* Happy 1K Views * FREEBIE * Chapter 24

The late afternoon sun spilled across the Manhattan streets, gilding the tops of cars in a molten shimmer. Alexander Vanderbilt gripped the steering wheel, his thoughts tangled and heavy. He was on his way to pick up Chiara, yet his mind—no matter how he tried to discipline it—kept circling back to Serena.

His distraction cost him.

With a sudden, jarring crunch, the front of his car lurched forward—he had rear-ended the vehicle ahead.

Alexander cursed under his breath, rubbing his temple as he stepped out. The driver of the other car climbed out slowly, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. When the man turned, Alexander’s eyes narrowed.

Alexei.

Of all people to collide with today.

Alexei raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk that was far too pleased.

“Well, well. Mr. Vanderbilt himself,” he drawled, tone thick with mockery. “Seems even the mighty have their distracted days.”

Alexander didn’t bother replying. He simply took out his phone and called the insurance company, his expression impassive.

But Alexei wasn’t finished. He took a few slow, deliberate steps closer, his voice dripping with false camaraderie.

“I heard you’re planning to accept Chiara from the Reinaldi family. Must be nice—always landing on your feet. Even after leaving Serena, you still have a backup plan.” He gave a short laugh. “Not all of us are so lucky. Me, I’ve only ever had eyes for one woman. And now that I hear she’s single again… well, I think it’s my turn to chase her. Wish me luck, Mr. Vanderbilt.”

Alexander’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. His silence was heavier than any insult.

Alexei chuckled, taking the lack of reaction as an opening to press further.

“Since you’ve given up, don’t get in the way of something good between Penny and me, alright? When you and Chiara get engaged, Penny and I will come celebrate. I promise—we’ll even bring a gift.”

Alexander finally looked at him then, a slow, dangerous smile touching his lips. The kind that made the temperature around him drop.

What made this fool think he could compete with Marken?

He lowered his gaze briefly, his thoughts twisting in on themselves. Maybe he really didn’t understand Serena. Maybe she never wanted someone like him in the first place. Perhaps every time she lay beside him, she wasn’t thinking of him at all—but of Marken.

The thought burned through him like acid. A hollow ache settled behind his ribs, part jealousy, part humiliation.

Without a word, he tore a check from his pocketbook, scribbled something, and flicked it toward Alexei’s chest.

The check fluttered in the hot breeze before slapping Alexei in the face.

“Two hundred dollars,” Alexander said flatly. “For your performance.”

Then he got back into his car and drove off, the dented hood groaning as it moved down the road.

For a long moment, Alexei just stood there, the check crumpled in his hand, face red with fury. Then he spat on the pavement and raised a middle finger at the disappearing car.

Alexander drove several blocks before he finally pulled over to the side of the road. He shut off the engine, and the sudden quiet pressed down on him like a weight.

Outside, the city pulsed with noise—honking, footsteps, laughter—but inside the car, it was suffocatingly still.

Even with the air conditioning running, he couldn’t seem to breathe right.

He leaned back against the seat, eyes fixed on the blur of buildings ahead, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like Alexander Vanderbilt—the man who always had control, the man who always won.

He just felt… empty.

---

An hour later, Alexander’s phone buzzed on the table, breaking through the fog of his thoughts.

It was Chiara.

“Where are you?” Her voice was light, carefully controlled, but there was a hint of impatience beneath it.

Alexander blinked, realizing how much time had passed. “I’ll be there soon,” he said curtly, snapping out of his trance.

By the time he arrived at the hospital to pick her up and then reached the restaurant, more than an hour had passed. His usual punctuality was nowhere to be seen.

Chiara, sitting elegantly in the back seat, bit the inside of her cheek to hide her irritation. She dared not show even a flicker of displeasure—especially now that Serena was back in his life. But that was precisely why tonight was so important. She had crafted this evening down to the smallest detail.

If Alexander couldn’t make a choice… then she would help him make one.

After tonight, Serena would be completely out of the picture.

The car ride was heavy with silence. Chiara tried once or twice to start a conversation, but Alexander’s demeanor was like winter steel—cold, unreadable. His eyes were fixed ahead, his jaw tense.

It struck her then, with painful clarity, that the only time she’d ever seen warmth in his expression was when he was looking at Serena.

That thought burned like acid in her chest.

No. She wouldn’t lose. She couldn’t lose.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down. Tonight was her opportunity. She just had to endure it—smile, play the part, and by the end, Alexander would belong to her.

The restaurant glowed with golden light when they arrived. Its high windows looked out over the glittering New York skyline, city lights twinkling like stars scattered across glass. Chiara had chosen the main hall instead of a private room—she wanted witnesses. A public scene, done right, could be more effective than any quiet argument.

But when they reached their reserved table, her breath caught.

Flower petals were scattered across the white tablecloth, flickering candlelight dancing over them. A delicate fragrance hung in the air.

Alexander stopped in his tracks.

For a moment, the soft lighting, the petals, the music—all of it blurred into memory.

