Crystal chandeliers spilled light like waterfalls, and the walls gleamed with gilded moldings. The intricate lighting lent the place a cold, sophisticated glow. Luxury cars outside still choked the street, a testament to how prestigious this international art event had become.

Ava lifted her chin slightly, catching Alexander’s attention with a subtle gesture toward a painting. “Mr. Vanderbilt, shall we start with that one?” she suggested.

Around them, nearly thirty priceless paintings were on display, masterpieces that drew an elite crowd of international collectors and socialites.

But before Ava could say more, she noticed a group of sharply dressed men waving Alexander over — business partners, no doubt.

Alexander leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. “Don’t stir up any trouble. Wait for me here,” he instructed in a voice edged with warning. To him, Ava seemed to have a knack for attracting trouble like a magnet.

She nodded obediently, watching him stride away toward the side garden.

Left alone, Ava turned her attention to the art. As she approached the fourth painting, she noticed a group arriving — Farah among them, clinging to Georgina’s arm. Farah looked ghostly pale, shrinking behind her mother the moment she spotted Ava.

“Mom, it’s her — that’s Ava,” she whispered, fear thickening her voice.

Georgina glanced over, her eyes narrowing into a predatory glare as she clocked Ava’s serene expression. “Ava?” she called, striding forward.

Ava turned slowly, her voice calm and polite. “Mrs. Valcrosse.”

Georgina’s lips curled into a scornful sneer. She looked Ava up and down with open disdain. “You’ve cleaned up nicely tonight, I see. But no matter how well you dress, the stench of poverty still clings to you. Do you really belong here?”

Farah cowered behind her, too terrified to even look at Ava.

Suddenly, someone tapped Farah’s shoulder, making her jump with a shriek that turned every head in the room. Mortified, she spun around to see May standing there, next to a young man with a calm, refined face.

“May, you scared me to death!” Farah gasped.

May arched a brow. “Why are you hiding here?” she asked, glancing over at Ava, then at the young man beside her — Vincent. Seeing Vincent showed no interest in Ava, May visibly relaxed.

Meanwhile, Georgina continued to circle Ava, like a lion baiting a gazelle. “Haven’t we met before?” she asked, tapping a manicured finger against her wineglass.

Ava’s heart sank slightly. Georgina’s face was familiar, though she couldn’t place her right away.

Georgina’s eyes sparkled maliciously. “A few years ago, at a New York University event. You remember, don’t you? A girl ran out from backstage looking a complete mess. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Ava stiffened, her stomach dropping.

Years ago, New York University had invited several powerful donors, including Kirill, to an awards event. Ava, chosen for her grades and looks, had been asked to present flowers — but Kirill had lured her backstage and tried to assault her. She’d escaped, disheveled and humiliated, and rumors had flown.

Georgina clicked her tongue, grinning cruelly. “Oh, I remember now. You were that desperate student who couldn’t wait for a tryst backstage. Pathetic.”

Ava’s silence only emboldened her.

“No wonder you ended up seducing some other man. What happened, dear? Did the guy you slept with not pay you enough, or did his wife catch you?”

Ava’s shoulders tensed, but she refused to rise to the bait, turning instead to look at the next painting on the wall.

Georgina, furious at being ignored, grabbed a glass of champagne and hurled it at Ava. The golden liquid splattered across Ava’s dress, but a column blocked the scene from the rest of the guests.

Georgina was ready to deliver another scathing insult — but before she could, a splash of red wine exploded across her own face, drenching her in front of the priceless art.

Ava stood there, unflinching, glass still in her hand. She had tried to endure, tried not to stir up trouble. But if Alexander had promised to deal with her problems, why not push back a little?

“Mrs. Valcrosse,” Ava said evenly, “if you like splashing drinks so much, you should try it on yourself. And about Farah’s little photo — if I’m ever in a bad mood, I might just share it around. Let’s see how the Valcrosse family handles that shame.”

Georgina stood frozen, red wine dripping down her expensive gown, her expression a mask of rage.

Nearby, a hush fell as people began to notice the commotion.

Georgina’s voice rose to a shriek. “You filthy—! Bodyguards! Throw her out, now!”

Immediately, several men in black suits moved forward to grab Ava.

But before they could even touch her, a cold, commanding voice cut through the air.

“I wasn’t gone long,” it drawled, “and you’re already causing trouble again?”

The crowd parted in deference, making way for Alexander as he strode back inside — eyes fixed on Ava with an unreadable, icy expression. 

Alexander strode up to Ava, his presence powerful enough to quiet the murmurs around them. Taking out a pristine white handkerchief, he gently wiped away the wine dripping from her face. His fingers brushed her jaw with a tenderness that made her heart skip, even in this humiliating moment.

Then he turned toward Georgina, his gaze sharpening into something cold and lethal. “Mrs. Valcrosse,” he asked, voice cool and cutting, “what exactly did Ava do to offend you?”

Georgina stepped back, rattled. Colton hadn’t warned her that Alexander truly cared for Ava — enough to protect her so openly. Flustered, she tried to recover her composure, her voice brittle. “Alexander, who is she to you?”

