* FREEBIE / NO PAYING * 2nd * Chapter 246

After Alexander left, Ava slumped against the back of the leather seat, completely spent. Her limbs felt weak, as though they’d been drained of every ounce of strength. The interior of the car still carried the heat of their passion, his scent clinging to the air, making her cheeks flush all over again. The subtle tremors running through her body hadn’t yet faded.

She tugged at her rumpled dress, trying to compose herself before stepping out. As soon as she opened the car door, a blast of cold night air struck her, snapping her back to reality — reminding her, almost shamefully, that they had just been reckless in a car parked barely a stone’s throw from the villa.

She let out a soft groan, covering her face with a hand for a moment before gathering herself and walking toward the villa entrance. A servant opened the door politely. Ava didn’t recognize the staff here very well, so she simply nodded in greeting and quietly climbed the stairs to the master bedroom.

She’d broken into a sweat during their earlier entanglement and now needed a hot bath to wash away the stickiness clinging to her skin. Warm steam rose around her in the tub, easing the strain from her body and mind.

Later, sprawled on the bed with damp hair fanned across the pillow, she remembered Marilyn’s earlier call and redialed.

Marilyn had already returned from the hospital, having regained consciousness shortly after arriving. The doctor had prescribed her some painkillers, and thankfully, it was nothing serious. Marilyn was back in her modest rented apartment, surrounded by familiar things, which put her oddly at peace.

“Ms. Morales?”

“Marilyn, how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Marilyn replied, her voice gentle. “I think I was just exhausted. I’m home now, resting.”

Hearing Ava’s genuine concern warmed Marilyn’s heart. After hanging up, she looked around the small apartment — a place she and Vincent had painstakingly furnished together. It wasn’t much, but it was theirs.

Her previous jobs had meant constant travel, but working for Ava had let her stay in New York more permanently. She and Vincent had even bought a house, though it wouldn’t be ready for another year, so they’d gotten engaged and planned to marry once they moved in.

Though still weak, Marilyn forced herself to tidy up the place and changed the water in a small vase on the table before lying back down. Vincent had been working overtime recently, both of them pushing hard to meet the mortgage payments.

A small smile found its way to her lips. Happiness, she thought, could really be found in the simplest things.

Then her eyes landed on a business card she’d shoved into her bag earlier. Before she’d collapsed at the wheel, someone had rear-ended her car, and she’d nearly blacked out. She couldn’t let that slide.

Determined, Marilyn dialed the number on the card. When no one answered, she tried again, more insistently this time.

Colton, meanwhile, had just dropped Farah back at the Valcrosse home, where family drama had erupted yet again. His phone buzzed repeatedly with an unfamiliar number. Irritated, he finally answered.

“What is it?”

A crisp, no-nonsense female voice shot through the line. “Sir, you hit my car today. I’ll text you the compensation details. If you need to discuss it in person, please call me first.”

Colton blinked. For a moment, a memory of the woman slumped over her steering wheel came back to him, though it had been too dark to see her clearly.

He didn’t immediately reply, which only made Marilyn’s tone sharper. “Sir? Are you planning to avoid responsibility?”

Colton scowled, annoyed. “How much?”

“Two thousand dollars. I’ve checked with the repair shop,” she said briskly. “I’ll send you my account details.”

Before he could say more, Marilyn hung up and fired off her bank details. Colton, unwilling to waste time arguing, transferred two hundred thousand dollars instead.

Marilyn gawked at the alert on her phone but quickly transferred the extra money to Ava, then arranged for the repairs.

Meanwhile, Ava was glancing at the clock. One in the morning — and Alexander still hadn’t returned from his supposed meeting. Not that it surprised her. He’d pulled plenty of all-nighters before, but she still found herself wondering.

Just as she stepped out of bed to get a drink, she ran into Jonathan, who was carrying a folder.

“Ms. Alvarez,” he said formally, handing it over, “this is from Mr. Vanderbilt.”

Ava took it, flipping through the documents. Her eyes widened.

Inside were deeds for a plot of land downtown — prime New York real estate that had been auctioned off years ago. She hadn’t known Alexander had quietly bought it. The site was part of a beautifully designed community with only three small buildings, each floor hosting four units of around 650 square feet. The location boasted excellent public transport and was managed by a prestigious property company.

It was, simply put, a dream home for any New Yorker.

Ava stared, thunderstruck. “He… he’s just giving this to me?”

Jonathan nodded, expression unreadable. “Mr. Vanderbilt wants you to sign here.”

Ava hesitated, fingers trembling slightly. “Jonathan, what’s the going rent for a place like this now?”

He paused, calculating. “Roughly ten million dollars a month.”

Her chest tightened. She shook her head. “I can’t. Tell Mr. Vanderbilt I’ll rent it for ten million a month. If I ever decide to buy it, I’ll do it on my own.”

Jonathan was momentarily stunned. Most people would have signed instantly, but Ava refused the easy path.

“Very well,” he said with a respectful nod, collecting the documents and heading out.

Ava watched him go, sinking back onto the bed. The offer was generous beyond belief — and a reminder of how deeply Alexander could entangle her if she wasn’t careful. 

*

Ava made her way to the office, her steps lightened by the knowledge that the housing issue had been resolved. Once Ray’s screenplay launched, E.A. Corp would finally be on an upward trajectory.

At her desk, she noticed Marilyn had already prepared and neatly arranged a stack of documents beside her.

“Ms. Morales,” Marilyn began, “these are the acting students graduating from the New York Film Academy this year. The top talents have already been signed by other companies. We managed to shortlist three, but to be honest, their looks are a bit limiting. This guy,” she pointed, “seems too straight-laced — he’s probably only suitable for traditional hero roles. And these two girls just don’t give off a leading-lady vibe.”

That was the brutal reality of the industry. No matter how stellar someone’s acting skills were, if they didn’t have the right look for a lead, audiences would tear them apart. These kinds of students were always a hard sell, given how narrowly they could be cast.

Ava flipped through their profiles, then asked Marilyn to pull up their student performance videos. As she watched, her fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the polished wood of her desk.

Finally, she looked up. “Get in touch with this guy. His looks might typecast him, but his acting has real spark. As for the two girls — their range is too limited, and their performances didn’t impress me.”

Marilyn nodded and was about to leave when Ava called her back.

“By the way, how are things going with you and your fiancé?”

The question caught Marilyn off guard, and a rare flush of pink bloomed across her cheeks.

“It’s going well,” she answered, flustered. “Vincent’s always been hardworking. He graduated from NYU, and I just went to a regular college.”

New York University was top-tier, whereas Marilyn’s school was, by comparison, quite ordinary. She had always needed to fight twice as hard to get where she was.

Ava hesitated, debating how to broach what she knew. Was Vincent really worth all that effort?

“Your fiancé works for a company affiliated with Yorker Realty, right?” Ava asked gently.

“Yeah, but it’s not directly owned by them — they just hold shares,” Marilyn clarified.

That meant Richie could easily influence Vincent’s future. If Vincent were tempted to leave Marilyn for May, he’d have no housing worries. Temptations like that were hard to resist — and Vincent was already involved with May.

Ava’s heart twisted; she didn’t know how to break that kind of truth to Marilyn. Seven years together was a lifetime. How many seven-year chances did a woman get?

“Marilyn, you should keep an eye on him,” Ava advised softly. “His promotion means he’ll be exposed to more complex, and dangerous, kinds of people.”

Marilyn offered a small, sincere smile. “Ms. Morales, I know. I confessed to Vincent when I was fifteen — he was tutoring at our house back then. After all these years, I know who he really is.”