A dinner long ago. The same restaurant. The same view. The same candlelight glinting in Serena’s eyes.

Back then, he hadn’t even managed to enjoy the evening properly—Lucca had been there, annoying as ever, making it impossible to steal a quiet moment with her.

And now here he was again.

With someone else.

Alexander’s stomach twisted, the air in his lungs feeling too heavy. Why was he thinking about Serena again? Why couldn’t he stop?

His gaze swept across the room, and it hit him like a punch.

This was the same restaurant.

A flicker of anger passed through him—not at Chiara, but at himself, at the situation, at the memories clawing at him. He clenched his jaw.

Chiara mistook his expression immediately. “Do you… not like this place?” she asked gently. “We can go somewhere else if you’d prefer.”

“It’s fine,” he said flatly, forcing his tone back under control. He tried to focus on the meal, to push the ghosts of the past away. But when the waiter placed the steak in front of him, the scent of seared meat and butter brought back another image—Serena cutting into hers clumsily, smiling when he took the knife from her hand to help.

He remembered how naturally it had felt then.

How much care he had given her.

And how she’d thrown it all away.

His jaw tightened. His knife clinked sharply against the plate as he forced himself to eat.

He had treated her so well, yet to her, he had always been nothing more than a replacement.

No one had ever humiliated him that way before.

Chiara watched him from across the table, uneasy. His shoulders were stiff, his expression unreadable, but there was an unmistakable current of anger beneath the surface. She kept searching her mind, trying to think what she’d done wrong. But she couldn’t find anything—and that made her even more anxious. Still, she smiled, pretending not to notice.

Then, subtly, she glanced toward the entrance and gave a barely perceptible signal.

The trap had been set.

She had sent Dorian to Charleston earlier that week with very specific instructions—to bring Serena’s peculiar parents to New York City.

If Alexander still had doubts about Serena, this would erase them.

Moments later, the restaurant doors swung open, and two unfamiliar figures hesitantly stepped inside. Quinn and Elliot. Their clothes were plain and slightly wrinkled, out of place among the polished diners and gleaming crystal.

When they spotted Alexander at the center table, their faces lit up. Without hesitation, they hurried toward him. 

The restaurant gleamed beneath soft chandeliers — a refined, high-end establishment where polished marble met whispered conversation, and the patrons wore tailored suits and sleek evening gowns. The soft clinking of cutlery and the gentle murmur of a piano filled the air.

Then the door burst open.

Two figures stumbled in — Quinn and her husband — their clothes wrinkled and cheap, their hair unkempt, standing out like a blot of ink on a white canvas. Heads turned immediately. The maître d’s polite smile faltered.

“It’s you!” Quinn shouted, jabbing a trembling finger toward Alexander. “You kicked us out of the party last time! Tell us, where is our daughter, Serena?”

Her voice cut through the air, shrill and desperate.

Quinn had been coached beforehand — told that no matter what chaos she stirred up, she’d be safe. A check for a million dollars already sat in her purse, the promise of an easy fortune once cashed back home in Charleston.

At first, she and her husband had thought to beg Serena for money. But after being forcibly sent back last time — humiliated — they realized Serena was far beyond their reach now.

Since then, Quinn had spent her days in envy, picturing her daughter living grandly in a Manhattan villa. Every night, the thought burned her chest like acid: She’s using my money to live that life.

Now, with Dorian’s help, they’d returned to New York — and this time, they wouldn’t leave empty-handed.

With a furious cry, Quinn flipped the table.

A cascade of petals and red wine crashed to the floor, staining the pristine white tablecloth crimson. The sound of shattering glass rang like a gunshot.

The restaurant’s security rushed forward, but Quinn threw up her arms, declaring loudly, “I am Serena’s mother! How dare you treat me like this? Serena is the CEO here — and he,” she jabbed a finger at Alexander, “is my daughter Serena’s boyfriend!”

Her voice wavered as Alexander’s cold eyes met hers — dark, calm, and dangerous. She shrank back a step but, determined to play her part, kept shouting.

“Alright, so you’re on a date with another woman now? You cheater! You ruined my daughter’s life — you owe Serena compensation for emotional distress! You destroyed her!”

Her accusations echoed across the dining hall. The waiters hurriedly ushered the remaining guests out, lowering their eyes. A few who recognized Alexander exchanged wary glances and slipped away in silence — no one wanted to be part of this scene.

Alexander didn’t move. His expression was cold enough to freeze air.

Quinn, emboldened by silence, lifted her chin. “What? Did I lie? You ruined her, and now no man wants her. We’re her parents — what are we supposed to do? If you don’t pay, we’ll go public! The world will know how you toyed with Serena’s feelings! She’s worthless now — worthless!” Her voice cracked into hysteria. “Even if you kill me, I won’t back down!”

A chair scraped softly. Chiara, who had been silent until now, rose slowly from her seat. Her face was calm, her tone gentle but firm.

