Shall We?

Dear Gemtle Readers ,

After thinking this through multiple times now, this author decided to continue this book with the 1st branch of the story. The continuation of the 2nd branch will be in the BVEW II (there is no change on that note). 

The author will try to update daily starting 01 January 2026 however considering that he only gets paid for 1 book at a time, he might have to switch which book to focus/update every month. 

With the above being said, this author hopes you can enjoy both stories and perhaps even try the book TTWC which the author is most proud of. 

Thank you & have a wonderful end of 2025 and beginning of 2026 celebration. 

Grazie a mille. 

Yours, Ethan

********* below are the last chapters of 1st branch in case you have forgotten *********

Alexander let out a sigh, leaning back in the chair as his grandfather rifled through a worn leather photo album placed neatly beside the chessboard. The old man flipped through its pages, mumbling to himself. The room felt heavier somehow, the air thick with nostalgia and something Alexander couldn’t quite name.

Alexander leaned back against the worn leather chair in the grand sitting room of the Vanderbilt Mansion, pretending to sip his tea while his grandfather, Cornelius Vanderbilt Sr., dug through an old photo album. The scent of aged paper and tea leaves hung in the air, mixing with the warm, familiar atmosphere of a home built on old money and endless pride.

He didn’t want to be here.

His mind had been elsewhere all evening — on Ava.

The hotel. The time. Her waiting.

She’d agreed to meet him there, not because she wanted to — but because she had no choice.

Because of Ryan Kuzmin.

Alexander had promised her that if she surrendered to his terms — ten nights, no conditions — he would take Ryan down, destroy PW Group’s hold over her husband, and put an end to the threats against Liam.

And she agreed. 

The memory of her trembling voice, her broken pride, still echoed in his mind. He hadn’t meant for it to go that far, hadn’t intended for her desperation to cut so deep.

Yet he’d pushed anyway.

“Ah, here it is,” Cornelius announced proudly, breaking Alexander’s spiraling thoughts. He held up a faded photograph with a tenderness rarely seen in the ruthless old man’s eyes. “Look at this. Serena — when we first met her at the hospital. Kind, thoughtful, sweet girl. Just look at that face.” 

Alexander hadn’t thought about his wife, Serena, in so long.

Not really. She was a name, a title on paper. His wife. A formality agreed upon by their families, signed and sealed like a business contract. She had been there in the background of his life — a figure too quiet, too unobtrusive, too compliant to ever warrant much of his attention.

Until now. 

Alexander took it, his gaze barely interested at first. It was an old photograph, the colors slightly dulled, edges worn soft by years of handling. A young woman sat beside a hospital bed, smiling gently at the camera. The man in the bed — his grandfather, thinner, older, frailer then — was grinning too, his hand resting over the girl’s.

The girl.

Alexander’s breath stilled.

It was her.

Ava.

The same delicate features. The curve of her jaw. The softness in her eyes. That same gentle curve of her cheek. The same delicate, intelligent eyes. The soft smile she wore back then, so genuine, so light — nothing like the tight, weary expression she carried now.

His pulse spiked.

It wasn’t a resemblance. 

It wasn’t a coincidence.

It was her. 

His stomach dropped. 

It was Ava. Clear as day. 

The realization hit him with brutal, suffocating force.

His legal wife — the woman his family had arranged for him to marry. And the same woman he had, unknowingly, reduced to a mistress. A pawn. A bargain struck in shadows.

His chest constricted. 

But his grandfather’s voice broke through his shock.

“That’s Serena. Such a kind, thoughtful girl. When I was sick, she was always there — cooking soup, sitting by my bedside, helping the nurses. Not like those other girls in Charleston. She’s different.”

Serena. 

Alexander’s pulse thundered in his ears. His chest constricted.

All the moments they’d shared outside that marriage flooded his mind — every touch, every demand, every harsh word, every humiliating agreement.

And she knew.

She knew it was him.

She knew he was her husband.

And she still came to him.

Not for lust. Not for greed.

But for a bargain. 

Because Alexander held the one thing she desperately needed — power.

And she’d traded herself for it.

His hand tightened around the photograph.

“She’s a good girl,” Cornelius went on, oblivious to the storm breaking inside his grandson. “I told your mother back then, she was different. Not like those Charleston debutantes. Genuine. Humble. And patient. I hope you’re treating her well.”

Alexander swallowed hard, struggling to stay composed.

“Yeah,” he managed, though his voice felt foreign in his throat.

His mind raced.

How long had she been enduring this?

Did she think he knew — that he did this to her on purpose?