Ava wanted to argue, to warn her, but swallowed the words. Some truths were too painful to believe until you saw them with your own eyes.

Men were experts at putting on a show. Some dropped the act as soon as they were married. Others waited until their wives had children. Once they felt they’d secured you, they no longer bothered with the performance.

Later, when Ava was the last one left in the office, she finished sorting through the morning’s documents in silence, the lamp casting a faint glow over her thoughtful expression.

*

During her lunch break, Ava slipped into a nearby fast-food spot, hoping to grab a quick bite. But just as she stepped inside, she spotted Vincent. He was with a woman in her fifties who clung to his arm a little too closely, clearly staking her claim.

Ava had no intention of getting involved, so she turned to leave — but in that moment, the woman backed straight into her, sending half a cup of hot coffee splashing down Ava’s pants.

Ava was willing to let it go and walk away, but the woman seized her sleeve with sharp, lacquered nails. “Hey! Are you blind? You spilled my coffee — you better buy me another one!”

Ava frowned, trying to stay calm as she turned to face her. The woman wore an exaggerated scowl, her eyeliner thick and fierce, her makeup painted on like a mask. She stepped closer, reeking of cheap perfume and rage. “What are you staring at? Don’t just stand there! Do you know what my son does? Once he marries into a rich family, he’ll be rolling in money!”

Vincent was still at the counter, arms full of takeout bags, watching the whole scene play out.

Ava calmly pulled a napkin from the dispenser and began blotting the coffee off her pants. “You bumped into me. If anything, you owe me for ruining my clothes.”

The woman’s face twisted in outrage, and she raised her hand as if to slap Ava. Ava caught her wrist effortlessly. “Ma’am, could you calm down?”

The woman practically vibrated with fury. “You think you’re better than me because you have money, huh?!”

By then, Vincent hurried over, balancing the food awkwardly. “Mom, what happened?”

His mother pointed a scolding finger inches from Ava’s face. “This girl has no manners! I tell her she messed up, and she talks back!”

Vincent recognized Ava immediately — Marilyn had mentioned her, and May had badmouthed her endlessly. He stepped between them, trying to defuse the tension. “Ms. Alvarez, just apologize to my mom, okay?”

Ava nearly laughed, the ridiculousness of the moment too much. Vincent’s fake calm was paper-thin; he was practically sweating under the pressure. Around them, curious onlookers gathered, eager for drama to spice up their lunch hour.

Ava didn’t want to argue. She quietly asked an employee if they could check the surveillance camera footage instead.

Vincent, eager to escape, tried to soothe his mother. “Mom, I’ll buy you another coffee, okay? There are rude people everywhere — let’s not waste time. I have to get back to the office soon.”

His mother rolled her eyes and hissed, “You’re lucky today!” before grabbing Vincent’s arm and stomping toward the exit.

As they walked away, Ava overheard the woman grumbling, “Marilyn got a promotion, huh? Her college was a joke — how’d she climb the ladder so fast? Sure, she’s making money now, but she’ll never have real family money. You’d better keep May in the picture, Vincent.”

Vincent looked awkward and resigned, a textbook mama’s boy, silently nodding along.

Ava followed at a distance, headed back to the office. When the woman caught sight of her again, she snapped, “Why are you following us?!”

Vincent tried to smooth things over, “Mom, maybe she works in the same building. Don’t overthink it.”

The woman shot Ava a nasty look, but stomped into the elevator anyway. Ava stepped inside too, pressing the button for the top floor.

Vincent’s face tightened. “Ms. Alvarez, are you following us on purpose?”

Ava looked at him flatly. “Is this elevator yours?”

The woman’s mouth twisted with fury, as if she’d explode. “Bitch! You think you’re something? My son is about to marry into money, and soon everything in this building will be ours! How much do you make working for someone else? At best, you’ll be like that bitch Marilyn!”

Ava couldn’t help but feel a cold chill imagining Marilyn marrying into this nightmare of a family.

Just then, the elevator chimed and opened onto the top floor.

Vincent, seeing a group of staff members watching, straightened up. “Mom, let’s just deliver the food and go. We might run into the boss up here.”

Sure enough, Marilyn’s office was on this floor, and plenty of employees were peeking over from their desks, eager for gossip.

The woman quieted down but kept grumbling under her breath as she followed Vincent out of the elevator.

Marilyn spotted Vincent the moment he stepped through the doorway, and she practically darted over.

“Vincent,” she called out, her voice warm.

Vincent was about to respond when Marilyn turned back toward Ava. “Ms. Morales, the documents for this afternoon’s review are on the conference table. Once you give the green light, I’ll forward them to the higher-ups.”

Ava nodded, catching the shift in Marilyn’s expression — a faint unease, mirrored by Vincent’s awkward demeanor.

Vincent looked torn, fidgeting with his keys as if trying to swallow the moment. “Marilyn, is she your…?”

Marilyn jumped in before he could finish. “This is the president of our company, my boss,” she clarified briskly. Then she forced a polite smile. “Vincent, did you both come up together?”

Vincent felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. Ava had definitely heard him talking with his mother earlier, and she’d surely seen him cozying up to May at that art exhibit. His chest tightened, a cold sweat creeping across his back.

The woman next to him — May — looked equally tense, suddenly very aware of her surroundings, her eyes darting around.

Sensing the tension, Marilyn asked, “What’s wrong?”

Ava smiled coolly, catching the subtle embarrassment in May’s posture. “Nothing, Marilyn. Is this your fiancé?”

Marilyn nodded with a touch of shyness, cheeks coloring, especially since this was Vincent’s first time bringing her lunch at work.

“Yeah, Ms. Morales. If we’re making the upstairs staff uncomfortable, I’ll take them down to the break area,” Marilyn offered, flustered.

“No need,” Ava replied calmly, shifting her gaze to May. The other woman, who had seemed so smug not long ago, was now visibly uncomfortable, wringing her hands.

She had not expected Ava to be so young, let alone the president of such a formidable company. That, on top of having overheard Marilyn scolded by this woman, left her completely off-balance.

May had come tonight intending to flaunt a show of closeness with Vincent — to push Marilyn into feeling insecure and to make sure Marilyn clung tightly to Vincent, just in case May’s own relationship with him fell through. But Ava’s unexpected presence had thrown all those calculations straight into chaos.

Ava gestured toward the lounge next door. “Let’s sit down. No need to stand around — I could use a coffee, too.”

Marilyn quickly ushered Vincent and May inside.

As May sat, she couldn’t help glancing around the elegant lounge, subtly absorbing the luxurious furnishings and floor-to-ceiling windows. She had been just a country girl once, marrying a man from New York City who happened to do business in her town. That marriage had pulled her out of small-town poverty and into city life, but education and a secure career had always been beyond her.

Opportunities in New York abounded — but only for those with the skills to seize them.

Her only sense of pride came from Vincent, who had graduated from NYU and landed a managerial role. They had scraped together enough for a small house, just paid off the mortgage, and her dream was for Marilyn to marry in so she could help ease the family burden. But then Vincent had caught the eye of a wealthy man’s daughter, and May had seen her carefully balanced plan starting to unravel.

She shot Vincent a nervous look. “That woman overheard everything. Is that okay?” she hissed.

Vincent felt a surge of guilt. He still cared about Marilyn, but he hadn’t fully made up his mind to leave her for May.

May’s luxury circles had dazzled him, and though he’d grown addicted to the wealth and glamour, Marilyn’s quiet strength and loyalty still weighed on his conscience.

