* FREEBIES - Appreciation for our loyal readers * 2nd * Chapter 195

Dear Gentle Readers, 

Thank you for being so loyal and supportive. Please enjoy this freebie as a token of genuine appreciation from this author. 

Yours, Ethan

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Inside the quiet, sand-laced halls of the villa, the managers exchanged uneasy glances. For a man as calculating and composed as Alexander Vanderbilt, rushing out into a raging dust storm—just for a woman—was unthinkable. Uncharacteristic. Reckless, even.

And yet, he had.

With the roads nearly invisible and the winds threatening to uproot trees, no one could say whether he'd make it back safely. The sheer thought was unsettling.

Slowly, the group’s collective gaze shifted toward Uncle Marco.

Everyone knew Ava was his niece.

Marco stood stiffly, his jaw tight, the heat of humiliation slowly crawling up his neck. Ava had once been Charleston’s golden girl—the pride of her small community. When she graduated, her name was printed in local newspapers, her photo hung in coffee shops, her story whispered with pride at dinner tables.

Now? Now she was the woman entangled with a powerful executive, making headlines in silence.

It felt like his own dignity was crumbling with hers.

Unable to endure the silent judgment any longer, Marco muttered something about air and slipped outside. The moment the villa doors closed behind him, he pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes, his fingers trembling as he fumbled for his lighter.

Tomas, ever the quiet observer, followed him out.

They stood in silence at first, the faint roar of the storm beyond the hills serving as background noise.

“None of this is really up to us,” Tomas said, gently. “We're just the drivers, Marco. The boss only spoke to you earlier today out of respect—because you’re family.”

Marco’s hand shook as he brought the cigarette to his lips. The flame briefly illuminated the anguish in his eyes.

“I feel like I’ve failed my sister,” he muttered, exhaling smoke like regret. “Ava was supposed to be different. Harvard grad. Top of her class. She had everything. But now, she's out here playing second to a rich man? I can’t even look her mother in the eye.”

Tomas nodded slowly. “I get it. She got distracted. Glitter and gold can do that. But she’s smart. She’ll find her way back.”

Marco didn't respond. He just stared out into the darkening landscape, another deep drag of nicotine calming his nerves.

“What if her husband finds out?” Marco muttered suddenly. “What then? What’ll people say? What’ll they say about us? Our whole family leaned on her name.”

Tomas offered a wry smile. “You’ve been through worse. Tania’s expecting, right? Jared’s on the right path now?”

That did seem to soften Marco’s grim mood. His shoulders relaxed slightly. “Yeah… probably a boy. Tania’s got us all hovering around her, cooking chicken soup, making her eat more greens.”

Tomas chuckled. “When the baby comes, I’ll bring a proper gift.”

Marco let out a breath. A long one. The kind that seemed to let go of years of frustration—at least for a moment.

But peace would be short-lived.

Later that night, unable to keep it all bottled up, Marco made the mistake of venting to his wife, Mona. He thought it would end there.

It didn’t.

Unbeknownst to him, Tania—his beloved daughter-in-law—was within earshot.

And when she heard the name “Ava,” she exploded.

“That girl?! I knew she was no good! Tried to ruin things between Jared and me—acting all high and mighty! And now she’s out there messing around with some rich man?” Tania shrieked, hands planted on her hips like a warrior queen ready for battle.

“She’s married! Running around chasing another man—disgusting! Just like her mother! Nothing but bad blood!”

The house, once peaceful and filled with anticipation for new life, now echoed with the first storm of its own.

And this one had nothing to do with sand.

--- 

The storm outside showed no sign of letting up. It howled through the hills like some ancient beast, rattling the small bungalow’s windows with a rage that could strip trees bare. Inside, the air had settled into a strange stillness, broken only by the muffled rush of sand scraping against the walls.

Ava, curled in a chair by the window, blinked drowsily. The adrenaline from earlier had worn off, and fatigue weighed heavy on her limbs. The room felt smaller, quieter now—like the storm had locked them in a snow globe of sand and silence.

Alexander was still seated nearby, casually inspecting the healing wound on her knee. His touch was light, clinical, but not indifferent.

“We’re staying here tonight,” he said at last, glancing at her. “A landslide took out the road we came in on. A boulder’s blocking the pass. We can’t go back until they clear it.”

Ava’s brows furrowed. She hadn’t heard anything outside. “How do you know that?”