Had she begged for help from the very man who made her life unbearable, thinking he’d never lift a hand for her unless she sold herself in pieces?

His stomach twisted.

He remembered how pale she looked last night, her hands trembling under the fabric of his shirt, swallowing her pride like it was poison. How she bit back tears, pretending it was just another business deal.

And he’d thought she was just another woman.

How cruelly, foolishly wrong he’d been.

“I have other pictures too,” Cornelius chuckled. “But this is my favorite. She was taking care of me that day. So gentle.”

Alexander couldn’t bear another word.

He rose abruptly, his movements sharp.

“Grandpa, I need to go.”

Cornelius frowned. “Now? What’s the rush? Sit — one more round of chess. You’ve been distracted all night.”

“There’s something urgent with the company.”

It was a weak excuse, but it was all he could manage.

He needed to see her. Now.

He grabbed his coat, forcing himself not to sprint out the door.

7:57 p.m.

She was waiting for him — probably dressed in something she hated, her heart pounding, dreading the moment the door would open. Still thinking she was nothing more to him than a deal, a transaction, when in reality, she was so much more, she was his wife. 

He pulled out his phone, thumbing through the messages she’d sent earlier:

Mr. Vanderbilt, my clothes are ruined. I took one of your shirts.

Mr. Vanderbilt, can you send me the information to take down Ryan?

Where are we meeting tonight?

Isn’t this what we agreed on?

Every message stabbed him in the chest.

She had been so brave, carrying the weight of her family, her marriage, and this sickening deal all at once — and all while he treated her like a stranger.

And she hadn’t once said a word about who she truly was.

Because she thought it wouldn’t matter.

Alexander’s jaw tightened.

He would deal with Ryan. And Liam. And everything else. But first — he needed to go to her. Now.

He couldn’t let her sit there, waiting, believing she meant nothing.

With a surge of urgency, he pushed out of the mansion, ignoring the calls of the household staff behind him. He didn’t even wait for the driver, slipping behind the wheel of his car himself.

His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the steering wheel.

His Serena.

His Ava.

His wife.

And he’d destroyed her trust.

But it wasn’t too late — it couldn’t be.

He sped toward the hotel, his mind consumed with only one thought:

He had to fix this. And he had to start by finally seeing her. Not as a mistress. Not as a deal.

But as the woman she truly was —

His wife.

--- 

The city lights blurred past as Alexander sped through the streets, his grip tight on the steering wheel. The cool night air seeped through the slightly opened window, but it did nothing to calm the restless storm inside him.

For the first time in years, his usually sharp, calculated mind was clouded — not by business, not by rivals, but by a woman.

His wife.

And how badly he’d wronged her.

Ava. Serena.

Every time he said either name in his head now, it twisted something deep in his chest.

He thought back to her messages — not a single word of accusation, not one plea for sympathy.

Even after everything, she hadn’t used his name.

She called him Mr. Vanderbilt.

Professional. Distant. Like a stranger.

And wasn’t that what he’d made himself?

As he pulled into the underground parking of the hotel, he sat in the car for a long moment. His reflection in the windshield stared back at him — polished, cold, successful. A man respected, feared, envied. But none of that meant anything now.

He grabbed the room key she’d used before, still left in the glove compartment.

8:14 p.m.

He was late.

He took a steadying breath, then made his way to the elevator.

---

The hotel corridor was silent, save for the soft hum of air conditioning. Each step he took down the plush carpeted hallway felt heavier, slower.

He stopped in front of the door.

Room 1206.

For a moment, he hesitated.

In the past, he would’ve pushed open that door without a second thought. Walked in with that air of ownership he always carried — ruthless, unbothered, indifferent.

But now, everything was different.

He knocked.

Softly.

There was a long pause.

Then, the door cracked open.

Ava stood there, her face half in shadow. Her hair was still slightly damp, falling around her shoulders. The coat she wore was clutched tightly around her, but he could still see the edge of white silk beneath it — the one she’d bought, the one she’d forced herself to wear because of him.

Her eyes widened slightly when she saw him, but quickly lowered.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” she said softly, stepping aside without meeting his gaze.

The title stung. It pained him more to hear it directly coming out of her mouth. 

He walked inside, closing the door behind him. The room smelled faintly of her shampoo, and his throat tightened at the sight of the discarded shopping bag on the chair.

She stood near the window, keeping her distance. Her posture was stiff, her expression carefully blank.

“You’re late,” she said quietly.

Alexander exhaled. “I know.”

