* FREEBIES * 2nd * Chapter 403

Dear Gentle Readers ,

Apologies for the duplicated paragraph... please enjoy this chapter free of charge

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The clatter of dishes echoed softly through the kitchen as Serena scraped the last bit of food into the trash. The faint hum of the refrigerator filled the quiet apartment. After a long evening, the air still smelled faintly of roasted garlic and red wine.

She rinsed her hands, squirted detergent into her palm, and began to scrub a plate. The warm water and the steady rhythm of cleaning calmed her thoughts—until she suddenly felt strong arms slide around her waist.

Alexander.

His touch was firm, possessive, the heat of his body seeping through her thin blouse. She stiffened in surprise; he had barely spoken a word all through dinner—just a few short, gruff replies. Now, without warning, he was pressing against her, his breath grazing her neck.

Before she could turn, his lips were already on hers.

“Wait—” Serena managed, half-laughing, half-protesting. “I’ve got soap on my hands—”

But he didn’t wait.

She felt the slick suds against his chest and realized she’d smeared detergent across his expensive suit. “Your fault,” she murmured, breathless, as he kissed her deeper.

He only smiled against her mouth.

The next thing she knew, her back hit the cool edge of the dining table—the same one where they’d eaten moments ago. His kisses grew rougher, more desperate, as if he’d been holding back for far too long.

Serena’s cheeks burned. Her fingers curled around the edge of the table, half from need, half from disbelief. The scent of dish soap mixed with his cologne—an intoxicating blend of cleanliness and chaos.

The world outside ceased to exist.

They moved with unrestrained hunger, the table creaking beneath them, until he finally scooped her up in his arms and carried her toward the bedroom.

She didn’t know how long it lasted—how many times the night blurred and rekindled—only that when she finally stirred again, she was surrounded by rising steam.

Warm droplets clung to her skin. They were in the bathroom now, submerged in a bath drawn sometime between exhaustion and desire. His bare chest pressed against her back, his breath tickling her ear.

Serena tried to turn her head, to speak, but Alexander gently guided her face back, his lips tracing a slow, maddening line along her shoulder. Her pulse raced beneath his touch, her body melting into the water, into him.

The night stretched endlessly, dissolving the lines between tenderness and need, until the first faint light of dawn crept through the blinds—soft, golden, and quiet.

---

When Serena finally woke, sunlight poured through the window like liquid gold, flooding the room with warmth. The brightness stung her tired eyes. She blinked twice, then froze.

The clock on the bedside table read 2:30 p.m.

A jolt of panic surged through her.

Her head throbbed faintly as she sat up, the sheets slipping from her bare shoulders. She quickly reached for her clothes, dressing in a rush. Her phone, tossed somewhere on the nightstand, buzzed relentlessly—dozens of missed calls and unread messages from company higher-ups filled the screen.

Marilyn alone had called over ten times.

But of course, Alexander had set her phone to silent last night.

Serena let out a long, defeated sigh. Of course he did.

By the time she hurried downstairs, Alexander was already gone—off to work, crisp suit and composed demeanor in place, looking every bit the man who hadn’t kept her awake until dawn.

Now, even starting her car made her legs tremble. The steering wheel felt cold and heavy under her hands. She pressed the gas pedal, her thigh muscles protesting.

It was going to be a long day.

At the office, the bustle of activity did little to calm her nerves. She dove straight into the mountain of paperwork on her desk, moving mechanically through reports and approvals. When she finally paused, she nearly fell asleep on top of the documents.

From her desk nearby, Marilyn glanced up. Her eyes caught the faint reddish marks peeking from beneath Serena’s collar. Surprise flickered across her face—Serena had left the office at midnight, exhausted. So that meant…

They really went at it after that?

Serena stretched stiffly, pressing her hand to her lower back as she moved to the couch. Her body still ached from the night before. She sank into the cushions and unlocked her phone, scrolling aimlessly before hesitating.

Alexander had been insatiable lately. With the Vanderbilt Group’s restructuring nearly complete, he had more time on his hands—too much time, apparently. When he wasn’t working, he found other ways to keep himself occupied… and Serena was his favorite distraction.

Her cheeks warmed at the thought.

She’d known he was athletic—she wasn’t blind—but she hadn’t realized just how much energy the man possessed.

Last night, she’d nearly fainted from sheer exhaustion.

Still half in disbelief, she opened her social media app where people could post question and answers anonymously, and, without overthinking, typed out a post:

Serena: Just wondering, what do you do if your boyfriend has too much energy? I’m exhausted and can’t keep up. He’s a few years older than me, but last night I almost passed out—I’ve lost count of how many times.

She hit “post,” then immediately took a long sip of coffee to recover her dignity.

From across the room, Marilyn was sorting files when she noticed Serena’s distracted expression. “Ms. Morales, is something wrong?”

Serena hesitated. There was definitely something wrong, but how was she supposed to admit that out loud?

If Rachel were around, she might’ve vented to her, but the last time she’d brought up Alexander, Rachel had looked… less than thrilled.

So Serena just rubbed her temple and sighed.

Marilyn misunderstood the gesture completely. “You should really take a break, Ms. Morales. You’ve been at it all day—and you looked completely worn out last night.”

Serena’s eyes widened slightly. Reflexively, she adjusted her collar, tugging it higher to cover her neck. The faint pink marks there were proof enough of what had happened, and it was far too warm for a turtleneck in July.

Marilyn gave her a knowing smile. “Mr. Vanderbilt certainly has… a lot of stamina.”