“Quinn,” she said quietly, “it’s cruel to speak of your own daughter like that. Whatever happened, she’s still your child.”

“Who do you think you are to lecture me?” Quinn snapped, eyes wild. “Get out of my way!”

Before anyone could react, Quinn shoved her hard.

Chiara staggered backward, her heel slipping on spilled wine — then crack! — her head hit the edge of the marble table. The sound was sharp and sickening.

Blood bloomed instantly against the white floor.

For a moment, the entire restaurant froze.

Quinn’s face went pale. “I—I didn’t mean—she just—she fell!” she stammered, her hands trembling. She had only pushed lightly — but Chiara lay motionless on the ground, her eyes closed, her hair matted with blood.

Alexander stood abruptly, his chair screeching behind him. His jaw clenched, his expression unreadable. “Get them out,” he ordered, his voice low and terrifyingly calm.

Security immediately seized Quinn and her husband, dragging them toward the door despite their protests. Alexander knelt beside Chiara, his hand already pressing a napkin to the wound on her head. The white fabric turned red within seconds.

Without hesitation, he lifted her carefully into his arms and strode out of the restaurant — only to come face-to-face with Dorian in the doorway.

Dorian froze. His eyes widened as he took in Chiara’s blood-soaked hair and Alexander’s grim face. “What happened to Ms. Reinaldi?”

Alexander’s jaw tightened. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Chiara had staged the whole thing — but one look at her pale, unconscious face dispelled the thought. She was far too frail to risk something this dangerous.

“Hospital,” Alexander said curtly, striding past him.

Dorian’s fingers trembled as he fumbled for his phone, his pulse spiking. “I’ll call Lucca and Renzo right now,” he muttered, already dialing as he ran to catch up. 

---

The tires screeched to a halt outside the emergency wing as Alexander and Renzo rushed into the hospital, the sharp smell of antiseptic hitting them like a wall. The corridors glowed in sterile white, nurses moving briskly past as monitors beeped in steady, chilling rhythm.

When Renzo caught sight of the doctor running toward the operating room with Chiara’s name flashing on the board above, his temper erupted. He grabbed Alexander by the collar, dragging him forward until their faces were inches apart.

“Wasn’t Chiara with you for dinner?” Renzo’s voice shook with fury, his breath ragged. “Alexander—she saved you! She sucked out the venom that should’ve killed you, and now she’s the one lying in there fighting for her life. If she doesn’t make it, how the hell do you plan to compensate the Reinaldi family?”

Before Alexander could answer, Renzo’s fist connected squarely with his cheek. The sound cracked through the hall like a whip. Alexander didn’t raise a hand to defend himself. He merely stood there, expression unreadable, his head snapping to the side under the blow.

Renzo drew back his leg to kick him, but Lucca darted in and caught his arm. “Renzo, stop! This isn’t the time.” His voice was strained but controlled. “Let’s wait for the doctor. Should we call Dad? And… maybe not tell Mom yet. She’ll lose it the moment she hears Chiara’s name.”

Renzo’s chest heaved, his knuckles white from clenching. He ran a hand over his face, trying to breathe through the storm inside him. “Don’t tell anyone for now. Not until we know how bad it is.”

Lucca hesitated. “But if Chiara—”

“Don’t say it!” Renzo snapped, his voice cracking under the weight of fear. His gaze burned, dark and trembling. “If anything happens to her, that vicious woman Quinn will pay with her life.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and venomous.

Alexander’s jaw tightened. Quinn—Serena’s biological mother.

He stood silently, watching the chaos unfold as his mind drifted into a murky fog of guilt and conflict. The two attackers had already been caught. Security had them in custody, awaiting his order. A single command from him, and they would vanish from this world without a trace—or live out the rest of their years behind prison walls.

But they were Serena’s parents. Her blood.

Alexander’s fingers curled against his side, his knuckles pale. The fluorescent light overhead flickered faintly, glinting off the bruise already blooming across his cheek.

He had made too many mistakes—each one carving a deeper rift between him and Serena. Too many people she cared about had suffered because of him. If he took this next step—if he destroyed her parents—would she ever forgive him? Would she ever look at him without hatred?

He couldn’t bear to gamble with that answer anymore.

Even if she didn’t love him. Even if she never did. He loved her enough to stop himself.

The steady hum of hospital machinery filled the silence as he lowered his gaze, the scent of disinfectant sharp in his lungs. Nearby, Renzo barked orders into his phone, his voice low and fierce.

“Have Quinn taken into custody. I don’t care how—just make sure she pays for this.”

Alexander didn’t object. His silence was heavy, deliberate.

After all, prison wasn’t the end of the world. If needed, he could have her released quietly later—sent somewhere far away where she could no longer hurt anyone. Alive, but out of reach.

For now, Chiara’s condition had set the Reinaldi family ablaze with rage, and someone would have to answer for it.

And Alexander, standing there in that sterile, fluorescent hallway, realized that no matter what he did, he would always be the one standing in the middle of every wound left behind.