He wasn’t used to apologizing. The words felt foreign, unfamiliar, but he forced them out.

“I… I found out.”

She tensed, her grip tightening on the coat. “Found out what, Mr. Vanderbilt?” she asked, still not looking at him.

“About who you are.” He took a step closer, his voice rough. “That you’re Serena.”

Ava’s breath caught. For a second, her carefully held composure cracked, her eyes shimmering, before she quickly looked away again.

“I see.” Her voice was almost too calm, too empty. “Does it change anything?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

The weight of his silence was answer enough.

“I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter,” she said softly, turning to the window, staring out into the city lights. “I knew what this was. What you wanted. What you thought of me. I knew it the first night. You didn’t need to know my name.”

Alexander swallowed hard. “You agreed… because of Ryan.”

A small, humorless smile touched her lips. “Yes. Because no one else would help me. Not you, my so-called husband, even if I, as your wife, begged you to. You only agreed to help me for a price and because you did not know that I am your wife.”

She turned to face him finally, and the quiet devastation in her eyes made something inside him fracture.

“I would’ve endured anything for my father,” she said, her voice shaking just slightly. “Even… this.”

He wanted to speak, to say something, anything — but no words seemed enough.

“Why did you come, Mr. Vanderbilt?” she asked, pulling the coat tighter around her.

He stepped closer. “Because you’re not a deal. You’re not a mistress. You’re my wife. And I was too blind to see it.”

She gave a small, broken laugh. “You still don’t get it. You didn’t fail to see it, you weren’t blind — you just never cared.”

Those words cut deeper than anything else.

He didn’t argue.

He couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

She blinked, as though stunned to hear it. But the next moment, she gained her composure and her face revealed nothing. 

“It’s too late for sorry, Alexander,” she said, this time using his name. The way it sounded on her lips sent a pang through his chest.

There was a long, heavy pause.

“I’ll end the agreement,” he said. “Tonight. You don’t owe me anything anymore.”

But she shook her head.

“You think that fixes it?” she whispered. “It was never about what I owed you. It was about what you took — my dignity, my pride, my safety. You made me into something I wasn’t. Did you know that it took me everything to lower myself into agreeing to sleep with you, to trade it for your help?”

He felt the shame burn beneath his skin. “I’ll make this right.”

She gave him a long, searching look — and for the first time, he saw it clearly.

Not hatred.

Not anger.

Just exhaustion.

“Then let me go,” she said softly. “Let me live a life without you in it. Without this. Sign the papers. Let’s divorce for once and for all.”

The words felt like a blow, but he nodded. 

He had no right to hold onto her anymore.

“I’ll handle Ryan,” he said. “I’ll make sure no one touches your family again. You won’t owe me a thing.”

She gave a faint, brittle smile. “I never did.”

And with that, she turned away.

Alexander lingered for a moment longer, watching her fragile figure silhouetted against the city lights — the woman he’d wronged, the woman he’d finally seen too late.

Then he left.

And for the first time in years, Alexander Vanderbilt felt the weight of true loss.

--- 

Alexander didn’t remember much of the drive back. The city was a blur of lights and shadows, his thoughts tangled and restless. The tight knot in his chest refused to ease.

The image of Ava — Serena — standing by that window lingered with painful clarity. The hollow look in her eyes. The way her voice had cracked when she spoke of dignity, safety, and the things he’d stripped from her.

He’d always considered himself a man in control, measured and strategic in every move, every decision. But tonight, for the first time, he felt powerless.

And ashamed.

He’d broken something he had no right to touch. Now, all he could do was try — maybe hopelessly — to repair what pieces remained.

By the time he arrived at the Vanderbilt estate, the staff were long asleep, and the house was quiet. But he didn’t stop there. He headed straight to his private study, locking the door behind him.

He pulled out his phone and made a call.

Jonathan picked up on the second ring, sounding slightly groggy.

“Sir?”

Alexander didn’t waste time. “Is the evidence against Ryan Kuzmin finalized?”

There was a brief pause. “Yes. The files you requested are complete — financial crimes, blackmail, bribery, coercion. Enough to bury him, sir.”

“Good. I want it in the hands of the district prosecutor by tomorrow morning. Quietly. No headlines yet. I want him cornered, not warned.”

Jonathan hesitated. “Should I inform the police chief or—”

“No,” Alexander snapped. “Direct to the prosecutor. No favors. No protection. Make sure his remaining accounts are frozen tonight.”

“Understood, President.”

Alexander rubbed his temple, exhaustion creeping into his bones, but he wasn’t finished.