Serena’s hand froze mid-adjustment. “He’s just… had too much free time lately,” she said, trying to sound casual. “The new executive team at Vanderbilt Group has things running smoothly, so he doesn’t have much to do.”

Marilyn chuckled softly, clearly unconvinced.

Serena pushed herself back into her office chair, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Marilyn, can you have some dinner sent up? I’ll finish these documents first before heading home.”

Her stomach growled quietly. She hadn’t eaten breakfast—or lunch—and the coffee was starting to churn uncomfortably in her empty stomach.

“Of course,” Marilyn replied with a nod, gathering her folders before heading out.

The office fell quiet again. Only the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock filled the room as Serena leaned back in her chair, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

The sunlight outside had shifted to a soft, honeyed glow. For just a second, before exhaustion claimed her again, she couldn’t help but smile faintly—half in disbelief, half in surrender.

Alexander Vanderbilt was going to be the death of her. 

---

Serena’s phone buzzed insistently on the table, the screen lighting up with a string of notifications. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she reached for it, her fingers brushing against the warmth of her mug. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the quiet room as she took a few sips to clear her head before opening the app.

It was her latest post that had caused the uproar.

She hadn’t meant to start a debate—she had just posted honestly, a bit of late-night venting wrapped in humor. After only a few days with Alexander, she was already struggling to keep up with his relentless energy. At this rate, she thought wryly, she might not survive the month. The post had been meant as a half-joke, half-cry for help.

But, of course, the internet didn’t see it that way.

[Where can I find a boyfriend who’s always ready to go? I urgently need one. I’m dumping mine—he barely lasts a minute, and I’m tired of pretending.]

[Just broke up with my ex! He’d finish too fast but was still cocky enough to ask, “Did you like it?” Sir, it was thirty seconds. What’s there to like?]

[You’re lucky! My husband only lasts three minutes, and I’ve given up complaining. I just lie there and think about my grocery list.]

[If you don’t want that kind of man, please give him to me. I haven’t felt alive in years.]

Serena almost choked on her coffee at that last comment. The hot liquid went down the wrong way, and she snatched a tissue, coughing and wiping her mouth.

Reflexively, she refreshed the page. The comments kept multiplying—hundreds of women, all ranting, laughing, or begging for her problem.

It was chaos. Familiar chaos.

Just like last time she’d accidentally gone viral, the conversation had spiraled into a collective therapy session about bad sex and worse boyfriends.

Serena sighed and rubbed her temples. The caffeine wasn’t helping her headache. She really didn’t know what to do anymore. Just the thought of going home and… doing that again made her legs feel weak.

And it wasn’t even that she disliked it—no, quite the opposite. That was the problem. They’d only been together for a week, and she was already too embarrassed to tell Alexander that he might quite literally kill her with passion.

After dinner, she stayed in the office, finishing reports until nearly nine. Her computer screen had dimmed to night mode when her phone buzzed again.

Alexander: I’m going to Le Châteauesque Manor tonight.

Serena froze, her back immediately tightening in reflex. She typed quickly:

Serena: Aren’t you drinking with Hugo and the others?

Alexander: No. I want to see you.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. Of course you do, she thought, sighing. After a moment, she packed her things and told Marilyn to wait downstairs.

But when she stepped out of the building, she stopped short.

Alexander’s car was parked right out front, sleek and black beneath the yellow glow of the streetlamps. The air was cool, a faint breeze stirring her hair. It was obvious from the dew on the windshield that he’d been waiting for a while.

Her heart softened despite herself. Then the memory of his intensity resurfaced, and her stomach fluttered in nervous anticipation.

She walked toward the car, deciding to play it safe and open the back door. Maybe he’d brought a driver.

She miscalculated.

Jonathan was driving tonight—Alexander was sitting in the back.

For a split second, she considered turning and bolting. But Alexander had already looked up, his gaze sharp and unreadable.

“You don’t want to see me?” His voice was smooth, quiet—but the edge in it made her pulse jump.

Serena forced a small smile and slid inside. “Of course not,” she murmured, which only made him smirk faintly.

Before she could settle in, his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. The crisp fabric of his suit brushed against her blouse as his fingers traced down the curve of her back, stopping to knead the tension in her waist.

The simple touch made her sigh. She’d been sitting at her desk for hours; her shoulders ached, her spine felt stiff. Now, under his steady hand, the tension began to melt away.

The car ride was warm, the hum of the engine soothing. His scent—clean, faintly woody—filled her senses. Within minutes, her eyelids grew heavy. She drifted off against his shoulder, lulled by the rhythm of the road and the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear.

By the time they arrived at Le Châteauesque Manor, Serena was fast asleep.

Jonathan quietly parked and got out, watching as Alexander opened his door. The billionaire moved carefully, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. Moonlight poured over them, silvering the stone path as he carried her inside.

He took her upstairs to his bedroom—a spacious, understated suite that smelled faintly of cedar and rain. He laid her gently on the couch, loosened his tie, and turned toward the marble bathroom.

The sound of running water soon filled the air. Steam curled from the wide porcelain tub as he adjusted the temperature. When he returned, he undressed her with deliberate care, his touch light, almost reverent, and placed her into the bath.

Serena stirred slightly, murmuring something incoherent. Her head lolled to the side, hair fanning against the edge of the tub, the warm water lapping against her skin.

Alexander’s eyes softened. He reached for a towel, drying her slowly once she was done, then carried her to bed and tucked her under the linen sheets.

Only then did he head back to the bathroom, stripping off his shirt as he went. The sound of the shower soon joined the quiet rhythm of her breathing—a calm, steady sound in the vast, dimly lit room.