He felt sick to his stomach thinking about what Marilyn might do if she ever learned the whole truth. He should feel bad for betraying her, but instead, a simmering irritation rose inside him.

If she made a scene, he’d lose face.

On the other side of the table, Marilyn set down a cup of coffee in front of Ava, her eyes flickering with worry. “Ms. Morales, I’ll go talk to them,” she offered quietly.

Ava felt a sudden ache in her chest for this girl — a woman who had loved a man for seven years.

She sighed inwardly, then warned gently, “Your future mother-in-law doesn’t look very fond of you.”

Marilyn managed a small, hopeful smile. “A little bit, yes. I was busy with work and didn’t have time to get closer to them. It’ll get better, I think,” she said, eyes shining with innocent optimism.

Ava felt that brightness like a blade through her chest.

She hesitated before finally speaking. “I saw your fiancé at the art exhibit… with another woman,” she said delicately, hoping Marilyn might pick up on the hint.

But Marilyn only smiled, unwavering. “Oh, that’s one of his clients. Vincent works in sales — he often has to entertain clients to close deals. It’s part of the job,” she said, brushing it off with a kind of naive faith that made Ava’s heart twist.

A woman in love, Ava thought, was truly blind.

Any more words would be wasted. Ava decided to let Marilyn find her own way to the truth.

“Alright,” she finally said, resigned, “you can leave work early today.”

Marilyn’s face lit up like a lantern, gratitude radiating from her in every pore. She turned and left, shoulders light with joy.

Watching her retreat, Ava sighed deeply, her coffee cooling between her hands. 

---

By 8 PM, Ava clocked out right on the dot. As she stepped out of the warm office building into the bitter evening cold, a sudden thought made her pause — Alexander hadn’t contacted her all day.

He had promised to stay close for the whole month. Knowing him, he wouldn’t just vanish without a word.

Frowning, Ava pulled out her phone, scrolling quickly through her notifications. No missed calls, no unread messages, nothing from him.

Unease prickled at her. She hesitated for a moment, then dialed his number.

The call connected, but it wasn’t Alexander’s deep voice on the other end — it was Jonathan’s.

“Ms. Alvarez,” Jonathan greeted politely.

Ava’s brows knitted together. “Mr. Potter, where’s Mr. Vanderbilt?”

“Mr. Vanderbilt’s on a business trip this week, back next week,” Jonathan explained evenly. “His flight’s later tonight, but he asked me to pass along a message. He’d like you to get Manhattan Villa ready for his return. Next week is Christmas.”

The word Christmas jolted her like a splash of icy water. Right — Christmas was coming.

But who did she plan on spending it with?

She had already cut off the Morales family, her uncle in Charleston was a closed chapter, and Shelley was going home to the Harper family.

She realized, with a dull ache in her chest, that she’d been avoiding this question.

But now, knowing Alexander wanted her to prepare the villa for the holidays, a strange warmth began to pool inside her. At least she wouldn’t be alone while everyone else celebrated.

No wonder everyone at work had seemed so cheerful lately, buzzing about gifts and parties.

“Understood,” she replied softly, and hung up.

Ava stayed frozen for a moment, staring out the car window where snowflakes fell steadily, clinging to the windshield like tiny glass beads. When was the last time Christmas had meant anything to her?

When James was still alive, going back for the holidays only meant facing Beatrice’s biting sarcasm. She used to hide at school, signing up for any extra classes to escape.

After she started working, she’d thrown herself into overtime, anything to avoid sitting through a picture-perfect family dinner where she felt like an outsider.

She hadn’t bought gifts in years, hadn’t even hung a single decoration.

With a small sigh, she pulled out her phone and searched for Christmas shopping ideas, then steered the car toward the mall.

She wandered through aisles glowing with holiday cheer, overwhelmed by the gaudy reds and greens, the rows of fake Santas, twinkling lights, and glossy gift wraps. Eventually she picked out a sheet of cute Christmas stickers — then stopped cold.

Would Alexander really want cartoon reindeer in that elegant, luxurious villa? Probably not.

She stood there for a moment, feeling silly, then walked out of the mall empty-handed, the cold air biting at her cheeks.

Sitting back in the car, she rubbed her temples, already dreading Alexander’s reaction if she came back with nothing. Finally, she let out a long breath and decided to go back in, at least to grab something halfway decent.

But just as she stepped through the entrance again, a familiar silhouette froze her in place.

Cordelia. 

Cordelia looked worn and hollow-eyed, her face tight with bitterness as she struggled through the chaos of her divorce from Donovan. Donovan, refusing to even face her, had been hiding behind lawyers, leaving Cordelia more desperate by the day. When she spotted Serena in the mall, her eyes gleamed with a sharp, toxic light.

In her mind, all of this — the failed marriage, the humiliations — was Serena’s fault.

“Serena!” Cordelia barked, striding forward with the momentum of a battering ram.

Serena flinched, afraid Cordelia would create a scene right there by the sliding glass doors, and instinctively turned toward her car. But Cordelia was quicker, grabbing Serena’s wrist in a steely grip and jerking her back. With her other hand, she pointed to a pastel-colored baby boutique across the way, its window decorated with holiday garlands.

“Serena, are you still clinging to Alexander like a parasite?” Cordelia hissed. “You will never be good enough for the Vanderbilt family. How many times do I have to drill that into your thick skull? Look over there —” She gestured at the shop, her voice dripping with acid. “You lost a child for him. Did he even care? Look at that store full of baby things — do you think he’ll ever give you that kind of warmth?”

The words stabbed straight through Serena, freezing her on the spot. Cordelia didn’t have to scream curses this time. The unvarnished cruelty of the truth was more brutal than any insult.

Cordelia smirked, twisting the knife deeper. “Christmas is coming, Serena. Who are you spending it with this year? Most of your family is dead, and Alexander isn’t going to play happy husband for you. If it weren’t for the Vanderbilt family propping you up, your Morales company would have collapsed years ago. You’re nothing but a leech, always feeding off us. You bitch!”

Her voice cracked with rage. “If it weren’t for you, maybe my marriage wouldn’t have ended up like this!”

Then, unable to hold back, Cordelia began to sob, her voice shredded raw. “You filthy woman — losing one child wasn’t enough? You still want to stay with him? You really think Alexander would ever be a good father? He’d just make you lose another one!”

Her voice shook violently. “Alexander feels nothing! That monster — if I’d had any sense, I would’ve strangled him in the crib. Now that I’m divorcing his father, he can’t even spare a glance at me. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anyone. Maybe he was even behind Marken’s death — that way he could swoop in and steal everything!”

Her words tumbled out in a bitter frenzy. Cordelia was unraveling, and Serena could only stand there, a quiet target for her pain.

Serena’s voice was hoarse as she managed, “Mrs. Vanderbilt, Alexander is still your son. How can you talk about him like this?”

Cordelia’s eyes flared, dark and burning. “So what if he is? That monster! I’m divorcing his father and he doesn’t even blink. You think he cares about family? About loyalty? He’s ice, Serena. A cold, heartless machine. And you — you’re a fool if you think you’re any different to him.”

Then Cordelia laughed, a cruel, broken laugh. “You really are shameless, just like your whore of a mother. Do you even remember what it felt like to lose that child? If Elena could see what you’re doing now, she’d crawl out of her grave to slap you. My precious son — toying with the daughter of that whore Elena, making her lose a child, then tossing her aside!”

Elena.

Serena’s breath caught, like a needle straight through her chest. Elena — the one figure she had once respected more than anyone, even if they weren’t related by blood. Elena had been her moral compass, the only true warmth in her childhood.

