Chapter 2 : Where’s Serena?

The drop was dizzying, the bottom swallowed by mist. Her stomach twisted violently as the wind tore at her hair and clothes—until, with a jarring snap, a parachute burst open above her.

From behind her came a voice—low, deep, and far too calm. Marken’s alter ego.

“Serena,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “Thanks to you, we got what we needed from Cornelius. When we first imprisoned him here, he wouldn’t say a word, tight-lipped as a clam. You… were the key.”

His words echoed through the valley, carried by the wind, reaching even those still standing above the cliff.

Serena thrashed violently, but Marken’s alter ego only tightened his grip, holding her close with one arm. His strength was unyielding.

The air howled in her ears, biting cold against her skin. Below, the valley stretched into endless darkness.

“Move again,” he warned, his voice cutting through the storm, “and you’ll die before we hit the ground.”

But Serena didn’t care. She twisted and kicked, fighting like a cornered animal. Her nails clawed at his sleeve, her breath coming in ragged bursts.

She wasn’t afraid of falling—only of what would happen if she didn’t.

Marken’s alter ego finally struck her across the temple, knocking her unconscious. Her body went limp against his chest.

He adjusted his hold, tightening the rope that bound them together.

As the wind screamed past, they drifted farther into the void, swallowed by the vast expanse of night.

---

Chaos unfurled atop the cliff like a storm breaking loose. The scent of rain still lingered in the cold air, mingling with the sharp tang of blood and venom.

The snake’s bite had been swift, its venom searing through Alexander’s veins with a fiery chill that spread faster than he could control. His skin turned pale, his breath shallow.

“Stay back,” he rasped, pushing Chiara away with what little strength remained. His vision spun violently—trees, rocks, and sky blending into a trembling watercolor. Each breath felt like drawing air through shards of glass.

He took one staggering step toward the cliff’s edge, perhaps out of confusion, perhaps to find Serena. But before his foot could find ground, his knees buckled.

He collapsed.

The earth tilted beneath him, colors bleeding together into a dizzying haze. The world seemed to sway like a painting in a storm.

“Serena…” His voice broke through the chaos—a fragile sound, raw and trembling. “Serena!”

He called again, louder this time, but his words scattered into the wind. Around him, voices erupted in panic, muffled and distant, as if underwater.

“What’s Serena’s connection to these people?”

“Quick—someone help Mr. Vanderbilt!”

“How’s Mr. Cornelius?”

Hugo and Raphael were already beside Cornelius, their hands slick with his blood. The elder’s face was ghastly pale, his breathing shallow and uneven. His fine clothes were soaked crimson at the chest.

“Get the helicopter—now!” Hugo barked, his voice taut with urgency.

Cornelius was fading fast, his life bleeding into the earth. No one knew how he had appeared on that cliff—or why Serena had been there at all.

No one could explain why she would lift a hand against Cornelius.

Or why she would harm Alexander.

The questions hung like ghosts over the clearing, unspoken but heavy.

Hugo’s sharp gaze swept the crowd. “Not a word of this leaves here. Do you understand?”

The men nodded, fear flickering in their eyes. They had seen enough to know—whatever had happened tonight would never reach the public.

Within the hour, the thunder of helicopter blades shattered the night.

Cornelius and Alexander were rushed to the nearest hospital.

Cornelius was sent straight into the emergency room. His body was frail, his pulse fading by the minute. The doctors worked in tense silence, but the verdict was grim.

“He’s lost too much blood… even if he stabilizes, he won’t last more than two weeks.”

Meanwhile, Alexander lay unconscious in the adjacent ward. His breathing was shallow but steady. His veins burned with the remnants of venom, though the quick first aid had saved his life.

Chiara was in the next room. She had collapsed after sucking the poison from his wound, her lips still faintly bruised from where the venom had touched her skin.

Under the soft hum of hospital lights, the once fearsome cliffside chaos gave way to sterile quiet. Yet beneath the white sheets and antiseptic scent lingered the same unanswered questions—why Serena had struck, and whether the family would ever recover from this night.

---

It was nearly eleven o’clock at night when Alexander’s eyes snapped open.

For a moment, his vision blurred beneath the harsh white glow of the hospital lights. The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air, heavy and sharp. When he finally recognized the room—the pale walls, the faint hum of medical machinery—his pulse began to race. He bolted upright, disoriented.

At his bedside, Raphael had been dozing lightly in a chair. The sound startled him awake, and his eyes widened in shock. “Xander! You’re awake!” he exclaimed, voice trembling with relief.

Alexander’s head throbbed, the last fragments of memory still flickering—rain, the cliff’s jagged edge, the chaos that had unfolded there. Everything felt like a feverish nightmare. His throat was dry when he finally spoke. “Where’s Serena?”

The question lingered in the sterile air.

Raphael’s lips parted, but no words came. His hesitation lasted too long. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost reluctant.