“And Liam Norton — find him. Make sure he’s alive. Bring him to a secure clinic under our control. No one lays a hand on him again. Cover any medical expenses, no questions asked.”

Jonathan sounded more alert now, sensing something deeper behind his CEO’s tone. “Understood, sir. I’ll handle it personally.”

Alexander ended the call and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

It wasn’t enough. Not yet.

Ryan would fall. PW Group would collapse.

But it wasn’t just about revenge anymore — it was about finally breaking the chain that had tied Serena down all these years. The Morales debt, the backroom deals, the fake marriage… all of it.

He had to set her free.

And that meant signing the divorce papers.

For years, he’d kept those documents buried in his desk — unsigned, untouched. Partly because of stubbornness, partly because of convenience, and maybe because some foolish part of him liked having her tied to his name, even if he never truly saw her.

Now, it disgusted him.

He opened the locked drawer, pulled out the envelope, and stared at the clean, cold signatures.

Hers, written months ago.

His, still absent.

He picked up the pen, his hand trembling slightly.

It wasn’t just a signature.

It was an admission.

That he’d failed her.

That he’d been cruel and indifferent.

That he didn’t deserve her.

But this time, he wouldn’t back away.

With one clean, deliberate stroke, Alexander Vanderbilt signed his name at the bottom.

He stared at it for a long time.

It felt both like a punishment and a release.

He sealed the envelope and sent a message to his lawyer, instructing them to file it first thing in the morning, with a private copy delivered to Serena.

Ava.

He still wasn’t sure what to call her in his head.

But for once, she deserved to decide who she wanted to be — with or without him.

The next morning, the sun had barely risen when Alexander arrived at the offices of Riverton Holdings — one of the key financial partners in PW Group’s empire.

The board members were already waiting in the conference room, dressed in sharp suits and forced smiles. They hadn’t expected to see the Vanderbilt heir personally, especially not unannounced.

Alexander strode in like a storm, his presence cutting through the room like a blade.

“Mr. Vanderbilt — we didn’t know you’d—”

“Save it,” he said coolly, dropping a thick stack of documents on the table. “Effective immediately, Riverton Holdings will sever all financial partnerships with PW Group. All investments will be liquidated. All collaborative projects — terminated.”

A ripple of shock spread through the room.

“Mr. Vanderbilt… that’s—”

“Non-negotiable,” Alexander cut in.

His voice was low, lethal. “Anyone who tries to cover for them, or slow-walk this process, will answer directly to me.”

One of the older executives cleared his throat. “But sir, there’s a significant amount of capital still tied up in those ventures—”

“Then cut the losses,” Alexander snapped. “Consider it a tax for cleaning filth out of this industry.”

He tossed another folder on the table — Ryan Kuzmin’s compiled crimes. “This is what you’ve been funding. This is what you’ve been protecting. And it ends now.”

No one argued.

They knew better.

He left the boardroom without a backward glance.

By noon, PW Group was collapsing.

Bank accounts frozen.

Clients pulling out.

Partner companies severing ties one after another, afraid of being dragged down with them.

Ryan Kuzmin’s name was already circulating in legal offices and financial papers by evening.

But Alexander wasn’t done.

He had one last stop to make.

---

It was late afternoon when he stood outside the Morales family hospital room. Alfonso was still unconscious, his breathing shallow but stable.

Alexander glanced down at the older man with a complex, unreadable look.

He wasn’t here to speak to him.

He turned to the nurse.

“When he wakes, tell him his debts are cleared. The company’s safe. And his daughter is no longer bound by any deals.”

The nurse blinked. “Of course, sir.”

Alexander left quietly, his shoulders heavy, but his steps surer than before.

---

That night, Alexander stood in front of the Vanderbilt mansion, staring up at its massive gates.

For the first time in years, he didn’t feel powerful here. Not superior. Just… tired.

His phone buzzed.

It was Jonathan.

“It’s done, sir. Ryan Kuzmin’s in custody. Liam’s safe. The divorce papers have been filed. And Serena — Miss Alvarez — received her copy this evening.”

Alexander closed his eyes.

It was done.

But the ache in his chest didn’t fade.

He thought of her face at the hotel window.

Her voice when she said “Let me go.”

He didn’t know if she’d ever want to see him again.

But for the first time, he wasn’t making decisions for her.

He was setting her free.

And wherever her life took her next — it would be on her terms.

Alexander Vanderbilt turned and walked into the night, carrying the weight of what he’d lost, and what he’d finally made right. 

