* FREEBIES * Chapter 151 : if you join me for dinner tonight, I might be persuaded to talk

As soon as Serena stepped through the doors of her quiet penthouse on the Upper West Side, her phone buzzed. It was a message from Alfonso.

Alfonso: Serena, I'm sorry. I was wrong.

Alfonso: I’ve taken back the shares from Araminta. Tonight, I’ll review the contract with PW Group. I won’t let you suffer anymore.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Serena stared at the screen, the words blurring as her vision clouded. Back at the hospital, she hadn’t shed a single tear—not when she was insulted, not when she was hit, not even when the truth unraveled. But here, in the silence of her own space, with the city lights blinking outside her windows, her heart cracked.

She sank onto the velvet sofa and let the tears fall. Alfonso… he had once been her hero. Her anchor. If he had always treated her coldly, maybe this wouldn’t hurt so much. But he hadn’t. He had once carried her on his shoulders, told her bedtime stories, made her feel like the most cherished girl in the world.

And that version of him still lived somewhere deep in her memories.

Her phone buzzed again.

Alfonso: Josh is in a coma. Araminta and Valentina are going to jail. I'm such a failure. I've raised three heartless people over the years and nearly lost my company.

Serena didn’t reply. She couldn’t. Her heart was too heavy, her mind too full.

She placed her phone down gently, then quietly disappeared into the bathroom. She took a hot shower, letting the water wash away the weight of the day, and then crawled into bed, emotionally spent.

When the morning light filtered through her curtains, she reached for her phone again. Three new messages.

Alfonso: I’m 63 now and suddenly have nothing left. I don’t even dare to die and face your mom. I know she’d scold me for all this.

Alfonso: I checked the contract with PW. Kenny signed an extra clause, shortening the six-month deadline to just one month. PW already called. The company’s in $1 billion debt, and we don’t have that kind of cash flow.

Alfonso: Giving you the shares now is pointless. You’d be inheriting ruins. Maybe it’s better this way—at least you’re not tied to this mess. Serena, I’m really, really sorry.

The last message made her stomach twist into a tight knot.

Serena immediately dialed him, but a nurse answered instead.

“Mr. Morales had a sudden episode last night,” the nurse said gently. “He asked us not to contact you. He... he doesn’t have much will to keep fighting.”

Serena’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her lips quivered, her throat dry.

This wasn’t just about the betrayal. It wasn’t just about Araminta, Valentina, or even Josh. This was deeper—this was about a man who had built an empire with his own two hands, who had trusted the wrong people, and now watched it all crumble around him.

The company was Alfonso’s life. His pride. His legacy.

And now, at sixty-three, he had nothing left. Nothing but guilt and shattered pieces.

Even his dearest friend's death, she realized, might be entangled in this catastrophe.

Serena rubbed her temples, trying to steady herself.

The Morales Group contract had been signed with the official company seal. It wasn’t just Kenny’s doing—it had been board-approved and legally binding. Which meant the entire company was now trapped in an ironclad agreement with a billion-dollar time bomb.

The chaos within the company must be unimaginable. Board members panicking, investors fleeing, rumors flying.

The only way out would be to force PW Group to cancel the contract—but that was wishful thinking. PW had done this before, to countless companies. They operated like predators, luring businesses into their web and then bleeding them dry.

No one had ever brought them down. Not a single company had survived once caught in PW’s grip.

And now it was up to her?

Serena stared out the window, at the bustling city below. The weight on her shoulders grew heavier. How could she, alone, go to war against a corporate monster?

But still... she didn’t look away.

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Serena scoured the internet for any trace of PW’s elusive president, Ryan Kuzmin. It didn’t take long before she uncovered several shell companies tied to his name—all with murky connections leading back to Kirill Volkov, Alexei’s powerful father. The pieces began clicking into place. When she had once brought up PW to Alexei, he’d immediately recognized the name. He had mentioned that Alexander was fully aware of PW’s shady operations and had even blacklisted them from his circle.

Alexander probably had a detailed dossier on PW’s corruption and weaknesses. But with his pride and perfectionism, he had likely chosen to avoid getting involved further.

