The morning sun had barely crested over the Los Angeles skyline when Alex stepped into the study again, freshly bathed and dressed in simple, breathable loungewear. His sharp silver eyes scanned the room as he closed the door behind him.
The air was still, and a faint citrus-clean scent lingered from yesterday's housekeeping.
Without hesitation, he moved to his desk, opened his laptop, and resumed the build of the module that would eventually become his financial empire's cornerstone. He hadn't waited for breakfast. He hadn't even glanced at his phone.
Sleep or no sleep, this was war—and time was the battlefield.
The looming possibility of reinstatement into the Palmer family had sharpened his instincts.
While it might sound like a reward to others, to Alex, it was a threat—a ticking bomb wrapped in gold foil.
He needed leverage.
Something real.
Something undeniable.
He needed to become unmovable by the time the family reached out. He had no plans of returning to the fold with empty hands or shaky pride.
They had cast him out like a defective part, a liability — which the previous Alex was. And when that happened, they hadn't expected him to survive, let alone thrive.
The previous Alex—his predecessor in both flesh and name—had felt that sting deeply. So deeply that even now, the current Alex could feel the residue of it—the bitterness, the betrayal, the internal rot that came from never being loved for who you are.
But there was one name that stood out among the blurs.
Marcus Palmer.
His second older brother.
Even though the memories tied to the Palmer family were faded and fragmented—like water-stained photographs left in the sun—Alex could still feel the weight behind that name.
Marcus.
Every time it came to mind, something inside him stirred.
Hatred.
Primal. Cold. Unexplained.
It wasn't the general dislike he held for the family's coldness. This was more personal. More venomous. More violent.
Alex clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists on the desk as shadows of pain clawed at his mind—shards of a past that the original Alex had clearly tried to bury.
He could see Marcus's smirk in a vague flash. Hear his mocking tone, though the words were garbled.
And then, nothing.
It was just that same burning pit of loathing.
Alex breathed in deeply, forcing calm into his lungs, then exhaled slowly.
He didn't have time to be consumed by ghosts.
A few minutes passed before a soft knock came at the door. It opened quietly, and Natalia stepped in.
"Young Master, breakfast is ready. Shall I bring it here, or would you prefer to eat in the sunroom today?"
Alex blinked, snapping out of his trance. "No, I'll join you. Give me two minutes."
She bowed lightly and stepped back out.
Alex sighed and shut his laptop again.
He could resume after food. For now, he needed to ground himself.
...
Meanwhile, across the high-security gates of another lavish villa nestled in Bel Air's elite enclaves, a different scene was unfolding.
In a sun-drenched garden lined with palm trees and designer chaise lounges, a group of women sat in a loose circle—each beautiful in their own way, each dressed in understated wealth.
But the looks on their faces?
They weren't peaceful.
They were tense, frustrated and even worried.
"He hasn't responded in two months," said one, a poised brunette in her late 30s wearing sleek designer shades. "No messages. No callbacks. Nothing."
"Same here," a younger woman replied, adjusting the bunny-ear hairband perched on her head. "I sent him a cosplay strip tease last week. Office lady. His favorite. He didn't even leave me on seen. He just… ignored it."
"I sent him a four-minute video last night," another chimed in, crossing her arms beneath her cleavage. "Four angles. Vibrator and everything. Normally, he'd have called me halfway through it. But nothing. Just silence."
The group collectively sighed in disappointment. One of them threw her hand in the air dramatically.
"What if something happened to him?"
"Don't say that," the older one said quickly. "He's too stubborn to die."
A tall, tan woman in a fitted sundress leaned forward.
"Then he's ghosting us."
"No, he's punishing us," someone whispered.
Another woman—the boldest of the group, and possibly the horniest—spoke up. "I haven't had him in me for so long that my body doesn't respond to my toys anymore. I drained my boyfriend last night. Still throbbing. Still empty."
"Same here," the younger woman muttered. "I swear, I came ten times on camera just thinking about him—and it still wasn't enough."
The older woman who had spoken first narrowed her eyes.
"Enough. We need to be rational. We all know what he said: 'If anyone shows up at my home without permission, I'll cut you off.' We can't take that risk."
Silence followed her words.
But then someone offered, "What if just one of us checks on him? Not all of us. Quietly. No drama. Just one."
The older woman hesitated. "That could work."
A beat of silence passed. Then:
"I'll go," said the cosplay girl.
"No, I will," said the bold one, already rising.
"Sit down," snapped another. "You'll just try to seduce him again."
Within seconds, a loud debate erupted—each woman trying to justify why she should be the one to go.
"I'm the calmest!"
"I know his house layout best!"
"I'm his emotional support girl!"
"I gave him his first strap-and-tie experience!"
One of them raised a finger smugly. "He moaned my name louder than anyone else's."
A moment of stunned silence followed.
Then, they all raised their hands in unison.
They were all going.
...
Back in Alex's world, breakfast had been quiet, peaceful, and unmemorable.
Alfred, sensing his mood, didn't speak much. Natalia served in silence. Natalie was nowhere in sight, which Alex was thankful for—her smile always had a way of trying to disarm him, and he wasn't in the mood for banter.
He returned to the study thirty minutes later with a clear head and a stomach full of protein and caffeine.
The moment he sat down and reopened the laptop, he resumed building the critical modules of his financial engine.
He didn't know that while he typed, chaos in heels and lingerie was already on its way.
And by the time he'd realize it... It would already be too late.