---

Ava sat cross-legged on the floor of her apartment, Rex’s warm head resting against her knee. The golden retriever let out a soft, contented sigh, completely unaware of the life-changing moment that had just arrived.

On the table before her lay a sealed envelope.

Her name printed clearly beneath it:

Serena Ava Morales Vanderbilt.

She knew what it was. In fact, she’d been waiting for this moment for years — though not in longing or hope.

She had never begged for Alexander’s attention. Never sought his approval.

Not five years ago, when she signed that marriage certificate under the cold gazes of the powerful Vanderbilt family and Alfonso, her father’s watchful eyes.

Not when he had left the country right after signing the marriage certificate without a word, abandoning a marriage neither of them had wanted. 

She had lived alone since then.

Alone with the Morales debt, the fading reputation of her family, and the quiet suffocation of carrying a husband’s name without a husband. Being Mrs. Never-Was Vanderbilt. 

But now… now it was done. 

She opened the envelope without hesitation, without trembling fingers, and read the clean, crisp divorce papers.

His signature.

Bold. Sharp. Final.

Beside it — her own name, signed months ago. When she finally decided that being bound to Alexander Vanderbilt in name was worth nothing at all.

A slow, breathless kind of relief settled over her.

No anger.

No grief.

No sadness.

Just… release.

Serena exhaled deeply, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

It was over.

She was no longer Serena Vanderbilt.

She was Serena Ava Morales again, or if up to her, Ava Alvarez — and that was enough. 

She had taken off the Vanderbilt name.

Next would be her father’s name, the Morales. 

One step at a time. 

She scratched Rex’s ear and smiled. “It’s done, boy. We’re free.”

Rex wagged his tail in response.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from her bestfriend.

Rachel : Ava, PW Group’s finished. Ryan Kuzmin’s arrested. It’s everywhere. Big news.

Serena read it and smiled, not because of Alexander, not for what he did — but because a poison had been purged from her life. She typed a simple reply.

Ava : Good. Let it all burn. 

She grabbed Rex’s leash and headed for the door, her steps light, unhurried. No longer weighed down by debt, by threats, by family legacy, or by a marriage that had meant nothing to anyone but her father.

And for the first time in years, she wasn’t running.

She was walking into her life — her own, on her terms.

---

The evening air was crisp, cool against her skin, carrying the soft, steady hum of the city as Ava walked Rex down a quiet, tree-lined street. The world around them glowed under the flicker of street lamps and storefront lights, but for once, the city’s pulse didn’t feel suffocating. It felt… open. Wide. Hers.

She wore no makeup, no designer heels, no suffocating labels or expectations. Just herself — hair falling loose around her shoulders, a simple wool coat skimming her frame, cheeks pink from the cold.

Rex trotted ahead of her, the leash light in her hand, his paws padding eagerly along the pavement. He stopped now and then to sniff fallen leaves or chase the last flickers of light as they shifted across the sidewalk. The golden retriever’s clumsy stumble over a small pile of leaves made him tumble, tail wagging furiously, and a soft, clear laugh burst from Ava’s lips before she could stop it.

It was light. Free. Unburdened.

Not a polite society laugh.

Not the careful, measured smile of Serena, the Morales daughter.

Not the forced, elegant grace of a Vanderbilt wife.

This was Ava.

Unclaimed. Untethered. Finally herself.

Her laughter floated into the night, curling like smoke in the cool air, the sound honest and effortless in a way it hadn’t been for years.

And from across the street, hidden in the shadows beside the dark outline of his car, Alexander Vanderbilt watched.

He hadn’t intended to follow. But something wordless, restless had pulled him here after leaving the hospital. Something restless, unspoken. 

Now he stood in the quiet, unnoticed, his gaze fixed on her — and Rex. His eyes traced the curve of her cheek as she laughed, the way her head tipped back, the city lights catching the soft waves of her hair, the natural flush to her skin.

It was the smile. The one from the photograph his grandfather had shown him in the study.

The one he had never seen in person — until now.

This wasn’t the pale, exhausted woman from the hotel room.

Not the trembling figure he’d carelessly brokered a deal with.

Not the pawn the Morales family had used up.

This was Ava. Her own person.

And she was radiant — not just because of the way she looked, but because of the peace she carried now.

A peace born of release. Of freedom. Of walking through fire and surviving without anyone’s permission.

Alexander’s chest ached, an unfamiliar, hollow pressure swelling beneath his ribs.

He had been too blind to see it before.

Too arrogant to care. Too late to matter.

