The Abandoned Groom Married his Ex's Enemy!

Alexander Vance quickly discovered that returning to school as a working executive was considerably less romantic than people made it sound.

No dramatic feeling of rediscovering youth.

No refreshing liberation from corporate responsibility.

Mostly, there was traffic.

His final semester began on a weekday evening, which meant leaving Vance Holdings early enough to cross the city before classes started and still somehow arriving with enough time to eat something that didn’t come out of a vending machine.

Elias adjusted faster than he did. On the first night, Alexander stepped out of the building and found the car already waiting.

Elias opened the rear door.

”Bag?”

Alex looked down. He’d forgotten it. ”Don’t say anything.”

”I wasn’t going to.”

”You were thinking it.”

”I try not to think while on probation, sir.”

Alex stared at him, then turned around and went back inside. By the time he returned, Elias had thoughtfully refrained from smiling—mostly.

The arrangement was different from his regular driving schedule. Since the classes happened after normal office hours and sometimes ran late, Alexander insisted on compensating for the extra time separately. Elias initially objected.

”Sir, I’m your driver.”

”During contracted hours.”

”I already work flexible hours.”

”And you’re already paid for that flexibility.”

”Then why—”

”Because school isn’t Vance Holdings’ business.”

Elias stopped.

Alexander raised a brow. ”Any objections?”

”No, sir.”

”Good.”

That was the end of it, or should have been. The next morning, Alexander discovered that Elias had apparently told Joe, who messaged him.

Good. Don’t become cheap just because you’re going back to school.

Alex stared at his phone for several seconds. Retirement had apparently done nothing to reduce Joe’s willingness to interfere in his life.

He replied: Enjoy your retirement.

The response came almost immediately.

I am. You study.

Alexander didn’t answer.

The class itself was smaller than he expected, populated mostly by working professionals finishing graduate degrees part-time. Some worked in banking, logistics, hospitality, technology, manufacturing, or family businesses.

A surprising number were second-generation owners, which produced a level of honesty Alexander hadn’t anticipated.

During the first group activity, one man introduced himself as Nathaniel Cruz, operations director for his family’s pharmaceutical distribution company. ”Translation,” Nathaniel said, ”my father still calls me at eleven at night to ask whether I’ve reviewed inventory.”

A woman beside him, Bianca Lim, whose family operated several boutique hotels, raised a hand. ”My mother schedules family dinners and then turns them into management meetings.”

Marcus Chan, who worked in commercial real estate, added, ”My grandfather refuses to retire.”

Alexander looked toward him. ”Mine tried controlling things after death.”

The group went silent until Nathaniel offered, ”You win.”

Alex almost smiled. It was strangely refreshing. At Vance Holdings, people often filtered their words around him; here, nobody cared that he was CEO so long as he completed his share of the group work. If anything, his title occasionally worked against him.

During one presentation, Bianca looked at his financial assumptions and frowned.

”This is too conservative.”

”It isn’t.”

”It is.”

”I’m accounting for downside exposure.”

”You’re accounting for the apocalypse.”

Nathaniel leaned over. ”She has a point.”

Alexander stared at both of them. I run a company.”

”So do half the parents in this room,” Bianca replied. ”Fix slide nine.”

He fixed slide nine.

The course’s final requirement gave him considerably more to think about. He’d deliberately chosen the non-thesis track, but that didn’t mean he could finish simply by submitting theoretical papers. Their capstone required a viable business model developed from concept through operational planning.

The professor explained it plainly. ”I don’t want imaginary companies that make money because your spreadsheet says they do. Show me a business that could realistically open.”

Alexander sat back. Students could base their models on existing family businesses, but they had to show meaningful expansion or a genuinely new operating concept. He immediately thought of Vance Holdings. Then dismissed it. He’d spent enough of his education, career, and adult life inside Vance.

This project could be something else. Something smaller, something his.

The river conversation returned: sculpture, restoration, old furniture, woodwork, and heritage pieces. A studio where damaged objects weren’t stripped of every mark that made them old.

Alexander opened a blank document and typed at the top:

RESTORATION STUDIO — WORKING CONCEPT

Below it, he added: Possible services: furniture restoration, wood sculpture repair, heritage-object conservation coordination, commissioned sculpture, limited workshops.

The idea became considerably more interesting the longer he worked on it. It wasn’t enormous, didn’t aim to dominate an industry, and lacked a nationwide expansion strategy. Perhaps that was precisely why he liked it.

Giovanni heard about it first. Naturally.

Thursday dinner had become something of a habit since the sculpture exhibit, although neither man formally called it one.

Sometimes dinner happened Wednesday or Thursday. Or they simply met for coffee Saturday morning because Alexander had a late class.

That evening, Alex sent him a photograph of the draft concept page.

Giovanni replied almost immediately: You actually did it.

It’s homework.

Still counts.

Don’t get excited.

Too late. A minute later, he added, ”What are you calling it?”

Alexander frowned. He hadn’t thought that far. Nothing yet.

Vance Restoration?

Absolutely not.

Alexander’s House of Broken Chairs?

Alex stared. I’m blocking you.

Heritage & Hammer?

Worse.

Second Chance Furniture?

You own companies. How?

The typing indicator appeared, disappeared, then returned: Fine. I’ll stop helping.

Thank you.

Three seconds later, it read: The Chair Hospital.

Alexander laughed loudly enough that Bianca, sitting two seats away during their break, looked over. ”Everything okay?”

”Unfortunately.”

She glanced at his phone. ”Boyfriend?”

Alex looked up sharply. ”No.”

Bianca raised both hands. ”I asked.”

”Business friend.”

”That’s a phrase people use?”

”Apparently.”

He put the phone face down. For the rest of the evening, he refused to examine why the question had bothered him considerably less than it probably should have.

His weekends gradually disappeared into group meetings, site visits, research, financial projections, and interviews with restoration specialists.

One Saturday, he visited an old furniture workshop and spent nearly two hours watching a craftsman repair veneer without replacing the original surface.

That evening, he sent Giovanni a photograph: This is better than replacing the whole panel.

Giovanni replied from an airport lounge: Agreed. Keep the damage where it tells the story.

Alex stared. You remembered Serrano’s exhibit.

Of course.

There it was again—of course—as though remembering small things about Alexander required no effort whatsoever.

Another message appeared: Boarding. I’ll call when I land if you’re awake.

Alexander looked at the time. Giovanni’s business trip had been scheduled for weeks: Japan, several meetings first, and then two weeks Giovanni had deliberately blocked off for himself—a real vacation with no inspections or Mercer business if he could help it.

Alexander typed: Don’t call if it’s ridiculous here. Send proof you survived instead.

Very touching.

Safe flight, Gio.

A longer pause followed before the response.

Thanks, Alex.

Then Giovanni disappeared somewhere across the world. For the first time since they’d properly reconnected, Thursday arrived without dinner. Alexander noticed, telling himself it was only because routines were irritating when interrupted. Unfortunately, he didn’t believe himself nearly as much as he would’ve preferred.