Elena’s voice echoed in her memory, soft yet firm:

“Serena, if you value your future, you will never destroy your body for a man. Men can come and go, but your health is yours alone.”

But Cordelia’s venom had ripped that fragile memory apart.

Serena’s pulse hammered in her ears, pain surging back through her like a tidal wave. The heartbreak of losing her child — a grief she had tried to bury deep, so deep she almost forgot how it felt — suddenly rose up again, crushing.

Cordelia kept spitting venom, pacing, clutching her coat tight around her as she ranted. “My son is so clever, isn’t he? Sleeping with the daughter of a whore for free, not even taking responsibility! He’s exactly what the world deserves!”

Serena couldn’t move. Her legs felt rooted to the marble floor, while Cordelia’s scorn flayed her raw.

By the time Serena blinked again, Cordelia had disappeared, leaving nothing behind but a whirlwind of bitterness and despair.

Serena stood there, alone, swallowing hard against the burn in her throat. The shimmering decorations in the shop window seemed to mock her.

She had no desire to continue her errands. Instead of driving to Manhattan Villa as she had planned, she turned her car around and went straight back to Le Châteauesque Manor.

There, she slipped into the shower, letting the steaming water cascade down her shoulders, but even its heat couldn’t wash away Cordelia’s hateful words.

When she finally lay down on her bed, her mind kept replaying every syllable, every vile twist of Cordelia’s tongue, until all that remained was pain — a hollow, aching pain that refused to fade.

--- 

As Ava turned off the lights, the quiet of the room was interrupted by her phone ringing. Alexander’s name lit up the screen.

“You didn’t go back to Manhattan Villa?” his voice came through, low and questioning.

Ava glanced around the dim space and answered with cool indifference, “No.”

“Why not? Did you get the decorations?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong? Bad mood?”

“No.”

Their conversation felt painfully dry, the words between them thin as paper.

Alexander, lying alone in a hospital bed, felt a wave of frustration wash over him. The fever that had been dogging him had finally broken, yet the moment he called Ava, her voice was distant, detached.

“Ava,” he warned, his tone dark, “if I come back and this house doesn’t feel like Christmas, you know how I’ll deal with you.” Then, with a snap, he ended the call. The frustration burned in him for a week straight.

On Christmas Eve, Ava remembered Alexander was coming home. In a rush, she ran out to the mall to grab some Christmas stickers. She’d been so tied up with recruiting new staff for her company that Christmas had completely slipped her mind.

Jonathan called to say Alexander would be back that night, jolting her into action. She only managed to put the stickers up an hour before she heard the engine of a car outside.

Ava sank onto the sofa, eyeing the table crowded with dishes the staff had prepared, and closed her laptop.

Alexander stepped out of the car, scanning the villa with a sharp gaze. Nothing had changed. His mind had built up a picture on the drive home — a glowing Christmas tree, strings of lights, something to soften the cold edge of the house.

He’d never celebrated Christmas properly before. Marken’s accident had happened around the holidays, and every year since, Abigail and Cordelia had been left weeping, their grief casting a shadow over the season. When Marken was alive, everything revolved around him anyway. Alexander had been in the military, where Christmas barely registered as a day at all.

But seeing the cheerful holiday decorations in other people’s homes on the way back had reminded him just how empty his own felt.

His anger simmered.

He keyed in the door code, flung the door open, and saw Ava emerging from the living room. She wore a simple cotton dress, and a small, polite smile curved across her lips. “Mr. Vanderbilt, you’re back.”

His eyes darted toward the untouched dishes on the table — had she actually waited for him to eat?

He was supposed to have arrived an hour earlier, but a doctor had insisted on tending to his injuries again, delaying him.

“Yeah,” Alexander answered, voice clipped.

Ava moved quickly to take his coat, trying to hide her own sense of guilt as she hung it on the rack.

Alexander scanned the room again. It looked almost exactly as it had before he left, save for the half-hearted Christmas stickers by the door. A poor attempt at festivity.

It was Christmas Eve, so he decided not to start a fight.

They ate in near-total silence, tension gathering in the corners of the room like shadows.

After dinner, Ava tried to say something, but when she saw him taking a folder upstairs, she swallowed the words. Clearly, he was heading to the study. She picked up her laptop, retreated to the bedroom, sent a few work messages to Ray, then went to shower.

That night, she lay awake, restless.

At 11:30 PM, she heard the faint sound of the door opening and quickly closed her eyes, feigning sleep.

Alexander’s footsteps padded softly across the floor, then the muffled rush of water running in the bathroom.

After what felt like ages, the water shut off. The bathroom door creaked open, and she heard him step out.

Instead of drying his hair there, he left for the guest room before returning, and then sat on the edge of their bed.

She felt his presence through the blanket, the mattress dipping under his weight. Then, a light touch on her cheek — the gentle poke of his fingertip.

She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her.

Alexander’s pajamas were loosely tied, the knot crooked, the lines of his collarbone shadowed in the dim light.

“Ava,” he murmured, his voice like dark velvet, “there are still ten seconds.”

She blinked, confused, too slow to react.

He took her hand and bit it lightly, his teeth brushing against her skin. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered. “Tomorrow we’ll buy gifts together. I’ll let this slide.” His voice was rich, carrying an intimacy that made her chest tighten.

He slipped under the covers next to her, pulling the blanket over them both.

“The first sex of the New Year,” Alexander continued, his lips brushing her ear, “I want it with you. I want to spend New Year’s night with you.”

He wasn’t a man who spoke flowery words. Even in moments of tenderness, his language was laced with a raw, sensual honesty.

Ava still felt guilty about neglecting the holiday, and seeing him willing to forgive it, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat.

A shiver shot down Alexander’s spine, and a faint flush climbed his neck. All the gloom and frustration he’d been holding in seemed to melt away.

That night, he was as demanding and rough as ever, gripping her waist with a possessiveness that left no question of his need, pouring out all the complicated emotions he had carried for far too long. 

*

The next morning, Ava was still deep in sleep, exhaustion pulling at every bone after the chaotic night before. But Alexander, already dressed and impeccably groomed, woke her gently.

“Let’s go pick out some gifts,” he told her in a low voice.

Bleary-eyed, Ava could barely keep her head up. She stumbled into the car and practically collapsed against Alexander’s shoulder, trying to steal a few more minutes of rest.

He shifted her carefully, guiding her head to a more comfortable position while balancing the documents in his other hand. Every so often, he brushed her hair away from her face, strangely gentle, even as he flipped through contracts with practiced ease.

When they finally arrived at the mall, the glass doors stood firmly shut. Jonathan, standing by the car, finally realized the slip-up.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” he explained awkwardly, “the mall doesn’t open until nine.”

It was barely seven, and the place was silent, locked up, the morning light barely touching the storefronts.

Jonathan, never a fan of early shopping sprees himself, had simply forgotten to warn them.

Ava cracked open her eyes and gave a soft laugh, still half-asleep. “Mr. Vanderbilt, should we head back for a while?”

But Alexander didn’t even glance up from his documents. “We’ll wait,” he replied flatly, like a stubborn child eager to unwrap a new toy.

Ava watched him, fighting another yawn, and couldn’t help but reach out and sneakily grab his hand.

He froze mid-sentence, pen poised in his fingers, surprised by her rare initiative. Then, after a beat, he dropped the pen and squeezed her hand back with quiet certainty.

“What is it?” he asked, his dark eyes scanning her face, curious at her sudden affection.

Ava hesitated. Last night, somewhere in that blur of intimacy, she thought she’d felt a rough scar along his back. Old? New? She’d wanted to ask, but words tangled on her tongue.