He watched her for a long while, drinking in the way she moved, the unforced joy, the way she knelt to untangle Rex’s leash and scratched behind his ears, another quiet laugh slipping free.

She was leaving him behind — not just physically, but in every way that mattered.

And for the first time in years… the almighty, untouchable Alexander Vanderbilt finally understood what it meant to lose something precious before you ever realized it was yours to lose.

He didn’t call out. Didn’t move. Didn’t follow.

He wouldn’t interrupt her peace.

Not this time. Not ever again. 

He stood there for a long while, watching her disappear down the street, Rex’s tail wagging at her side, her soft, genuine laughter lingering in the cold night air. 

And as Ava vanished into the night — free, untouchable — Alexander stood in the shadows, alone.

Exactly where he belonged...

---

Alexander stood there long after she was gone. The faintest trace of her laughter had already dissolved into the night air, and still, he didn’t move. The sharp cold gnawed at his skin, but he barely felt it.

His mind, for once in his life, was quiet — not with strategy, not with business or numbers — but with one sobering, humbling truth.

He’d failed her.

Not just as a husband. Not just as a man. But as a human being.

He thought about those five years. The day their marriage papers were signed, and how he’d left without so much as a glance back.

He thought about how easy it had been to dismiss “Serena” — because she was a name, a contract, a burden of family politics.

He’d made her invisible.

And Ava… Ava was never invisible, there was an attraction from the start. This hardworking designer who always intrigued him. But she had been right under his nose, carrying his name in silence while enduring everything alone.

His fists clenched by his sides. He hated himself in that moment.

Not for falling into an affair with his wife — but for never bothering to know her. For assuming the worst. For making her fight alone when it should’ve been him standing beside her.

He thought of how his prejudice had shaped everything.

The bitterness he held toward the Morales name, the way he’d believed the worst of her because of her family.

Because of what her father’s generation had done.

He’d judged her not for who she was — but for what they were.

And worst of all, even when she came to him desperate for help, he turned it into a transaction.

A deal. A power play.

Alexander’s throat tightened. He didn’t deserve to fix it. He didn’t deserve to ask for forgiveness. But maybe, for once, he could do the right thing without expecting anything back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to no one, his voice raw and low.

Not a grand confession. Not a plea. Just a truth.

He pulled his coat tighter and stepped back into the shadows — where he belonged.

The man she’d left behind.

---

Across the street and several blocks away, Ava walked with Rex, the city lights blurring softly around them. The leash swayed lightly in her hand as Rex trotted ahead, tail wagging, tongue out, blissfully content.

And for the first time in years, so was she.

There was no weight pulling at her chest. No sharp, bitter stone lodged in her throat. No name following her like a chain.

She was Ava Alvarez.

Not a pawn. Not a deal. Not a wife waiting for a husband who never came home.

And it felt good. Strange. But good.

The night felt different too — not cold, not lonely. It was alive, humming quietly under the city’s pulse, as though the streets themselves knew she was free.

She reached down, brushing her hand over Rex’s head. “Good boy,” she murmured, her voice soft, but steady.

There were no plans tonight.

No desperate meetings, no negotiations, no half-swallowed dignity.

Just a woman, her dog, and a sky full of scattered city light.

For so long, she’d existed in pieces — the Morales daughter carrying her father’s debts, the Vanderbilt wife living in a stranger’s mansion, Ava the interior designer piecing together a life in the shadows.

Now, for the first time, she was whole.

A little bruised, a little scarred, but whole.

She smiled — wide, unforced, genuine.

The same smile she hadn’t worn since she was a girl. The same one Cornelius Vanderbilt had captured in that faded old photograph.

And it wasn’t for anyone else now.

Not for Alexander. Not for her father. Not for her family name.

It was for herself.

As she turned the corner toward her building, a thought flickered through her mind — sharp, bright, and clear:

I survived. I’m still standing. And for the first time… I’m mine.

She tightened her hand around the leash, whispered another soft word to Rex, and disappeared into the soft glow of her quiet street. 

---

The Vanderbilt building was unusually still for a Friday evening. Outside, the city buzzed as it always did, but inside Alexander’s top-floor office, silence reigned.

The only light came from the city skyline pouring in through floor-to-ceiling windows. Alexander stood by the glass, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a thick, official envelope.

The divorce had been finalized. 

Her name — Serena Ava Morales Vanderbilt — would no longer be linked to his. And yet, the weight in his chest hadn’t budged. If anything, it had settled deeper.

The quiet was broken by the buzz of his phone.

Hugo.

He answered with a low, “Yeah?”

