The Billionaire’s Virgin Ex-Wife II

* before you proceed, be advised that this is a 2nd book therefore it is best if you read the 1st book prior to reading this *

Her phone vibrated. A message appeared from an unknown number:

[Serena, follow the small path to your right. Walk about six hundred feet. Meet me there.]

It was signed: Cornelius.

Serena’s brow furrowed. There was a hot spring near the campsite, and a few of the women had been talking about bathing there later. That gave her an excuse.

She walked over to Alexander. “I’m going to take a bath at the hot spring.”

He barely glanced up, folding the map. “Be careful.”

Serena nodded, her heart thudding slightly as she turned away. The night air had cooled, carrying the earthy scent of pine and damp soil. The path she followed was narrow, lined with tall ferns and whispering leaves that brushed her arms as she walked.

After about six hundred feet, the voices of the group faded behind her, replaced by the rhythmic murmur of crickets and the rustle of wind.

Then—just ahead—a shadow stirred.

Someone sat on a large rock, the moonlight spilling over their shoulders.

Serena stopped in her tracks. It was him.

Cornelius.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” Serena called softly, her voice trembling as she stepped forward. The dim light filtered through the trees, revealing Cornelius seated on a large rock, his frail frame almost swallowed by the shadows. Slowly, she made her way over and sat down beside him.

Cornelius turned his head toward her, his once sharp eyes now clouded with exhaustion. A weak, rasping cough escaped his lips. He looked smaller somehow—like the weight of years had finally crushed him.

Serena’s heart clenched. How did he even end up here? So many people had been searching for him, yet he appeared out of nowhere, fragile and alone.

“Serena,” he said, his voice faint but steady, like the last flicker of a dying flame.

His thin, trembling hand reached for hers. Serena grasped it gently, startled by how light and cold it felt—his skin paper-thin, his bones sharp beneath it.

“Mr. Vanderbilt, what is it you want to tell me?” she asked softly. “Once you’re done, I’ll take you to see Alexander. He’s very worried about you.”

Cornelius remained silent for a long moment before slowly letting go of her hand. He drew a folded handkerchief from his sleeve and pressed it to his lips. When he lowered it, dark flecks of blood stained the white cloth.

Serena reached out instinctively to steady him, patting his back. “Careful, Mr. Vanderbilt—don’t strain yourself.”

But he only shook his head weakly. His breath came in shallow gasps, his voice trembling with regret. “It was my mistake…” he murmured, each word costing him effort. “I should never have let you and Alexander be together. If I’d known it would lead to this… I—”

A fit of coughing wracked his frail body before he could finish. Serena steadied him, alarmed, feeling his bones rattle beneath her palm.

When at last the coughing subsided, he struggled to speak again. “It was my mistake,” he repeated hoarsely. “Fate… is cruel.”

“Mr. Vanderbilt, don’t force yourself,” Serena said gently, eyes glistening with worry. “You can tell me later. Let’s get you help first.”

But Cornelius seemed determined. His trembling fingers reached into his coat and pulled out a small, ornate box—a deep mahogany case no larger than his palm. The gold clasp gleamed faintly in the light.

He placed it in her hands, his grip surprisingly firm. “Serena… you must give this to Alexander,” he whispered. “Promise me. Make sure… he gets it.”

Serena opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Cornelius’s body sagged, his consciousness flickering. She half-rose, fumbling for her phone to call Alexander—

—and then, out of nowhere, a violent shove struck her from behind.

Serena gasped as the world spun. She and Cornelius tumbled down the slope, dry leaves and pebbles scraping her skin as she tried to shield him with her arms. The box slipped from her fingers, tumbling into the brush.

“Mr. Vanderbilt—!” she cried, struggling to get her bearings. She heard heavy footsteps pounding toward them from above.

Adrenaline surged through her veins. “Run!” she shouted, pushing Cornelius toward cover. But it was too late.

Out of the mist at the base of the hill, dark figures emerged—several men in black masks, their movements swift and silent. The metallic glint of weapons caught the moonlight.

And at the front of them—

Serena’s breath hitched.

The man leading the group was unmistakable. Even with half his face obscured, she recognized him instantly.

Matheo.

He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday—dark leather jacket, combat boots, and that same unsettling calm in his eyes.

Only this time, there was no pretense of civility.

Serena tumbled dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, her hands scraping against cold, jagged rock. The faint glow of moonlight, mingled with the golden shimmer of the hot spring below, illuminated the scene around her in a ghostly haze.

Just fifteen feet away, Cornelius lay sprawled on the ground, his breathing shallow, his once-commanding presence reduced to fragile stillness. Serena’s heart lurched. She pushed herself up, intending to rush to him—

—but then she saw him.

A masked man, dressed in black from head to toe, was stalking toward Cornelius with a dagger gleaming faintly under the moonlight.

“Cornelius!” she cried, her voice hoarse with panic.

Without thinking, Serena flung herself forward, slipping on the slick rock, nearly tumbling again as she lunged for the assailant. Her fingers barely brushed his arm before the dagger plunged downward, the blade finding its mark.

Cornelius let out a sharp breath but didn’t cry out. Decades of hardship had trained him to endure pain without sound.

“No!” Serena’s scream tore through the mountain air. She grabbed the dagger, trying to wrest it free, but the attacker yanked back. Her knuckles turned white as she fought him.

Then, suddenly—

Light.

The night around them blazed to life as dozens of flashlights and lanterns flared. A group of stargazers, drawn by the commotion, came running toward the cliffside.

And as if to add to the chaos, several venomous snakes slithered out from the nearby rocks, glinting under the harsh light. The women screamed, and panic rippled through the crowd.

The sudden brightness revealed a horrifying sight—Serena, standing over Cornelius, the dagger still in her hand, the blade buried in his arm.

Gasps echoed around her. Someone screamed again.

Before anyone could react, one of the masked men stepped protectively in front of Serena, shielding her from the crowd.

Serena froze. Her pulse hammered in her ears. The dagger slipped from her trembling hand, clattering against the rocks.

Behind her, the second masked man dropped to one knee, his voice calm but urgent. “Sir, Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt just revealed the location. We can go now.”

He turned to Serena and, with a strange politeness, added, “Thank you, Ms. Morales.”

Serena’s pupils constricted. Her body went rigid. Beneath her, Cornelius stirred faintly—his fingers brushed her pant leg, a weak, pleading motion.

There was still time to save him.

But if she didn’t play along, Matheo—standing only a few feet away with that dark, mocking smirk—would kill him without hesitation. His eyes gleamed with malicious curiosity, as though daring her to defy him.

Serena’s mind spun in panic. Her heart beat so violently she thought it might burst through her chest.

Then, in one decisive motion, she hurled the black box in her hand toward Alexander. “Alexander—trust me!” she shouted, her voice raw.

The box hit the ground near him. He bent to pick it up. His face was shrouded in shadows, hiding his thoughts. 

And then—

A flash of movement.

The lid snapped open, and a venomous snake shot out, striking fast and sinking its fangs into Alexander’s finger.

“Alexander!” Chiara screamed. She shoved Renzo aside and lunged toward him. Without hesitation, she grabbed his hand and pressed her lips to the wound, sucking out the blood as tears welled in her eyes.

Serena staggered forward, trying to explain, to warn them—but before a word could leave her lips, something strong wrapped around her waist.

A force yanked her backward—off the cliff.

Her scream vanished into the roaring wind as the world inverted around her.