“She left… with those people.”

The answer landed like a blow. Alexander’s brows furrowed.

“And Grandpa?” His voice was rough, clipped, but it wavered slightly at the end.

Raphael dropped his gaze. “He’s still in emergency care. The doctors said…” He swallowed hard. “They said he might not make it through the month.”

For a few seconds, Alexander didn’t move. All the color drained from his face. His fingers tightened on the edge of the bedsheet until his knuckles turned white.

Raphael tried to continue, his tone softening. “Alexander, everyone’s saying Serena was planted by someone—to get close to you, to destroy the family from within—but I don’t believe that. I can’t.”

Alexander didn’t answer. His expression remained unreadable, but behind his eyes, something fractured.

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

The beeping of machines, the whisper of nurses’ footsteps, even the rhythmic ticking of the clock—all pressed down on him like a weight. His thoughts circled endlessly back to her face, her voice, and that moment at the cliff.

When dawn broke, pale light filtered through the blinds, painting his face in muted gray. The doctor entered quietly. “Mr. Vanderbilt,” he said with a measured tone, “your grandfather is awake. He’s asking to see you.”

By then, Cornelius Vanderbilt had been moved into the ICU. The old man was a shadow of his former self—his skin thin as parchment, his frame fragile under the white hospital sheets. Machines surrounded him, their soft beeping the only proof he was still clinging to life.

Alexander and Raphael changed into sterile gowns before entering. The air was cold, thick with the metallic tang of disinfectant.

Cornelius turned his head slightly when they approached. His cloudy eyes searched for Alexander, then softened. He raised a trembling hand, gesturing for his grandson to come closer.

Alexander leaned in, his breath catching as he caught the faint rasp of his grandfather’s voice.

“Xander…” Cornelius whispered, every syllable forced through labored breaths. “Stay… away from Serena.”

The words struck like a thunderclap. They were final—an unspoken verdict.

Until that moment, Alexander had clung to the desperate hope that what he’d seen at the cliff was a misunderstanding. That Serena, no matter her secrets, would never harm Cornelius. But those few words shattered that illusion.

“Grandpa,” he said hoarsely, gripping the frail hand in his own. “What happened? Tell me the truth.”

Cornelius’s fingers twitched in his grasp, his eyes drifting toward the ceiling. A faint, bitter smile touched his lips.

“Stay… away from her,” he repeated, weaker this time.

Alexander’s throat tightened. He could see the life fading from the old man’s face, and yet—he couldn’t bring himself to agree.

Cornelius’s hand began to tremble violently, his chest rising and falling with effort.

“Xander… promise me…”

Alexander’s grip only tightened. “Grandpa, don’t—just rest. We’ll talk later.” His voice was low, steady, but his heart pounded painfully.

Cornelius tried to speak again, but all that came out was a harsh, wet cough. The veins on the back of his hand stood out against his pale skin. He’d lost so much weight that his hospital gown seemed to swallow him whole.

Finally, exhaustion overtook him. His eyelids fluttered closed, his breathing evening into a frail rhythm.

The nurse entered quietly a few minutes later, glancing at the clock. “Time’s up,” she whispered.

Alexander didn’t move. He stayed there for a long moment, holding Cornelius’s limp hand in silence—his jaw tight, his eyes unreadable, but burning with a quiet, breaking grief.

---

Alexander and Raphael stepped out of the sterile room, the soft hiss of the automatic doors sealing behind them. The faint scent of disinfectant clung to their protective gowns as they peeled them off and handed them to the nurse waiting by the door.

“Xander,” Raphael said quietly, his brows knitting with concern. His voice carried the weight of unspoken questions — the kind that didn’t need words to be understood.

No one outside the family yet knew the full story of what had happened. But Cornelius’s words earlier that morning had already twisted the truth, turning every eye and every whisper against Serena.

The same Cornelius who once spoke of her with pride and affection — now, after one fateful night, could only speak of her with disappointment and scorn.

Alexander leaned heavily against the cold, cream-colored wall, his hand briefly pressing to his temple as if the pressure could ease the pain pulsing behind his eyes. His steps were slow, unsteady, as he made his way down the corridor to his room. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead seemed too bright, stabbing through the lingering haze of medication in his system.

A doctor soon entered, his shoes squeaking softly against the linoleum floor. He checked Alexander’s pulse and blood pressure before speaking in a calm, clinical tone. “The effects of the sedatives and the remaining toxins haven’t completely worn off yet. You may experience dizziness, headache, or muscle soreness for another day or two.”

Alexander exhaled slowly, the explanation making sense of the dull, burning ache that had settled deep in his body.

No wonder everything hurt so damn much.

He nodded faintly, eyes drifting toward the window where the pale morning light filtered through. Outside, the city moved on — unaware that his world, once so carefully controlled, had begun to fracture piece by piece.