“Finally!” Hugo’s voice crackled through the speaker. “You’re free. About damn time, man.”

Alexander didn’t respond.

“So,” Hugo continued, voice laced with mischief, “how about some celebratory drinks? I’ve got a private room at 230 Fifth, and I might’ve invited a few… distractions.”

“Hugo—”

“Come on, don’t be boring. Half the city would give their left arm for a night out with you. No more wedding band. You’re a free man. Act like it.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

There was a pause on the other end. “You serious?”

“I said I’m not in the mood.”

“…You okay?”

Alexander stared out at the city. “I just want a quiet night.”

Hugo hesitated. “Alright. Rain check then. But I’m not letting you become some recluse poet who drinks whiskey and stares at moonlight, man. You better show up next time.”

Alexander offered the faintest smile. “We’ll see.”

He hung up without another word.

A moment later, a knock sounded at his door.

“Come in,” he said, his voice low.

Jonathan stepped inside, holding a slim folder. His expression was careful, neutral — though a trace of hesitation lingered in his eyes.

“Sir,” Jonathan said quietly, placing the folder on the desk. “This is the final copy for your records, sir.” He placed it on the edge of the desk, glancing toward his boss’s expressionless face. “Everything’s clean. No media leaks, no loose ends. Since not many people know about your marriage, PR Team assured me that there will not be any impact.”

Alexander nodded but said nothing.

He didn’t look at the papers. He didn’t need to.

Jonathan hesitated, then tried for something lighter. “Congratulations, Mr. Vanderbilt. You’re a free man now.”

The words hung in the air like a lead weight.

That word again. Free? It didn’t feel like freedom.

Alexander’s gaze didn’t shift from the skyline. “Thank you, Jonathan.”

Jonathan hesitated a moment longer, sensing the weight in the room but knowing better than to linger. He stepped back toward the door. He had barely reached the door when it opened again — this time with a bang.

“Xander.”

Victoria.

She stormed in without warning, the door swinging wide behind her.

Jonathan bowed out swiftly, closing the door behind him.

Alexander didn’t move. “Victoria.”

“You finalized the divorce,” she said sharply, her arms crossed, tone brimming with indignation. “And I wasn’t even worth a call?”

“I didn’t think it concerned you.”

Victoria’s lips trembled for a moment, but she recovered quickly, that haughty Laurent pride snapping into place. “So what now, Alexander? Are you going to ask me to marry you or what?” 

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften.

“No.”

The word dropped like ice between them.

Victoria’s expression cracked. “What do you mean, no? After everything we have gone through...” 

“There’s nothing we are going through,” he interrupted, tone flat.

Victoria took a few steps forward, her heels clicking against the polished floor. “Don’t do this. You and I both know this was inevitable. You were never going to stay married to that girl.”

Alexander’s jaw tightened. “Her name is Serena.” 

Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s what this is about. That woman.”

Alexander’s gaze lifted to hers. “This is about me making my own decisions — finally.”

Her eyes widened, color draining from her face. “But… you said… once you were free—”

“I said no,” he cut in sharply, his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation.

A long, brittle silence followed. Victoria’s hands clenched at her sides. “You’re making a mistake, Alexander. You need a wife. A proper one. Someone from our circle, someone who knows what this life demands. You’ll ruin everything—”

“I’ll manage just fine without a Laurent bride,” Alexander said, his gaze steady, distant. “You and I… we were never meant for anything beyond what we already are.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

He let out a quiet, almost tired sigh. “Old friends.”

Victoria’s breath hitched. “So you’re telling me,” she said with a bitter laugh, “after five years of nothing between you and your wife, the moment the ink dries, you suddenly want to rewrite the narrative?”

He didn’t answer.

Victoria stepped closer, her voice softening just slightly. “You don’t have to do this. You and I… we’ve known each other since we were kids. We understand each other.”

“That’s exactly why I’m saying this now — clearly.” Alexander’s voice was sharp, controlled. “I’m not marrying you. Not now. Not ever.”

Her composure cracked. “You’re making a mistake.”

“No,” he said, eyes cold. “The mistake would be stringing you along out of convenience or guilt. I won’t do that to you. I won’t do that to myself.”

Victoria’s face flushed with a mixture of rage and disbelief. “You owe me more than this.”

“I don’t owe you anything, Victoria,” he replied calmly. “We were never promised. And I’ve spent too long letting others decide what I should want.”

Silence stretched between them, brittle and sharp.

Victoria’s voice dropped, trembling. “You’ll regret this.”

But Alexander just turned away. “I already regret far worse.”

