* FREEBIES * 2nd * Chapter 341 : What do you want with her?

Dear Gentle Readers, 

This author understands the frustration over the last chapter and could only pray that you will trust this author that every chapter, every paragraph, every sentence has their own meaning and purpose. 

Serena may not be able to open up yet, but it is within her character’s arch. You have read from the very beginning of this story, you must have seen how each character grew naturally and evolves. 

Yours, 

E.C. 

---

When Serena stormed out of Manhattan Villa, she felt as though her whole body were burning. Rage coiled inside her chest, mingling with a suffocating helplessness she could barely endure. Layla’s smug talk about pregnancy echoed in her ears, colliding with Alexander’s cold words about getting rid of the child. The contradiction made her head pound violently, as if someone were striking an anvil inside her skull.

Still, she didn’t forget to scoop up Max on her way out.

After spending a short while cooling down at Le Châteauesque Manor, trying and failing to steady her nerves, she forced herself to the hospital to check on Simon.

Inside the quiet ward, Simon was already awake. He sat upright against a stack of pillows, thin hospital gown hanging loosely from his frame, a folder of documents balanced on his lap. Even here, in a sterile room that still smelled faintly of disinfectant and medicine, the man couldn’t stop working.

Serena felt a sharp pang of guilt. She stepped closer and said softly, “I’m sorry… this is all my fault.”

Simon adjusted his glasses. His face looked paler than usual, the edges of exhaustion sharpening his features, but his gaze remained steady. “Ms. Morales, don’t say that. If anyone’s lucky, it’s you. It was me who took the hit. If you had eaten it…” He trailed off, voice flat, as if refusing to entertain the thought. “One more bite could’ve killed you.”

The words stuck in Serena’s throat, lodging there like a stone. She swallowed hard, unable to speak, her chest tightening.

Just then, the door flew open and Whitney rushed in, her forehead glistening with sweat, strands of hair clinging to her temples. She had clearly run the entire way.

“Simon!”

Her voice cracked as soon as she saw him. Tears welled up, and before Simon could stop her, she collapsed into his arms, clutching him desperately.

Simon frowned, stiffening at the unexpected embrace, but Whitney only held on tighter. Her sobs came in ragged waves, soaking his hospital gown until the thin fabric clung damply to his chest.

Finally, after what felt like minutes, she dragged a tissue across her wet face, wiping furiously. Her voice trembled with fury. “I heard someone poisoned you. Who did it?” Her eyes blazed, as though ready to hunt down the culprit herself.

Serena cut in before the situation could spiral. “Go back to your filming.”

Whitney froze. The fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by reluctant obedience. She remembered her promise to Serena—to behave, to stay out of trouble.

“…Okay,” she murmured, lowering her head. Still, she lingered beside the bed, biting her lip. “Simon, please… take care of yourself.”

Simon only gave a curt nod, his indifference slicing through Whitney like glass. She lingered for another moment, glancing back with every reluctant step, before finally disappearing through the doorway.

When silence fell again, Serena pressed her fingers against her temples, massaging the ache there. Her voice was flat. “The person who poisoned me was Alexander’s girlfriend. He wants to protect her. And now… she’s pregnant. That means there’s nothing I can do.”

Simon’s eyes flickered in surprise. He had heard whispers about Serena and Alexander’s complicated entanglements, but learning another woman now carried Alexander’s child made the situation sharper, uglier. His gaze instinctively slid to Serena’s face, searching for cracks in her calm. But her expression was a mask, smooth and composed, as though none of it touched her.

He parted his lips, searching for words of comfort, but in the end, he simply dropped his eyes back to the papers on his blanket. The silence between them was heavy, unsaid things hanging in the air.

Serena, seeing through him, sighed softly. “Just focus on resting. If the chance comes, I’ll make her pay for this.”

Simon lifted his head, voice steadier than his body looked. “Ms. Morales, the entertainment business is built on power. Without it, we’ll always be at someone else’s mercy. We’re not strong enough yet. For now… we have to swallow our pride and survive. That’s what matters most. Next time, we’ll be smarter.”

At thirty-eight, Simon had seen his fair share of storms. His tone carried the weary pragmatism of someone who knew the game far too well.

Serena nodded. His words only solidified what she already knew.

When she left the hospital and slid into the backseat of her car, exhaustion crashed over her—not just in her body, but in her spirit. She had wanted to take a few days off. The month’s work was nearly wrapped, and she had earned a rest. But now, rest felt impossible.

If she wanted to survive—if she wanted to win—there was only one choice left. She had to throw herself back into the fight, to sharpen E.A. Corporation until it was untouchable. Only then could no one ever dare to trample her again.