He didn’t answer. She didn’t push.

When the silence returned, it was heavier than before, drawn tighter by circumstance. They were two people who shouldn’t have been left alone together in a house like this—two people who already danced too close to the line.

And then there was Alexander’s suit—crisp, tailored, now layered in fine grit from the storm. He frowned down at it for the fifth time in less than a minute.

He was a perfectionist, a clean freak. She could tell he was trying to mask his discomfort, but it showed in the way he kept brushing invisible dust from his sleeves.

Seeing this, Ava stood and quietly moved toward the small, narrow bathroom. “Mr. Vanderbilt, you should shower first,” she offered gently. “There’s hot water. I’ll wash your clothes in the sink. There’s a hairdryer—I can get them dry enough for you to sleep in.”

He didn’t say anything. But he did take a step toward her and began unbuttoning his shirt.

She froze.

His long fingers moved with practiced ease, revealing inch after inch of sculpted skin. His body was honed, not bulky but built with purpose—a masterpiece drawn in lines of strength and elegance. She looked away, but not before the shirt landed squarely over her head.

“Don’t drool,” he said, his voice laced with amusement as he disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, he cracked the door and extended a pair of pants toward her.

When she saw the fabric clutched in his hand—along with a glimpse of his boxers—her cheeks flushed crimson. She turned quickly and went to the sink, focusing all her attention on scrubbing his shirt and pants clean, carefully working the fabric with her fingers until the water ran clear.

He was in the bathroom for a while.

Probably rinsing himself raw, she thought. The sand had been relentless. It wouldn’t surprise her if he stayed under the water until every trace was gone.

As she wrung out the last of the water from his pants, her gaze fell to the narrow bed in the room. It wasn’t large, but it looked clean. Soft. She wondered if he would even try to sleep. With his fixation on hygiene, he’d likely opt for a chair before crawling into an unfamiliar bed.

And then she thought of his car—well-stocked, most likely, thanks to Jonathan’s fastidiousness.

There might be a blanket or clean clothes.

She hesitated, glancing toward the door. The storm was still raging, but she clenched her jaw and grabbed the car keys anyway.

The moment she cracked open the door, she was nearly knocked back by a wall of wind and sand. With one arm shielding her face, she stumbled into the chaos, moving in short, careful steps toward the vehicle parked just a hundred feet away—though in the storm, it might as well have been a mile.

She swallowed sand, choked once, and blindly fumbled for the car’s door handle. By some miracle, she found it and ducked inside, gasping. The cabin was a stark contrast—silent, still, safe.

Jonathan hadn’t disappointed. Inside were fresh clothes, a blanket, and bottled water.

She collected what she needed and braced herself for the trip back.

By the time she re-entered the bungalow, wind-blown and breathless, Alexander had just stepped out of the bathroom—bare-chested and damp, his hair tousled, a towel slung over his shoulder.

She nearly dropped everything.

Without a word, she tossed a pair of pants at him. “Mr. Vanderbilt, put these on,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

He caught them easily, but the edge in his voice was unmistakable. “Are you out of your mind?”

Still panting from the ordeal, Ava laid the blanket across the mattress and covered the pillows. “I know you hate dirty spaces,” she said quietly. “These are from your car. They’re clean.”

Alexander said nothing. But after a long pause, he pulled the pants on.

He watched her retreat to the sink and resume washing his shirt, suit, and even his boxers. The sight of her bent over, hair slightly damp, sleeves pushed back as she worked in silence—he didn’t know why it made his chest feel strangely tight.

When she finished, she dried everything with the hairdryer. It took nearly two hours.

He watched her string up a makeshift clothesline across the room, her movements careful and efficient. The shirt, pants, and even the boxers fluttered gently under the dryer’s breeze.

When she was finally done, she disappeared into the bathroom for her own shower.

Alexander stared at the shirt she had brought in with her. His shirt.

“Wear mine,” he called out through the door.

She had no clothes. The only spare options were his.

That small truth made something soften in him again.

She emerged in his white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up and collar slightly open. Her short hair was damp, tied loosely behind her head as she ran a hand through it and finally—finally—sat on the bed, cautious, as if she were sitting beside a lion.

Outside, the sky had gone pitch black. The wind still screamed, but inside, it was… cozy. Dim. Warmed only by breath and proximity.

Ava sneezed.