She stared at him for a moment longer — then, with a sharp intake of breath, she spun on her heel and left.

The door slammed behind her.

The echo lingered.

But Alexander… remained still.

There was no triumph in his expression. No relief. No self-congratulation.

Just silence.

The office lights dimmed slightly as night deepened. Outside, the city shimmered — vibrant, ruthless, alive.

And Alexander Vanderbilt, for the first time in years, stood in the quiet — no ring, no lies, no expectations — wondering what it meant to finally have freedom… and no idea what to do with it.

--- 

The office remained dim after Victoria's departure, the silence wrapping around Alexander like a second skin. He moved to his desk with slow, deliberate steps and sat, elbows resting on the edge as he stared blankly at the divorce folder Jonathan had left behind.

He didn’t open it.

Instead, his gaze drifted to the corner of the desk where the small silver photo frame sat, long forgotten — a family picture, taken years ago, all poised smiles and polished pride. His fingers tapped once against the glass, then stopped.

Something shifted in him.

He picked up his phone and pressed the intercom button. “Jonathan. Come in.”

Within moments, Jonathan stepped in, hands folded, expression polite as always — but keenly observant. “Yes, Mr. Vanderbilt?”

Alexander looked up at him, his voice quieter than usual. “I want you to pull together a full file. On Ava.”

Jonathan blinked, caught off guard. “Ava… sir?”

Alexander nodded slowly. “Serena Ava Morales Vanderbilt. Or… Ava Alvarez. Whichever name she’s using now.”

Jonathan’s brow furrowed faintly in surprise, but he didn’t question it. “What would you like me to include, sir?”

“Everything,” Alexander said. “Her education. Her work. Her friends. What she’s been doing these past five years. I want to know who she really is.”

Jonathan hesitated only for a breath. “Understood.”

Alexander leaned back, his voice low. “And… find out what she is up to.”

That made Jonathan pause.

“Yes, sir,” he said eventually, then turned and left the office.

Alexander sat in the silence, running a hand through his hair. The divorce was done, the past burned clean… but he couldn’t shake the weight of it. Of her.

He had spent years ignoring the woman bound to him by name and law — dismissing her without ever truly seeing her. And now that she had finally walked away, finally taken her name and freedom with her, he found himself staring at the empty space she left behind.

Not as a business deal. Not as a transaction. But as a man trying to reckon with what he’d lost before he ever bothered to understand it. 

Late that afternoon, Jonathan returned.

He carried a slim black folder, and this time, his demeanor was more reserved than usual.

Alexander stood when he saw him, not out of urgency — but because something in his gut already told him the truth wasn’t going to be easy.

“She really did disappear,” Jonathan began carefully, setting the folder on the desk. “But not in the way you'd expect.”

He pushed it toward him.

Alexander opened it, scanning the top sheet.

Degrees. Awards. Interior design features. A scholarship she never boasted about. A design firm she helped grow from the ground up. A charity foundation she donated to quietly every year in her mother’s name.

Photos of Ava at exhibitions. Ava at lectures. Ava in quiet cafés with a sketchbook.

The version of her that lived outside the chaos of his world.

His chest tightened. 

Jonathan cleared his throat lightly. “There’s one more thing, sir.”

Alexander looked up, his expression unreadable but alert.

Jonathan continued carefully, “Ms. Morales has booked a one-way ticket to London. She departs in two weeks’ time. The booking was made discreetly — no official forwarding address, no contact with her family. It appears she intends to... start fresh.”

The words settled between them like quiet thunder.

Alexander’s hand stilled over the folder. His gaze dropped to the printed flight confirmation.

“She’s not just stepping away from the Morales name,” Jonathan added gently. “It seems she may be stepping away from everything tied to her past life here.”

He didn’t elaborate further. Didn’t assume. Didn’t imply. He simply delivered the truth, respectfully and without intrusion.

Alexander nodded once, slowly, though his eyes were fixed on the flight details. “Thank you, Jonathan.”

“If you need anything else…” Jonathan paused, then gave a slight bow. “I’ll be outside.”

The door shut with a quiet click, leaving Alexander alone in his office once more.

The file lay open before him, each page revealing the woman he had never truly taken the time to know.

And now she was leaving. Not in anger. Not in revenge. But with silence. A kind of goodbye that was louder than anything she could have said.

He leaned back in his chair, jaw tight, and whispered to no one, “She’s really leaving…”

The skyline twinkled outside, uncaring, and Alexander Vanderbilt was left staring after a woman who had once carried his name — and was now carrying herself away from it.