Before she could get them out, Alexander’s phone buzzed, shattering the moment.

He glanced at the screen, his face darkening. Ava followed his gaze: Cordelia.

He answered coolly. “Mom.”

Cordelia wasted no time. Her voice, sharp and desperate, exploded through the speaker. “Come home for dinner tonight! Your father is coming back, and you have to talk him out of divorcing me. Alexander, have you been looking into Marken’s case? I’ve missed him so much this time of year.”

Alexander’s expression went glacial. Jonathan had kept him up to speed on the family’s endless drama, but hearing his mother’s voice still carved a hollow ache in his chest.

“I’m not coming for dinner,” he cut in flatly.

Cordelia’s tone sharpened, growing shrill. “It’s Christmas, Alexander! You have to come! What will the Vanderbilt family think if my own son refuses to share a meal? If your father divorces me, how will I live? I’ll be humiliated!”

He pressed his lips together, unblinking, a coldness radiating from him like winter air.

Cordelia, blind to his silence, launched another attack. “By the way, I ran into that Serena girl last week. Listen to me—sleep with her again. Get her pregnant. Then force her to get an abortion. I want that woman’s mother to rot in her grave forever!”

Alexander blinked, momentarily confused. Serena? The name didn’t register. When all that chaos had erupted, he’d already finalized his divorce. Jonathan hadn’t even told him the name of his ex.

But he didn’t bother asking for clarification. Cordelia was rambling, and he had no patience for her poison.

“Alexander, did you hear me?” Cordelia snapped, her voice ragged. “I want you to ruin her! Make her regret everything! She’s cheap, that girl—she thinks she deserves you.”

Alexander’s voice was flat, eerily calm. “Mom, anything else?”

Cordelia faltered, then broke down with a choked sob. “Please come tonight. If you don’t, your father will refuse to eat with me! Alexander, I’m begging you. I can’t lose him. He’s everything I have left.”

Alexander clenched his phone so tightly it might have cracked. He shut his eyes, fighting a dark wave of pity that he didn’t want to feel.

“We’ll see,” he finally replied.

He ended the call, then slowly leaned back in the seat, exhaustion and frustration crashing over him all at once. The morning sun streamed through the windshield, catching on the fine edges of his immaculate suit, but the light did nothing to thaw the cold, relentless storm in his eyes.

Ava couldn’t quite make out what Cordelia was saying on the phone, but given Cordelia’s usual venom, it was probably nothing pleasant.

A moment later, Alexander leaned into her, letting his head rest on her shoulder with a rough, tired sigh. “Tired,” he murmured.

There was something uniquely disarming about a man revealing his vulnerability — it struck more deeply than any flowery words. Ava stayed still, even lifting her shoulder a bit so he could settle more comfortably.

At exactly nine o’clock, the mall opened its doors.

Ava glanced down at him, ready to wake him, but Alexander was already awake — as if programmed by an internal clock.

He stepped out of the car and helped her down, with Jonathan trailing behind them, juggling their growing pile of shopping bags.

Alexander, who’d never really shopped for gifts before, turned to her at every stall, asking, “Do we need this?”

Ava had already done her homework and nodded decisively, so one by one, the items stacked up.

Last night, while the city was lit by a thousand fireworks, they’d been tangled up in bed, missing the show entirely. Now Alexander suddenly asked, “Want to see fireworks tonight?”

Who could resist fireworks? Ava nodded without hesitation.

Alexander lowered his voice, his hand tightening on her shoulder, a glint of annoyance in his eyes. “So you knew what to buy all along. All that nonsense you bought for the villa before — you were just brushing me off, weren’t you?”

He was still holding onto that.

Ava hurried to apologize, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Alexander replied, before leaning in and giving her earlobe a playful nip, his voice dark with teasing.

By the time they were finished, Jonathan was practically drowning in bags. He finally gave up and called in more bodyguards to help carry the load.

They’d bought enough fireworks to fill an entire truck.

Jonathan suggested tactfully, “Mr. Vanderbilt, there are professional companies that can set up a fireworks show tonight. It might look better than these random ones we picked out.”

Alexander paused, considering, then nodded. “Book that riverside restaurant for tonight — the one with the best view of the sky,” he ordered. Watching fireworks from there would be perfect.

“Yes, sir,” Jonathan answered, thinking privately that it was rare to see Alexander act so… romantic.

After giving the orders, Alexander caught up to Ava and wordlessly reached for her hand.

Ava froze for a second — she had never gone hand in hand with someone through a shopping mall before. After a pause, she lowered her gaze and accepted his grip. It felt surprisingly shy, almost like a pair of high school kids out on their first date, even though they had been intimate so many times already.

Alexander cleared his throat to break the awkward quiet. “Need anything else? Anything you’ve been missing lately?”

She shook her head.

He hesitated, then asked, “What about your family? Spending Christmas with me… won’t they mind?”

Ava stiffened, her expression going blank before she answered in a calm voice, “They’re all gone.”

Just like that, the warmth between them was snuffed out. Alexander hadn’t expected that answer, and he went silent, regretting the question.

They continued walking until they stepped into a high-end jewelry store — the same place where Ava had bought an agarwood bracelet last time. The sales clerk instantly recognized her, smiling brightly.

“Miss! Welcome back! Here to pick up another men’s bracelet today?”

The clerk’s eyes flicked toward Alexander, cheeks coloring slightly. “We just received some new arrivals — would you like to see them?”

A men’s bracelet? Alexander’s eyebrows pinched together. She bought a men’s bracelet before? For who? The thought of her ex-husband burned into his mind, sour and cold.

Ava was in no mood to buy anything today — after paying Alexander the rent, she was strapped for cash, especially with two TV projects to fund. She shook her head and tried to tug Alexander out of the store.

But Alexander stood his ground, turning to the clerk. “I’m looking for a gift for my mother. Ava, go browse somewhere else.”

She didn’t think much of it and left.

As soon as she was gone, Alexander lowered his voice. “How much was the men’s bracelet she bought here last time?”

The clerk, a seasoned professional, sensed the tension in his voice and broke out in a cold sweat. She’d seen plenty of awkward situations, but this seemed bad. Maybe Ava had bought it for a secret lover and now was getting found out.

“Sir… that’s private information,” she stammered, nervous.

Alexander shot her a dark, bone-chilling look, and she buckled immediately. “It was around five hundred thousand dollars,” she confessed.

Five hundred thousand.

She was so frugal every day, yet she’d once spent half a million on another man?

Alexander’s jaw clenched, a violent, ugly jealousy flaring in his chest. He had given her a chunk of land worth billions — yet she’d never bought him anything.

Ungrateful.

Ice threaded through his veins, his expression turning frigid.

The rest of their shopping felt half-hearted, and Ava could sense something was off. Still, they picked up a few more items before heading back to Manhattan Villa. Alexander didn’t say another word the entire drive, the silence pressing down on them like a winter storm.

--- 

At the Manhattan villa, Ava stood holding a handful of Christmas decorations, uncertain where to hang them. The living room, bright and elegant, seemed almost too perfect for holiday clutter.

Nearby, Alexander watched her with a fading excitement, his interest in decorating already waning.

This sort of thing only felt fun when did it together. Sensing his shift in mood, Ava assumed he disliked the ornaments and signaled to the servants, “Just put them away.”

Alexander frowned. The moment he heard her words, he straightened from the sofa, his voice edged with impatience. “Why put them away?”

“I thought you didn’t like them,” Ava explained gently.