In an instant, Alexander wrapped himself around her from behind, pulling her against his chest like he didn’t even need to think about it.

“Cold?” he murmured.

“A little.”

He rested his chin on her crown, arms encircling her. His body was warm and firm, and she could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.

She didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

For now, silence spoke more than words could. And despite the storm just beyond the walls, it felt—for one stolen moment—like the safest place in the world.

--- 

Half an hour later, Ava’s phone vibrated on the nightstand, breaking the heavy silence inside the sand-beaten bungalow. She slipped out from beneath Alexander’s arm, careful not to wake him, and answered in a whisper when she saw the caller ID.

“Professor?”

The voice on the other end was low, tense. “Ava, something strange happened tonight. There was a break-in at the university—Harvard’s archival database. The incident even made the news. The thief got away, and from the looks of it, they were highly skilled. Surgical, almost.”

Ava’s heart began to pound. She tightened her grip on the phone.

The professor continued. “A few of us were reviewing the damage. When we checked the archives, we found that your file had been tampered with. It looked like you were the specific target.”

“…Me?” Her voice was barely audible, stunned. “Why would anyone…”

“I don’t know if you’ve made enemies recently,” the professor said gently. “But I thought you should be aware. We’ve been instructed to keep the situation under wraps while the investigation continues, but I couldn’t, in good conscience, not warn you.”

“I understand,” Ava murmured, her throat dry. “Thank you, Professor.”

She ended the call, but her hands remained clenched around the phone.

Tampered records? A high-profile academic break-in?

Nothing in her Harvard file had ever been remarkable. She’d been a diligent student—quiet, consistent. She painted, took studio electives, and studied late into the night. The only hiccup had been when she was nearly forced to drop out by Margareth Laurent and Kirill Volkov. Even then, she hadn’t raised her voice. She just finished her degree online, quietly and without complaint.

But the memory that surfaced now was older. Deeper.

There was one secret she had never told anyone. Not Rachel. Not even herself in her most honest moments.

She had gone to Harvard because of a promise.

Because of a lie.

Years ago, a boy she had met—one who seemed to know the sky and every star beneath it—had told her he was a Harvard student. For reasons she never admitted, she held on to those words like a lifeline. From her first day on campus, she searched for him—face after face, lecture after lecture—believing he might appear. That he had been real.

But after six months of looking, she found nothing.

No one matching his description.

No record. No traces.

Not even a name. Because the one he’d given her… had been fake.

Ava had never spoken of it. Not because she forgot, but because it hurt too much to remember she’d reshaped her life for someone who didn’t exist.

She had felt foolish then. Small. As if she’d been tricked out of her own future.

And now… someone had broken into Harvard’s records and altered only her file.

She sat frozen on the edge of the bed, her mind spinning. Why? What were they trying to hide—or uncover?

When she finally lay back down, her face was pale, her body tense. The unease was like a shadow crawling beneath her skin. Alexander stirred beside her and noticed immediately.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low and groggy, but alert.

She shook her head quickly. “It’s nothing.”

But her thoughts refused to quiet. If someone had gone after her academic records, and now…

Her phone buzzed again. A new message.

This time it was from one of the Morales family’s bodyguards.

> Emergency at the New York residence. Someone broke in. No valuables taken. Security detail was bypassed. Only the nanny saw a figure and sounded the alarm.

Ava bolted upright, her pulse thudding.

Another break-in?

Now it wasn’t just her file. It was her family home.

Her hands trembled as she read the text again. The villa was supposedly secure—guards posted at every entrance. But someone had slipped in undetected, combed through every room, and vanished before they were caught.

No money taken. No jewelry. Nothing missing.

Which meant… they weren’t after things.

They were after her.

In New York, Alfonso had been awakened by the nanny’s shriek. When the lights came on and panic filled the hallways, he coughed violently from the cold air and clutched his chest, calling for his phone. But his hands shook too much to dial, and his voice cracked when he asked the guards to contact Ava directly.

He didn’t know what to say—how to explain the eerie feeling of being hunted without ever seeing your hunter.

Ava read the message again, slower this time.

Two break-ins. One in Boston. One in New York.

Two messages she never wanted to receive.

The storm raged outside the bungalow, but inside her chest, another storm had begun to swell.

Someone wasn’t just trying to scare her.

They were unearthing something. Something she didn’t even know she had buried.

And for the first time in a long time… Serena Ava Morales was afraid.