* FREEBIES * 2nd * Chapter 269 : Come over.

The next morning, Serena stepped out of Le Châteauesque Manor, her heels clicking sharply against the polished stone steps. The early sunlight cut across the estate’s sculpted hedges and stately marble columns, but Serena’s mind was already miles ahead—on contracts, leverage, and the chessboard that was the entertainment world.

She had already contacted her lawyer, instructing them to make Ruiz Star Entertainment cover Whitney’s contract termination f*e. Simon had handled Whitney’s contract meticulously; her lawyer barely had to lift a finger to make the case airtight.

But back at Ruiz Star, Anita Ruiz was seething.

Losing yet another rising star to Serena was an insult she could no longer stomach. First Serena had stolen a prized script, then Simon himself, and now Whitney—their brightest new talent.

Later that afternoon, Anita found herself at a high-end restaurant downtown, clinking her wine glass absently as she tried to ignore the weight of failure pressing on her chest. That’s when Beatrice Whitehall appeared, gliding in like a woman with nowhere to be and all the time in the world.

Beatrice’s designer heels barely made a sound on the marble as she slid into the seat across from Anita, a sly smile on her lips. “Ms. Ruiz,” she began smoothly, “I heard about the little storm brewing at Ruiz Star. Is Serena just tormenting you for sport now?”

Her tone was casual, but her words hit home. Anita’s mouth tightened.

First the script, then Simon, now Whitney. Her company was bleeding talent.

Anita arched an eyebrow. “You here to gloat, or do you actually have something useful to say?”

Beatrice let out a soft chuckle, sipping her Bordeaux. “I just got back from a brand endorsement gig overseas. Thought I’d dip my toes into the entertainment industry—something a little more permanent. Whitney’s drama just started shooting, right? Here's an idea: we work together. I’ll step in, snag a key role with her. Then we hit her reputation, and once she crashes, Serena’s company will follow.”

She set her wineglass down with a delicate clink, eyes gleaming with calculated ambition.

“I’ve got the Whitehall name behind me,” she added. “Alexander wouldn’t dare touch me. But the Whitehalls aren’t in entertainment. That’s where you come in.”

Anita’s interest visibly perked up. Her primary concern had always been Alexander Vanderbilt—his reach, his ruthlessness. But if Beatrice took center stage, she could operate from the shadows, distancing Ruiz Star from the fallout.

She'd been itching for payback ever since Serena started dismantling her empire piece by piece. And now? The perfect scapegoat had walked right into her lap.

Anita gave a slow, predatory smile. “Ms. Whitehall, I think we’re going to get along just fine. I’ll call the production team and get you a role. Something meaty—opposite Whitney.”

Beatrice nodded, already calculating her moves. She wasn’t doing this for Anita, or even for revenge, not really. She was doing it for the power—and for the door it would open with the friend she truly wanted to impress. Someone who could unlock an entirely new echelon of influence for her.

Her grin widened, smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.

This time, she wasn’t just aiming to compete with Serena.

She was planning to destroy her.

---

Meanwhile, Serena had no idea she was in anyone’s crosshairs. She was lounging in her sleek glass-walled office, flipping through reports, when the door swung open and her lawyer entered—followed by Whitney, looking like she’d just walked off a movie set.

A hefty $200,000 breach-of-contract f*e had been wired in one go, freeing Whitney from Ruiz Star Entertainment. She was now officially part of E.A. Corporation. Serena nodded at the lawyer, who was promptly escorted out so staff could handle the final paperwork.

Then her eyes landed on Whitney, who stood in the middle of the office with barely contained excitement—completely oblivious to how much of a rookie she still was. She turned her head, glancing at the modern yet modest surroundings, then blurted out with a huff, “Ruiz Star might’ve squeezed its artists dry, but at least they had taste. This place? It’s giving… storage closet.”

Right as those words left her mouth, the door opened again.

Simon entered—impeccably dressed, square shoulders, steel presence. His gold-rimmed glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose, giving him the air of a sharp, no-nonsense professor who also looked like he could bench press a car.

“Whitney,” he said sharply, his tone laced with quiet authority. “You can’t speak to Ms. Morales like that. Apologize.”

The sass evaporated from Whitney’s face the second she saw him. Her eyes filled with something between guilt and nostalgia. “Si—”

Simon raised an eyebrow.

“Call me Uncle Simon,” he corrected firmly. “Like you used to.”

Whitney gave a reluctant eye roll. Yes, she used to call him Uncle Simon—back when she still wore pigtails and believed fame came with fairy dust. Now, dropping the ‘Uncle’ was her way of feeling grown, of reclaiming control. But Simon made it clear: respect still mattered.