Back at Le Châteauesque Manor, she finally allowed her body to collapse into bed, the weight of the day pressing down like stone.

---

Evening settled over Le Châteauesque Manor, draping the estate in a velvet hush. Serena clipped the leash onto Rex’s collar and stepped out into the cool dusk air. Right now, only Rex had the power to ease the weight pressing on her chest.

They wandered through the winding paths beyond the manor, Serena letting her feet guide her aimlessly. Her thoughts carried her to the place where she had once run into Rita, sketchbook in hand, so carefree and untouched by the storms of life. That moment felt like it belonged to a different lifetime. How quickly everything had unraveled.

Rex suddenly stiffened, ears pricking forward, and let out a sharp bark. His growls broke the quiet, aimed at a tall figure standing in the distance. The rain-softened twilight made it impossible for Serena to see his face clearly, only that he carried himself with quiet confidence.

Before she could react, Rex lunged, straining against the leash.

“Rex!” she called, hurrying after him. Her boots splashed in shallow puddles as she tried to keep up, but by the time she reached the spot, the man was gone.

Rex circled the area, tail wagging, ears twitching as though searching for a familiar scent. Serena caught her breath, an uneasy thought flickering through her mind. Could that have been Rex’s former owner?

The path wound toward the park, and just then, fat drops of rain began to fall, darkening the earth beneath her shoes. She hadn’t brought an umbrella, but Rex seemed to delight in the sudden downpour, bounding ahead with a renewed excitement. Despite herself, Serena’s lips curved into the faintest smile. It almost felt like she and Rex were on a secret treasure hunt.

He never ran too far—always checking back to make sure she was close. Serena tightened her hold on the leash, brushing wet hair away from her face, her cheeks damp from the rain.

The park was eerily empty, the rain having chased everyone else away. Only the patter of water on leaves and the faint rustle of Rex’s movements filled the silence. Taking a deep breath, Serena suddenly shouted into the gloom, her voice echoing against the dripping trees:

“Matheo, is that you?”

The only answer was the hollow hush of rainfall.

She didn’t want to turn back. Returning to Le Châteauesque Manor meant sitting in suffocating silence, her mind circling endlessly around Layla’s pregnancy. So she pressed forward, the rain soaking through her clothes, time blurring until she lost track of how far she had walked.

Then Rex froze.

Serena followed his gaze and felt the blood drain from her face. Ahead, under the trees, a body lay sprawled, rainwater streaking across skin and pooling crimson as blood mingled with the runoff.

Her fingers tightened around the leash. She took an instinctive step back.

From behind the trunk, a figure emerged—a man in a rain-slick coat. In his gloved hand gleamed a machete, its blade dripping red.

Their eyes locked.

Serena crouched quickly, tugging at Rex’s leash, pointing down the slope. The incline worked in their favor—Rex was strong, fast, and could outrun any man alive. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to escape.

“Go!” she whispered sharply.

Rex bolted, the leash slipping from her fingers. Relief and fear twisted in her chest as she watched him disappear into the rain. She turned back just as the man began his slow approach, his presence dark and suffocating, the blood on his knife mixing with the rainwater.

Backing away, Serena’s foot slipped. Pain flared hot in her ankle as she stumbled to the ground. She tried to scramble back, but her body betrayed her—her leg already swelling, her energy drained.

The man crouched in front of her, his face hidden beneath the shadow of his hood. Cold, rain-drenched gloves pinched her chin, tilting her face upward. Serena’s heart hammered in her ears. She braced herself for the machete to fall.

But he didn’t strike.

He stared at her for a long, agonizing five minutes. His silence was worse than any threat. Finally, his voice broke through the rainfall, low and chilling:

“Where’s the thing Matheo gave you?”

Her eyes widened. Shock rooted her to the ground. She had thought she’d stumbled into a random killing, that she was merely an unfortunate witness about to be silenced.

But no. He had been hunting her all along.

The rain ran off his gloves as he raised his hand. Without hesitation, he struck her temple with brutal precision. Serena’s vision went dark, the last thing she felt the icy press of water seeping through her clothes as consciousness slipped away.

---

Serena didn’t even get the chance to ask what on earth was going on.

Meanwhile, Rex was in full flight. Instead of racing toward Le Châteauesque Manor as expected, the dog cut straight across the slick streets of Manhattan, heading for the gated community of Manhattan Villa.

Rain poured in heavy sheets, drumming against the pavement and streaking down the sleek black coat of the German Shepherd. Yet Rex was relentless—zipping through puddles, his paws splashing water like bursts of silver in the dark. Dogs always seemed to know instinctively what humans missed; and tonight, Rex was being pulled by something urgent.

