Semua Bab Billionaire’s Virgin Ex-Wife: Bab 311 - Bab 316

The underground arena trembled as Alexander stepped onto the stage, his face hidden behind the cold steel of a mask. The lights above glared down, catching the edge of the black iron, casting him as both myth and menace.For a beat, the crowd was hushed. Then a deep, guttural shout split the air.“God! God!”The voice came from a hulking man in the front row, and in seconds, the chant spread like wildfire.“God! God! God!”The walls shook with the roar. Sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke thickened the air until it felt like everyone in the room was breathing the same feverish madness.Alexander’s masked figure was a legend here. Every rare appearance burned into the memory of the men who worshipped him, the women who wanted him, and the gamblers who cursed his name while losing fortunes. He never lost. Not once.Years ago, in his first notorious match, he had faced two lions at once. The crowd had bet on the beasts, their odds stacked against him. Alexander bet only on himself. By th

The following days blurred into a haze of overwork. Serena pushed herself past exhaustion, staying late in the office two nights in a row, her desk littered with files and half-finished coffee cups.No matter how many times she tried, she couldn’t reach Alexander. Each call rang into silence, and she had no idea he’d flown to Italy.She tried Jonathan too—again and again—hoping to catch some news about Rex. But his answers were always the same: Rex wasn’t at Manhattan Villa. No matter how she pressed, Jonathan gave nothing away.Left with no answers, Serena buried herself in work. But when night fell and the office lights went dark, the silence pressed harder. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind replayed one moment over and over—the night she had been rescued.That voice.Even though it had sounded slightly different, distorted somehow, it tugged at something deep in her memory. Too familiar to dismiss. The first time, she’d convinced herself it was her imagination, a produ

At six in the morning, the first pale streaks of dawn washed over New York’s skyline as Alexander’s black sedan rolled back into the city. He looked worn from the overnight drive, his sharp profile catching the cold light as one of his men leaned forward from the passenger seat.“Mr. Vanderbilt,” the man began cautiously, “we’ve confirmed it. The people who tried to take Ms. Morales out that night—they were sent by the Whitehall family.”Alexander’s dark eyes narrowed, a glint of steel cutting through his fatigue. “The Whitehall family? Beatrice?” His tone dripped with skepticism. “She’s not even important enough in that house to pull something like this.”The man shook his head. “Not Beatrice. Her brother—Edmund. Tristan Whitehall’s golden boy. The old man favors him above anyone else. And with the Whitehalls’ current heir on his deathbed, Edmund’s gearing up to take the position.”Alexander leaned back against the leather seat, jaw tightening. The Whitehalls weren’t just rivals; they