With an exaggerated breath, Whitney straightened her back and turned to Serena. “Sorry, Ms. Morales. I was just running my mouth. Don’t take it seriously.”

Serena suppressed a smile, keeping her eyes on the files like she hadn’t just witnessed the whole mini-drama unfold.

Predictably, Simon launched into a lecture. “Who raised you to talk like that?”

He adjusted his glasses in that signature stern way, the embodiment of discipline.

Whitney turned away, her voice cool and laced with meaning. “No one raised me, Simon. That’s why I’m like this. Why get mad now? Ms. Morales didn’t even mind.”

That line hit harder than anything she could’ve screamed. No one raised me—a sharp blade disguised as a sentence.

The room fell into a brief silence. Serena looked up, sensing the tension thick in the air. “Let it go. It’s fine. Honestly, I like Whitney’s spirit. She’s got personality. Marilyn will set her up with a manager later today.”

Simon’s lips tightened, but he said nothing. Whitney, unfazed, grinned. “Thanks, Ms. Morales! You’re a queen.”

As Whitney bounced out of the room, leaving a trail of chaotic charm in her wake, Serena watched her go with a knowing look.

She had a gut feeling things were about to get lively around the office.

Left alone, Simon let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his temple. “Ms. Morales, I apologize. That’s just… her. She’s not a bad person, just reckless.”

Serena chuckled. “Relax. I actually think she’s refreshing. You, on the other hand, might be a little too uptight.”

Simon gave a small, tight smile. “Manners still count. I tried instilling that in her back at Ruiz Star, but she never listens. One day, that mouth will land her in real trouble.”

Serena pushed a folder across the desk. “She’s starring in a new project. Filming just started. It’s a strong script—the kind that could make or break a lead. If she nails it, she’s got a shot at Best Actress. When it’s done, I’ll line up something even bigger.”

Simon glanced at the cover page of the script. The role demanded emotional range and maturity—two things Whitney rarely showed in real life. But Serena had an eye for talent.

“I trust your instincts, Ms. Morales,” he said, setting the folder aside. “I’ll keep close tabs on the rest of the talent too.”

Serena nodded. If there was one thing she never questioned, it was Simon’s judgment. As one of the industry’s sharpest agents, nearly every artist he touched had risen to stardom. No wonder Ruiz Star had fought tooth and nail to keep him.

But now, he was on her team.

And together, they were just getting started. 

---

Whitney had just arrived on set when the director dropped a bombshell: the second female lead had been replaced.

No warning. No explanation. Just a casual announcement, as if it weren’t a big deal.

Whitney blinked at the message, her stomach tightening. Filming had already been underway for two weeks. Swapping out a lead now meant reshooting entire scenes—and that meant time, money, and a whole lot of scrambling. The only reason someone would pull that kind of stunt mid-production? Connections. Serious ones.

The new actress, Beatrice, was already on set by the time Whitney got there. Dressed in a tailored costume and swept-up hair, she looked every inch the character. Beatrice was from the Whitehall family—wealthy, well-connected, and trained to charm from birth. Her delicate features and serene expression made her camera-ready without effort.

Whitney sighed inwardly.

She’d have to reshoot everything with her, starting from scratch. Hours of work, chemistry that had just started to build—all gone in a snap. And what was worse? No one had asked for Whitney’s input. Not even a heads-up from the director. Just a brisk, “You’ll be redoing those scenes with Beatrice. Let’s move.” Like she was a stand-in, not a lead.

Whitney clenched her jaw and nodded. What choice did she have?

---

Later that evening, around 8 PM, Serena finally stood up from her desk at E.A. Corporation. Her back ached and her eyes burned from staring at back-to-back casting profiles. She hadn’t even noticed the sun go down.

The office had been a whirlwind lately.

Their first series, The Eye of the Storm, had wrapped and was already gaining rave reviews online. Critics praised its fresh storyline, pacing, and tight production values. The success had created a buzz around E.A., and now résumés were pouring in from all over the country. The company was expanding, preparing for its second series, with investors already on board. Casting the right supporting roles was the next big task—one Serena had insisted on overseeing personally.

She rubbed her temples and packed up, finally heading back to Le Châteauesque Manor.

But the moment she stepped onto the villa grounds, she spotted Aunt Torres pacing anxiously near the entrance. Her usual calm was gone, replaced by jittery panic.

“Aunt Torres?” Serena called out, her brows knitting. “What happened?”

Aunt Torres rushed toward her. “Ms. Morales, it’s bad. Rex is missing!”

Serena’s heart dropped.

“What?” she gasped. “How? He was here this morning.”