His smile vanished, replaced by an unyielding stare. “Mrs. Valcrosse, my personal affairs are not yours to question.”

The guests, who had been buzzing with curiosity, fell silent at his commanding tone and subtly backed away.

Ava, cheeks flushed, used the handkerchief to dab at her neck, but it wasn’t enough to soak up the glassful of wine Georgina had thrown. As she tried to clean the sticky streaks trailing down her collarbone, a second handkerchief appeared before her, offered by a man wearing a mask.

Ava looked up, startled. The man was tall and carried an air of refined mystery. His tailored suit suggested he belonged at the event, but the mask left everything else unreadable.

For a moment, Ava hesitated. Before she could accept the handkerchief, Alexander pulled her firmly behind him, eyes narrowed in a fierce, possessive glare at the stranger.

Who wears a mask to an event like this? Alexander thought darkly. Who knows what he’s plotting?

The masked man regarded Ava for a moment longer, studying her face as if trying to memorize it, then dipped his head slightly in a polite, silent greeting before turning away and disappearing into the crowd.

Alexander’s jaw tightened. His grip on Ava’s hand was almost punishing as he lowered his voice, the words hot and raw against her ear. “Who the hell is that man?” His tone was sharp enough to cut. “Don’t lie to me.”

Ava blinked, flustered. “I don’t know him.”

Alexander’s dark gaze drilled into hers, filled with suspicion and barely controlled jealousy. “You don’t know him? Then why did he offer you a handkerchief? Why did he look at you like that?” His next words came through clenched teeth. “Ava, don’t you dare fall back into those old habits.”

Her heart sank. Old habits? She had no idea what he meant, and her innocence only frustrated her more.

Before she could defend herself, Georgina’s voice interrupted them, laced with anger. “Alexander! She drenched me in wine too, and you’re just going to let this go?”

Alexander turned to her, gaze utterly unmoved. “Mrs. Valcrosse, didn’t you throw your own wine at her first?” He spoke with a cold detachment that left no room for argument. Still holding Ava’s wrist firmly, he added, “I need to talk to Ava. We’re leaving.”

Without waiting for a reply, he practically dragged Ava away, ignoring Georgina’s shocked, humiliated trembling.

Georgina’s mind spun in disbelief. Alexander is actually disregarding our families’ ties for this woman?

What she didn’t know was that Alexander’s memory loss had wiped away any sense of social alliances. Names and relationships were nothing but empty words to him, a handful of facts memorized with no true emotional weight.

They reached the restroom, where Alexander shoved the door open and pulled Ava inside. He pressed her against the cold tile, his hand clamped firmly around her waist as if he might lose her if he let go.

Without another word, he crushed his lips against hers.

The kiss was far from gentle. It was fierce, searing, desperate — a claim, a punishment, and a plea all at once. His tongue invaded her mouth with a scorching heat, tangling with hers until she had no breath left to argue, no strength to resist.

Ava whimpered against his lips, her hands instinctively pushing at his chest, but he only deepened the kiss, tasting the faint tang of wine still lingering on her tongue. His grip around her waist tightened, dragging her closer until every inch of her was pressed against his powerful frame. 

His lips parted from hers for a secone and she could only stare, lips still tingling, heart hammering painfully against her ribs. Before she could respond, his mouth claimed hers again, this time slower, yet no less hungry, his tongue tangling with hers in an unhurried, relentless dance, drawing out the kiss until her knees threatened to buckle. 

As he drew back, breathless, his forehead rested against hers. The kiss had stolen every word from both of them, leaving only the ragged rhythm of their breathing in the stillness.

Her mind was a hazy swirl, and the chill she’d felt upon entering the room had vanished entirely, replaced by an almost unbearable heat. 

He looked down at her, eyes dark and smoldering, his voice low and rough. “Don’t ever make me doubt you again.”

Ava could barely catch her breath, her lips swollen and glistening, her heart hammering so loud she was sure he could hear it.

And in that moment, she realized she could neither escape him nor fight him — not when his touch set her entire world on fire.

Ava’s mind was a hazy swirl, her senses muddled by the suffocating heat that seemed to have devoured every trace of the earlier chill. Outside the restroom, the hallway was alive with hushed gossip — rumors that Alexander had fallen out with the Valcrosse family over a lover. Little did anyone suspect that the very people at the heart of those whispers were hiding inside this tiny, dimly lit bathroom.

Alexander gripped Ava’s waist and lifted her, his kiss deep and overwhelming until she was gasping for air. The scent of alcohol clung to him, sweet and heady, making her dizzy.

A sudden knock rattled the bathroom door, followed by a cautious voice. “Is someone in there? Who closed the restroom door?”

Startled, Ava tried to push him away, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. Alexander reluctantly let her go, though a smudge of red still clung to the corner of his lips. She reached out to gently wipe it away with her fingertip, her heart hammering.

For a moment, he studied her in silence, his gaze sharp yet unreadable. “Why are you involved with Yorker Realty Company?” he finally asked, his tone low.

Ava steadied her breathing. “I’m looking to buy a building for employee dormitories,” she explained, her voice steady despite the chaotic thud of her heartbeat.