“Who said that?” Alexander shot back, picking up a glittering decoration and unfolding a small ladder.

Alarmed, Ava hurried to steady it for him. He looked so tall and out of place perched on that wobbly step, yet determined as he carefully fastened the ornament.

When he climbed down, he looked to her, a rare childlike spark in his eyes. “How does it look?”

Ava took in the shimmering, golden string of decorations now draped across the mantle and smiled. “Beautiful,” she answered truthfully.

Pleased, Alexander’s lips curled upward. He moved on to the Christmas tree, hanging ornaments with an uncharacteristic dedication. Watching him soften toward this simple, festive task made Ava’s chest tighten in a warm way she couldn’t name.

She soon brought over another bag of delicate trinkets. “I’ll do the next ones,” she offered, climbing the ladder herself.

Alexander stepped closer and gripped the ladder’s side firmly. “Be careful,” he murmured, voice unusually gentle.

Halfway through hanging a snowflake ornament, Ava lost her footing, slipping from the top rung. Alexander’s heart nearly stopped as he lunged forward, catching her firmly against his chest. The force of it left them both breathless.

“Didn’t I tell you to be careful?” His voice was harsh with worry, his arms locked around her. “Why did you insist on doing this? This is a man’s job!”

Still in his arms, Ava exhaled shakily, then peeked over his shoulder at the completed tree. The two trees they’d decorated together stood perfectly balanced, like twin beacons of warmth.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, wriggling to stand.

Alexander set her on her feet and tugged her indoors, still scowling. “Did you twist your ankle?”

“No,” she repeated, smiling despite herself.

With nothing else left to do, Alexander turned on a TV drama, drawing Ava into his arms on the couch. Before long, however, his phone rang — Donovan was calling. Alexander sighed; he’d grown so distant from his family, he sometimes forgot how to even speak with them.

Answering the call with one arm around Ava, he listened to Donovan’s voice.

“Alexander, come home for dinner tonight. Even if just for a bit — I need to see that you’re okay.”

It was a rare, genuine request from his family, one he couldn’t turn down.

After he hung up, he turned to Ava. “Tonight, I’ll have Jonathan drive you to the restaurant I reserved. You’ll see the fireworks from there. It’s our first Christmas together.”

“I’ll go to Vanderbilt Manor for a while,” he continued, “then I’ll meet you straight at the restaurant.”

Ava nodded. “Okay.”

Alexander glanced at the clock — still early. A mischievous gleam lit his eyes as he pulled Ava up with him, abandoning the TV and heading upstairs.

Ava knew what he had in mind.

Soon, he pressed her down on the sofa in the study, his kiss stealing her breath before she could even protest. It was a familiar, searing hunger, so intense her mind went blank.

This was the house she’d designed herself, she realized in a haze — but before she could appreciate that thought, Alexander’s lips found hers again.

He loved to kiss her until she was trembling. Whether before or after his amnesia, some things about him never changed.

“Ava,” he whispered hoarsely, brushing her hair aside, but she couldn’t even hear clearly anymore, lost in the dizzy sweetness of it all.

Suddenly, she felt something cold slide into her hair. Blinking in surprise, she reached up and touched it: a delicate hairpin, studded with tiny diamonds.

Alexander, of all people, had bought her a girlish hairpin?

This must have been what he’d picked up at the mall that morning, even though he’d been annoyed at the time.

A Christmas gift.

It was perhaps the cheapest thing he’d ever given her, though still expensive to anyone else — an 18k gold pin set with fine diamonds, under two hundred thousand dollars. But its simple, youthful design was what made her heart ache.

He slipped it into her hair properly, then kissed her forehead softly. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured with a grin.

Ava was stunned. She hadn’t even prepared a gift for him yet.

Alexander checked the time, reluctantly pulling away. They’d been together for two hours — two hours of nothing but slow kisses and lingering touches.

“I have to go,” he sighed. “First to see my grandfather, then Vanderbilt Manor. You stay here and leave for the restaurant at seven.”

Ava nodded, still a little dizzy, cheeks flushed.

Seeing her so delicate and dazed, Alexander nearly gave in to the urge to stay, to hold her all night. But he forced himself to walk away. At the doorway, he looked back, lingering, reluctant.

“Don’t be late tonight,” he reminded, voice low and possessive. “See you at seven-thirty sharp.”

Ava smiled, breathless. “I won’t forget.”

Alexander finally left, a satisfied warmth settling across his usually cold heart as he stepped outside.

---

When Alexander went to visit Cornelius, the old man didn’t even bother opening the door for him.

Through the heavy oak panels, Cornelius’s raspy voice rang out, tinged with disappointment and frustration. “If you’d stop messing around so much, I might actually live a few years longer!”

Alexander could only sigh, leaving the carefully wrapped gift at the doorstep before turning away to go pick up Frederick.

Frederick wasn’t at Vanderbilt Manor; Alexander had to fetch him from another address. The moment Frederick climbed into the passenger seat, the air turned heavy with unspoken words. Neither of them spoke for a long while, the quiet of the drive pressing against Alexander’s temples like a dull ache.

As they neared Vanderbilt Manor, Frederick finally broke the silence, his voice as dry as winter bark. “Alexander, how’s your head?”

“Still healing,” Alexander replied, glancing at him through the corner of his eye.

Frederick stared straight ahead, jaw tense. “There’s been a spike in border crossings lately—more unknown people sneaking in. Be careful.”

Alexander only nodded, a small acknowledgment hanging between them like a fragile thread.

When they pulled up to the manor, Cordelia was already standing at the entrance, perfectly made-up, wearing a carefully selected outfit that screamed of desperate dignity. The moment she spotted Frederick, she rushed past Alexander, ignoring him completely.

“Honey,” she called, voice dripping with feigned sweetness.

Frederick’s face darkened, barely hiding his irritation. His lawyer had been trying for weeks to get Cordelia to sign the divorce papers, but she refused every time. He brushed her aside. “Go inside.”

Cordelia froze, her smile cracking, eyes instantly brimming with tears. Finally noticing Alexander, she forced a brittle grin. “Xander, come in. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Christmas dinner had been prepared early, a pitiful attempt at pretending the family was still whole.

Alexander hesitated on the threshold, a strange sense of rejection crawling under his skin. Eventually, he stepped inside and sank onto the leather sofa, trying to ignore the tension.

Frederick followed him in and, after a pause, asked, “Your head—does it still hurt?”

“It’s fine,” Alexander replied flatly.

“Don’t push yourself at work,” Frederick added gruffly, as if he’d practiced those words a thousand times but never quite learned how to say them.

Frederick had been a distant father for years, rarely present, always busy. Marken had been closer to him, more of a son in every practical sense, given that Marken was under his direct command, while Cornelius had been Alexander’s truest guardian.

Alexander could hardly remember how to talk to Frederick, so he maintained a cold, impassive mask.

Frederick shifted awkwardly, reaching into his pocket where a small gift lay wrapped in red paper. He had taken one of his precious few holidays to buy it. But as he fingered the corner of the wrapping, the weight of years of silence stopped him. With a sigh, he withdrew his empty hand instead.

Finally, he spoke, voice low and resigned. “Your grandfather has already sent your grandmother away. And your mother and I… we’re getting divorced. From now on, no one in this family can touch you.”

He said it bluntly, with Cordelia standing right there.

Cordelia looked as though the floor had given out from under her. Her lips trembled, then twisted in rage. “Frederick, what are you saying! Do you think I ever treated Alexander badly? That was all your mother—I didn’t know! I gave birth to him, and now you say I bullied him? What did I do wrong!”