“We checked the cameras,” Aunt Torres explained, wringing her hands. “This afternoon, a stray cat got into the garden. Rex must’ve chased after it—he dug a tunnel right under the wall. He’s been wild lately… we didn’t think he’d actually get out.”

Serena froze, her pulse racing.

Rex. Her mischievous, loyal troublemaker. Ever since she and Alexander had separated, he’d become her shadow, her comfort in silence. He had a tendency to wreak havoc in the garden—trampling rare orchids, chewing irrigation pipes—but he’d always stayed within the villa walls. This… this was different.

Serena’s exhaustion evaporated, replaced by adrenaline and fear. “I’m going to find him,” she said firmly. “You stay here, Aunt Torres. I’ll take the others and start searching.”

To anyone else, Rex might’ve been just a dog. But to Serena, he was family. He’d been with her during some of the loneliest days of her life—especially after Charleston, after she buried Uncle Marco, Aunt Mona, and Jared on that wind-swept hillside. She could still picture herself sitting by their graves, Rex curled beside her, the only warmth in the cold mountain air.

He had been her rock when there was nothing else to lean on.

She couldn’t lose him.

Before setting out, she quickly posted an alert on her social media, attaching the most recent photo of Rex: his chocolate-brown coat gleaming under sunlight, ears perked, eyes bright.

LOST DOG – PLEASE HELP. Golden retriever, answers to "Rex." Last seen near Le Châteauesque Manor. Friendly but may be scared. $2,000 reward for any helpful information. Please contact me directly.

Within seconds of posting, messages began to trickle in. People shared it. Some commented. Others offered help.

Not wasting another moment, Serena jumped into her car and sped off into the night, scanning the dark streets with a single desperate hope:

Rex, please be safe. I’m coming for you. 

---

The surrounding surveillance had already been scoured—no trace of Rex.

Serena’s chest tightened with every passing minute. A hundred possibilities raced through her mind, each more terrible than the last. What if he’d been lured into a car by dog thieves? What if they’d harmed him? The thought alone made her stomach twist painfully.

Rain began to pour from the darkening sky, its icy droplets soaking through her jacket. Le Châteauesque Manor sat adjacent to a lush park—popular for strolls but closed off to vehicles. She had no choice but to leave her car at the roadside.

“Rex! Rex!” she called, her voice echoing through the rain-drenched trees.

Umbrella forgotten, she trudged along the slick path, soaked to the bone, heart pounding. What she didn’t know was that her social media post about Rex’s disappearance had already gone viral. Screenshots were spreading like wildfire—many landing right in Alexander’s inbox.

Despite their strained history, people still associated her with him. And Alexander hadn’t exactly kept their past discreet.

Elsewhere in the city, Alexander stirred in bed as his phone buzzed insistently. Still groggy, he squinted at the bright screen.

"Rex is missing?"

The moment he saw the post, Rex’s goofy, tongue-out face flashed in his mind. Serena had always taken that dog on her walks, often keeping him by her side at the Manor.

Without hesitation, Alexander swung his legs out of bed and barked into his phone, “Jonathan—get everyone on this. Serena’s panicking.”

No one in New York would've guessed that a dog—of all things—could send the unshakable Alexander Vanderbilt into a full-blown crisis.

Back at the park, Serena had already been searching for over half an hour. Her hair was plastered to her face, her fingers numb from the cold. Each time she thought she heard a bark or saw movement, her hope flared—only to be crushed again.

The longer she searched, the more terrified she became. Dog thieves were known to patrol areas like this, snatching beloved pets and vanishing without a trace.

She wiped the rain from her cheeks—she wasn't even sure if it was water or tears at this point—and climbed back into her car, soaked and shivering. But she refused to give up.

Just as she started the engine, her phone lit up with a new message. A video. She didn’t even recognize the sender—probably some old contact from the business world.

The message was short:

"Ava, check this footage. Is this your dog?"

She tapped on the file, and her breath caught.

It was Rex.

The video showed him trotting innocently along the roadside before a rope suddenly snapped around his neck, yanking him off his paws. He was dragged into a gray van that sped off within seconds.

Serena’s face went pale.

That was Rex.

Her hands trembling, she forwarded the video to the staff at Le Châteauesque Manor and sent a message:

"Track the van. Now."

Her phone rang almost immediately. She fumbled to answer, expecting a staff member.

But it was Alexander.

Before she could decide whether to ignore or answer, a new message popped up from him.

An address and two words:

"Come over."

That was all she needed.

No explanation. No questions. She understood him perfectly.

She threw the car into gear and took off, tires hissing across the slick pavement, the roar of rain behind her fading as she sped into the night.