Serena leaned back into the plush cushions of the living room sofa, the tension in her shoulders finally easing just enough to make a call. She dialed the hospital to check on Alfonso.

A familiar nurse answered. “He keeps muttering your name in his sleep and crying,” she said softly. “His hair turned completely gray overnight.”

Serena’s body went rigid.

Alfonso had always been proud that his hair grayed later in life. He’d joke about it often, saying it made him look ten years younger than his peers. The image of him now—his once-dark hair turned ghostly white in a single night—struck her like a bolt to the chest. She clutched her phone, lips parting, but no words came.

Later, worn down from everything, Serena fell asleep right there on the sofa. Her mind drifted into a memory so vivid it might as well have been real.

She dreamt of her mother, Elena.

In truth, Serena could barely recall her mother's face anymore. Time had blurred the lines of her features. What remained crystal clear, though, was a single moment—the day Ricardo and Martina had tried to strike her, and Elena had stepped in between them.

That was the first time she truly understood what it meant to be unwanted just because she was a girl.

She and Elena had taken the bus back to New York that same day. Serena remembered overhearing people in nearby seats gossiping about how, in Charleston, boys were treasured while girls were discarded like afterthoughts.

Bruised and small, Serena had nestled into her mother’s fragile arms. Elena had shielded her body from further blows, trembling with silent fury. Serena had looked up with innocent confusion and whispered, “Mom, what does it mean to value boys over girls?”

Elena’s face was already fading from memory—there were few photographs from those lean, difficult years. But Serena could still remember how her mother froze before wrapping her arms around her more tightly than ever.

“It means boys carry the heavy things, and girls carry the light ones,” Elena had said gently, as if trying to soften the blow.

Over the years, whenever Serena felt deeply hurt, she might find herself dreaming of Elena. Though those dreams came less often now, today, one found her.

In the dream, Elena’s voice was like a lullaby. “Serena,” she said softly, “the ones I worry most about are you and your dad. I’m afraid he’ll grow lonely, and I’m scared you’ll marry the wrong person. I miss you both… so much.”

Serena jolted awake, tears stinging her eyes, her throat sore and dry as if the ache had followed her straight out of the dream. 

Was it just a dream… or had Elena somehow found a way to reach her?

Her mother’s voice lingered like a whisper in Serena’s mind. Elena had worried that Alfonso would be left all alone. That Serena might marry the wrong man. Both fears had come true.

Alfonso was now completely isolated—stripped of his family, betrayed by those he trusted most, and staring down the barrel of financial ruin. Ricardo and Martina’s family would no doubt circle back soon, scavengers drawn to the scent of vulnerability, ready to squeeze him for money. And that crushing $1 billion debt from PW Group? It hung over him like a noose.

Serena couldn’t stop thinking about how he must be feeling. Hopeless. Powerless. Probably believing that death was the only way to escape it all.

If she stood by and let him fade away like this, she would never be able to live with the guilt.

But what could she possibly do?

She started making calls, her fingers flying across her screen as desperation slowly bled into determination. Her first call was to Rachel, hoping she might have some insight on Ryan Kuzmin. But Rachel’s voice was apologetic.

“My dad still handles all the finances. I barely know anything about that side of the business.”

Westmond Rowell—always keeping his daughter in the dark.

One call turned into three. Then five. Then ten.

Finally, she got through to someone who could actually help: Alexei.

He answered casually, clearly in the middle of getting dressed. The sound of clinking cufflinks and jazz playing in the background made it clear he was preparing for some high-end evening out.

“Look who it is,” he said, a grin in his voice. “What’s the occasion?”

Serena didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I need information on Ryan Kuzmin.”

Alexei paused. And then laughed.

“My dad and Ryan go way back,” he said. “If I sold you that kind of intel, he’d probably break out of prison just to hunt down his backstabbing son.”

Then, his voice shifted—silkily playful, as always.

“But… if you join me for dinner tonight, I might be persuaded to talk.”

Serena didn’t miss a beat when she responded, “Name the restaurant.”