Frederick’s face was made of stone. “Years of neglect and indifference are still a kind of cruelty.”

Cordelia gave a harsh laugh, a brittle edge in her voice. “How many times have you even been home? You were never around! Who are you to lecture me!”

Frederick’s eyes turned dark. “I had no choice.”

She sneered, venom dripping from every word. “Oh, I know—you could never let go of that bitch. Alexander, you see what your father is like? He never cared about you. He just wants Marken around to secure his power!”

Frederick’s patience finally snapped. “Shut up!”

“No!” Cordelia shrieked, her voice splintering. “I will speak! I gave you two children! And you still want a divorce? You love Elena, but did she ever love you? You’re delusional!”

The slap cracked through the room like a gunshot. Cordelia fell silent, hand pressed against her reddened cheek as she sank to the floor, sobbing.

Alexander leaned back on the sofa, swirling the tea in his cup with practiced indifference, as if this was just another scene he’d watched a thousand times before.

A servant hovered nearby, uneasy. Alexander lifted the cup to his lips and asked calmly, “When’s dinner ready?”

Cordelia, seeing her son so unmoved, broke down even harder, tears streaking through her carefully applied makeup.

Frederick looked utterly disgusted. “If you’re going to cry, take it somewhere else. Don’t ruin Christmas dinner.”

Cordelia stumbled to her feet, fleeing to the kitchen in shame.

Frederick sighed, shoulders slumping under invisible weight. Glancing at Alexander, he seemed to want to say more, but the words tangled in his throat. “Xander…”

Alexander cut him off, setting the teacup down with a soft click. “Dad, we’ll talk later.”

Frederick swallowed, nodding stiffly.

Cordelia’s muffled sobs echoed from the kitchen, grating on everyone’s nerves.

Frederick finally lost his patience. He grabbed his coat from the rack. “I’m not eating here tonight.”

Cordelia, hearing this, bolted out of the kitchen, panic flooding her face. “Honey, don’t go! I won’t cry anymore. Stay—it’s Christmas, please.”

She caved, willing to trade dignity for his presence. But Frederick only looked at her with cold revulsion.

Alexander stood up as well, buttoning his coat. “I’m leaving too.”

Cordelia’s face twisted, eyes flashing with a hateful spark. I knew it, she thought, Alexander never cared about this family. I should have gotten rid of him back then.

She forced a brittle smile. “Dinner’s almost ready. You’re really leaving me to eat alone?”

Alexander didn’t answer, already striding for the door.

Cordelia’s composure finally crumbled. She launched into a new wave of curses, loud enough to chase them both from the house.

Alexander and Frederick left side by side, Cordelia’s shrill voice echoing after them through the great halls, a bitter reminder of the family’s ruin.

*

Alexander stood beside his car, the last rays of dusk reflecting off the glossy paint. Just as he opened the driver’s side door, Frederick appeared, slipping into the passenger seat with a heavy sigh.

“Take me home,” Frederick said, voice rough with fatigue, “or at least let’s grab a bite somewhere.”

“No need,” Alexander replied curtly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “I have plans.”

He had fireworks set up that night with Ava, and no one was going to derail that. Still, he could drop Frederick off.

Frederick studied his son’s softened expression and ventured a teasing guess. “You’ve got someone special, huh?”

Alexander’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t deny it. “Yeah.”

It was the first time they’d ever talked about something so personal.

Frederick reached into his pocket, fingers brushing over a small gift he’d prepared, but a wave of awkwardness stopped him from handing it over. Deep down, he knew he owed both Alexander and Marken more than he could ever repay.

He’d spent decades buried in his military career, missing out on their childhoods. Marken’s death and Cornelius’s retirement had only added to the burden on his shoulders.

The Vanderbilt family needed someone in uniform, someone to guard its legacy and protect its vast wealth. It hadn’t really been about Elena, though her existence had made him despise Cordelia more. But Cordelia had given him two children.

Over the years, Cordelia had grown more unpredictable, often throwing Elena’s name at him like a dagger. What little fondness he’d once had for his wife had withered into disgust.

Frederick was a practical man, but after enduring Cordelia’s erratic outbursts for over twenty years, he’d quietly distanced himself. Marken had been his peacekeeper, a bright spot who could talk to him and lighten the mood.

After Marken died, after Cornelius stepped down, the weight of it all nearly crushed him.

Frederick watched Alexander drive, wanting to speak, but every time he caught his son’s cold gaze, he fell silent.

They drove for nearly two hours, finally reaching the military’s restricted zone. Floodlights cut through the dark, and uniformed guards manned posts every few steps.

Frederick rolled down the window, showed his ID, and they were waved through.

Alexander was ready to leave the moment the car stopped, but Frederick called after him. “Hey, come up to my office for a bit.”

He hesitated, then followed.

They walked through the stark, echoing corridors until they reached Frederick’s modest office. On the desk sat a dusty framed photo—Frederick, Cordelia, Marken, and Alexander lined up like the perfect family.

Alexander picked it up, studying it with a frown.

Frederick’s eyes lit up with a strange mix of hope and sadness. He pulled a photo album from a drawer, carefully setting it on the desk.

“These are all photos of you growing up,” Frederick explained, turning the pages. “This one was when you were awarded your commendation. Here—this was the time Grandpa punished you, had you whipped and kneeling outside all night until you nearly passed out.”

Alexander stared at the old photograph of himself kneeling in the snow, something distant flashing in his eyes. Memories from his military days flickered, disjointed but persistent.

Frederick didn’t interrupt, letting him turn page after page.

When Alexander came across Marken’s pictures, his fingers froze.

He didn’t remember Marken clearly, but the gentleness in those photos was striking. Marken was the opposite of him—kind, talkative, warm, someone everyone loved.

A soldier brought in two steaming cups of coffee, placing one in front of Alexander.

Frederick tried to ease his voice. “Marken visited you a lot while you were stationed here. You two were close.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow. “For real?”

Frederick nodded. “He cared about you, even if you don’t remember.”

Alexander flipped to the last picture—Marken, barely eighteen or nineteen, smiling, a hint of youthful mischief in his eyes.

Frederick’s own expression softened as he saw it. “That was right before he left on his final mission. We had a drink together that night.”

Alexander’s voice was quiet. “What did you talk about?”

Frederick took a long, painful breath. “He said there was a girl he liked, but I drank too much. Never caught her name.”

Alexander frowned. “If he had someone he cared about, why take on such a dangerous mission?”

Frederick let out a heavy sigh. “In every Vanderbilt generation, someone has to serve. Marken volunteered. He was brilliant, even as a kid, always researching, always dreaming. Once chosen, he was tied to this path, couldn’t live like a normal boy. The military promised that if he succeeded, he could take more leave, maybe retire early. He took a gamble… because of that girl.”

Alexander’s hands clenched around the album. Marken had gambled everything—because of love—and lost.

He understood without needing to ask more.

Frederick rubbed his brow, guilt etched across his features. “I was so drunk I didn’t catch her name. If I had, maybe we’d know who she was now.”

Alexander carefully closed the album, his voice as cold as steel. “I’ll find her.”

Frederick stayed silent, fingers still fumbling over the small gift in his pocket.

“Want to stay for dinner?” he tried, voice tentative.

“No,” Alexander replied flatly. “I’ve got a two-hour drive back. I’ll be late.”

As he turned to leave, the photos blurred in his mind, each image sending another pounding ache through his skull.

Before he could reach the door, his knees buckled, and he collapsed against the frame.

“Alexander!”

Frederick shouted for the doctor, panic seizing him as he grabbed Alexander’s medical records off the desk with trembling hands.