Alexander lifted an eyebrow, clearly uninterested in the finer details, and instead began to play with her fingertips. “Stay with me tonight,” he murmured, “and I’ll have Jonathan give you the building tomorrow.”

Ava’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected him to respond so swiftly — or so bluntly. “I need a building with about a hundred rooms,” she clarified, carefully, “each around 650 square feet. The one Yorker Realty is selling fits those requirements.”

Alexander’s lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile. “Keep me happy for the rest of the month, and the transfer papers will be yours tomorrow,” he countered without missing a beat.

Ava swallowed hard. Of course she had known leaning on Alexander could be a shortcut — but hearing it spelled out so plainly still left her off-balance. She lowered her gaze, unable to form a reply before he pulled her into another possessive embrace.

The knocking outside grew louder, breaking the moment. Alexander’s expression darkened, and he set her down, adjusting his sleeves as if nothing had happened.

“I still have to meet a few business partners later,” he told her, his voice regaining its usual icy calm. “Stay away from the Valcrosse family. I’ve already spoken to Richie. Find a quiet spot and wait for me — don’t make any more trouble.”

Ava nodded silently, her heart still racing.

As Alexander opened the door, a woman waiting outside nearly jumped in shock, covering her mouth when she recognized him.

Alexander acted as if she were invisible, striding past with regal indifference. Ava followed a few steps behind, heat rising to her cheeks at the awkwardness of being caught.

*

Back in the grand hall, the art exhibition carried on in full swing. Guests flowed through the space, voices mingling with the soft music, but Georgina was nowhere to be seen. Following Alexander’s suggestion, Ava retreated to a quiet corner, away from the curious stares.

Yet the whispers still clung to her like a shroud. Small groups had formed, talking behind their hands, shooting her glances brimming with speculation. Ava pretended not to notice, her expression serene, but when she turned slightly, her eyes landed on a familiar pair—May and Farah—seated on the opposite side of the velvet sofa.

Farah, catching Ava’s gaze, visibly flinched and shrank behind May like a child hiding from a monster. The memory of the wine bottle—its jagged glass nearly slicing Farah’s eye—was clearly burned into their minds, making Ava a figure of dread.

May, too, looked uneasy, but she held on to her source of confidence: Vincent, who sat beside her. She clung to his arm as if staking a claim.

“Vincent, that woman over there,” she spat the words out with a sour twist of her mouth, “she’s nothing but a slut. Sleeping around with men, acting all high and mighty. Don’t be fooled by that face.”

Vincent, who had been momentarily struck by Ava’s beauty, quickly tore his gaze away at May’s biting tone. Everyone admired beauty, after all—but Vincent was still new to this glittering, cutthroat social world, and nerves made him cautious. He forced a calm demeanor, remembering the pride that came with graduating from a top university, even if he had no powerful family backing him.

“She’s… not bad,” Vincent replied vaguely.

May’s face lit up with smug triumph. So what if Ava was more beautiful? Vincent didn’t seem drawn to her, and that was victory enough.

Ava watched the pair for a moment. She recognized Vincent from the photo on Marilyn’s phone—he was unmistakable. So he really came here with May? Ava mused, arching a brow. Is he still serious about Marilyn, then?

She took out her phone, intending to snap a picture, but it rang before she could tap the camera. Marilyn’s name flashed on the screen.

Ava answered at once. She had asked Marilyn to pick her up tonight, but since Alexander had offered to take her out afterward, she no longer needed the ride.

“Ms. Morales,” Marilyn’s voice came through the line, breathless and faint. “I’m sorry… I might need to take the night off.”

Ava immediately felt concern. “What happened?”

Marilyn’s voice trembled. “I… I have bad menstrual cramps. I was on my way to get you, but the pain got so bad I had to pull over.”

“Where are you? I’ll come find you,” Ava offered without hesitation.

“No, Ms. Morales,” Marilyn insisted, her voice tight with pain. “I just want to go home and rest.”

Ava sighed, understanding. Some women had cramps so severe they could faint, and Marilyn had always been the type to push through quietly. Ava respected her privacy.

“Okay,” Ava agreed gently. “Take care of yourself.”

Marilyn ended the call, curling up in the front seat of her parked car, her body shivering with pain. She clutched her phone in her clammy hands, debating whether to call Vincent. Finally, she did.

Vincent felt his phone buzz and stiffened, his pulse jumping. He pushed May away without warning.

“May, I need to take this call,” he said sharply.

May’s fingers tightened around his sleeve. “What, you still haven’t dumped her? Are you kidding me? My dad said if you stay with me, you’ll gain so much more. Don’t embarrass me.”

Vincent’s face darkened. He didn’t want anyone knowing he was hoping to ride on May’s connections. “May, let go.”

“No!” May snapped. “If you can’t tell her, I will.” She lunged for his phone, her nails grazing his skin. Vincent’s heart nearly stopped in panic as she tried to snatch it away.

He yanked the phone free and stood abruptly. “Enough.”

Ignoring May’s screech of protest, he stormed off, leaving her fuming on the sofa, pounding the cushions in frustration as the chatter of the exhibition carried on around her.