By the time he reached the gates of Manhattan Villa, his deep, resonant bark shattered the quiet of the storm. He barked again, louder, throwing his weight against the gate with impatient urgency.

Inside the security booth, two bodyguards hunched over the surveillance screens. On the grainy night feed, they spotted the familiar shape.

“Isn’t that Rex?” one asked, squinting.

“Yeah. Didn’t Ms. Morales take him out this morning?”

“Then what’s he doing here now?”

The first guard shrugged. “No idea. But better let him in.”

The men exchanged a look. Serena Morales’s name carried weight at Manhattan Villa. Ever since her infamous “joyride” incident that had left even the ironclad household of the Vanderbilts shaken, every guard on the payroll had quietly come to the same conclusion: if someone could wreak havoc here and walk away without consequence, it was Serena. And if it was her dog at the gate—well, best not to stall.

The iron gate creaked open.

The moment there was space, Rex shot inside like a bullet. His claws scraped against the stone path as he tore across the grounds. In a heartbeat, he reached the main house, leapt over the last step, and barreled straight through the narrow service door tucked beneath the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Rainwater shook off his fur in glistening droplets, splattering across the marble as he charged into the hall, chest heaving, eyes sharp. 

The study smelled faintly of ink and tobacco. Alexander had been hunched over his desk for hours, papers scattered like fallen leaves under the golden glow of the desk lamp. His eyes burned from strain, so he finally pushed back the leather chair and headed downstairs for a drink.

But as he reached the foyer, his steps slowed.

Rex was there—drenched, dripping, leaving a dark trail of paw prints across the marble floor. The shepherd’s fur was plastered to his body, and his eyes gleamed wild in the dim light.

Alexander’s face hardened. “Again?”

He signaled a servant. “Take him for a bath.”

Serena was supposed to take him back today. The thought sharpened his expression. Yet no matter how the servant tugged at the leash, Rex dug in his paws, barking—not the playful yaps he sometimes made, but sharp, urgent bursts that echoed off the walls.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” the servant said nervously, struggling with the leash, “he seems… spooked by something.”

Alexander’s frown deepened. He slipped on a pair of leather gloves, crouched slightly, and patted Rex’s soaked head. The moment his hand touched fur, the dog lunged forward, jaws clamping onto his pant leg—not in aggression, but in desperation—tugging, pulling, trying to drag him outside.

Alexander froze, then straightened and pulled out his phone. He dialed Serena.

The line clicked. A man’s voice, unfamiliar, came through.

“What do you want with her?”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed, his voice low and sharp. “Who the hell are you?”

He kept his hand steady on Rex’s head, calming the dog’s frantic tugging.

“I’m a new actor with E.A. Corporation,” the man replied smoothly. “Ms. Morales is in a meeting. If you have business, call back tomorrow.”

The line went dead.

Alexander stared at the phone for a moment, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall filling the silence. Seven in the evening. Serena had stormed out earlier. And now she’s in a meeting?

Rex barked again, more frantic this time.

Alexander ripped off the gloves and tossed them into the trash. “Jonathan,” he barked, “find out where Serena is. Now.”

Jonathan, who had been waiting nearby, didn’t waste a second. He had already raised his phone to his ear.

Alexander shrugged into his coat. “Get the car. We’re heading to Le Châteauesque Manor.”

The sleek black sedan was brought around within minutes. Rex bounded into the back seat without hesitation, water still dripping from his fur. Alexander didn’t so much as glance at him—his gaze stayed fixed out the windshield, cold and unblinking.

The city lights blurred past, but halfway to the manor Rex suddenly went wild. His ears shot up, his entire body stiffening before he lunged at the window, barking with raw urgency.

Alexander leaned forward. “What is it?”

At first he thought the dog had spotted Serena—but Rex wasn’t barking toward the manor. He was facing the opposite direction, toward the road leading into the park.

A weight settled in Alexander’s stomach. He yanked the car door open. Rex leapt out before the vehicle had even fully stopped, sprinting up the path with astonishing speed.

“Jonathan,” Alexander ordered, his tone iron, “call in police dogs. Something’s wrong.”

Rex was no ordinary pet. Shepherds were natural athletes, but Rex had been trained at Le Châteauesque Manor, drilled like a soldier. His instincts were razor-sharp, his intelligence uncanny—closer to a child than a beast. If he was this agitated, he had seen something.

Alexander set off after him, his long strides cutting through the damp air of night. Over his shoulder, he gave one last command to Jonathan:

“Check the manor. I’ll follow Rex.”

And with that, he vanished into the shadows of the park, chasing the frantic sound of barking.