--- 

“Doctor, how is he?” Frederick asked anxiously, his voice tinged with guilt.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, don’t worry,” the doctor reassured gently. “His brain was just overstimulated. Too much information at once triggered a stress response, but he’ll recover when he wakes up.”

Frederick’s shoulders slumped with relief, though self-blame still weighed heavily on him. Given Alexander’s recent head injury, he should have known better than to show him those photos.

---

At precisely seven o’clock, Ava arrived at the restaurant.

The entire place was reserved, stunning in its elegance — a sea of flowers adorned the tables, candlelight flickered with a gentle glow, and through the massive windows stretched a breathtaking view of the New York City skyline glittering against the night.

The sheer romanticism of it made her chuckle softly. It reminded her of Alexei’s overly theatrical gestures, which once seemed silly, but tonight felt unexpectedly touching.

Flowers, fireworks, a candlelit dinner — this was shaping up to be the kind of Christmas she’d once only dreamed about.

A smile bloomed on her lips, warm and genuine.

She sank into her seat, glancing at her watch. It was 7:20. Alexander would probably show up any minute, she thought.

The lights on this top floor were dim and intimate, casting long shadows against the glass walls. Ava turned her head, losing herself in the sprawling, glittering nightscape of the city. A sense of peace washed over her, something she hadn’t felt in years.

Strange, she mused, that the person keeping her company this Christmas was Alexander.

Maybe that was why it felt so special.

Time drifted, until she checked her phone again.

Eight o’clock.

No sign of him.

A waiter approached politely. “Miss, would you like to begin your meal?”

She offered a small, patient smile. “No, thank you. Someone is still on their way.”

The waiter nodded and stepped back.

By nine o’clock, a subtle pang of unease began to gnaw at her. She couldn’t shake it — Alexander wasn’t the type to be late, especially not after going to all this trouble.

Finally, unable to sit still, she called him.

Alexander answered on the first ring, his voice carrying that familiar trace of warmth. “Ava, what is it?”

Her heart softened. Maybe he was stuck in traffic, she thought hopefully.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” she said carefully, “where are you right now?”

On the other end, Alexander was still lying on his hospital bed. After waking, the doctor had performed another quick check-up, assuring him he was fine. His memories were clear — except, jarringly, the parts about Ava. He had forgotten about inviting her, about the evening he had planned.

He only remembered the chaotic past they had shared.

Hearing her question, Alexander frowned. “Did I make plans with you tonight?”

Ava’s heart sank. A chill settled around her shoulders, heavy and suffocating. Her fingers shrank back from the table’s edge as if stung.

For a moment, she couldn’t even form a word.

Eventually, she forced a smile, brittle and paper-thin. “No,” she managed softly. “I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

Alexander laughed faintly, something regretful slipping into his voice. He nearly asked to see her then — but in his condition, it was wiser to rest.

Ava ended the call first.

Staring at the softly flickering candle across the table, a hollow coldness filled her chest.

The waiter returned with a gentle expression. “Miss, shall we serve the food now?”

“Go ahead,” she answered quietly.

The dishes were exquisite, a feast meant for two.

She ate her portion slowly, trying to keep her composure, every bite a painful reminder of the empty seat across from her.

The waiter lingered nearby, explaining, “Everything tonight has been prepaid, Miss. There will be fireworks later — please enjoy them.”

Ava nodded wordlessly, her throat tight.

When ten o’clock came, the fireworks ignited on schedule, exploding in brilliant cascades that illuminated the night sky in a breathtaking display.

Ava propped her chin on her hand, watching the shimmering lights, letting them wash away the sting of loneliness, if only for a moment.

It was dazzling, no expense spared — at least a million dollars, she guessed.

Yet even such splendor felt hollow without him there.

She stayed until the last spark faded, then finally rose. Midnight had come and gone.

The untouched half of the dinner still sat across from her, cold and forgotten.

Gathering her bag, she made her way down the stairs and stepped into a waiting taxi.

She didn’t return to Manhattan Villa. Instead, she went to Le Châteauesque Manor.

But as she sat alone in the back seat of the cab, she realized something that made her chest ache: neither place felt like home anymore.

Not without him.

And that thought terrified her more than anything.

*

Alexander sat on the edge of his hospital bed, restless, a nagging sense gnawing at him as though he’d forgotten something important. The doctor had already completed a series of tests and cleared him for discharge, telling him there was nothing more to worry about.

He rose stiffly, running a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the unease. Frederick stood nearby, arms crossed, studying him with a faintly amused expression.

“Who did you make plans with tonight?” Frederick asked, sounding casual.

Alexander froze. It was Christmas Eve. For as long as he could remember, he had spent Christmas working late at the office, never bothering to attend the family gathering at Vanderbilt Manor, and never arranging anything special. Who could he possibly have made plans with?

But then he remembered Ava’s phone call from earlier, and a flicker of guilt crossed his eyes.

Without answering, he stepped outside and called Jonathan.

Jonathan picked up right away, his voice brisk. “Mr. Vanderbilt, the fireworks have already been set off. Did they meet your expectations?”

Alexander’s brows drew together. “Fireworks? Who did I plan to watch fireworks with?”

“Ms. Alvarez, of course,” Jonathan replied without missing a beat. “You made plans this morning, remember? And you reserved the restaurant.”

A hollow tightness squeezed Alexander’s chest. He rubbed his temple, cursing himself silently. “Send me the address.”

Jonathan, suspecting nothing, forwarded the location immediately.

Alexander drove himself there, his pulse hammering with a mix of dread and urgency. When he arrived at the rooftop restaurant, the night had already slipped deep into silence. It was past one in the morning, and the staff, out of respect for his reservation, had kept the place open.

The city skyline lay quiet beyond the glass, the last embers of the fireworks long cooled to darkness. He stepped up to the table he’d arranged with special care earlier, only to see the dishes turned cold and untouched, like a sad monument to what should have been.

His heart sank. He pulled out his phone and called Ava.

Ava hadn’t been asleep either. When she answered, her voice was polite — too polite — sending a chill down his spine.

“Mr. Vanderbilt.”

“Ava, I—” He tried to explain about the hospital scan, about how he’d gotten held up, but she interrupted him before he could even begin.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” she said, her voice calm, heartbreakingly detached, “it’s Christmas. You had other things on your plate. It happens. Don’t worry about it.”

Her easy forgiveness felt like a blade twisting in his ribs. Did she really see him as that careless? So untrustworthy?

“Ava, if there’s nothing else,” she continued softly, “I’m going to hang up.”

He panicked, blurting, “Ava, can we meet now? Please?”

He didn’t care about fireworks or the dinner. He just wanted to see her.

But she refused, gently but firmly. “No need. I’m tired, and you should get some rest too, Mr. Vanderbilt.”

The line clicked off, leaving only silence.

Alexander lowered the phone, staring at the table full of cold, untouched dishes. A sigh escaped him, heavy and defeated.

Meanwhile, across the city, Ava buried herself under her blanket, trying to force herself to sleep. It was foolish of her, she thought bitterly, to have expected anything different. That disappointment was her own doing.

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Author Note : This author hopes you enjoyed this chapter. Also, a tad note, this author just realised that he enjoys giving names to all characters even when unnecessary... it has to stop because the last time he named the family doctor Dr. Blake Montague, it confused his editor. For extras or minor character, he will not be naming them from today onwards (today he did not name Vincent’s mother so that is an improvement). Although he liked the (first name) Miriam and the (last) name Chong after reading some comments and been thinking which character should have the name ...