That was the gift she’d meant for Grandpa Rivers’s birthday. Cecilia Ye trembled with rage, tears welling up in her eyes as she looked at the woman standing before her.
Bai Yu Zhi arched a brow. She remembered seeing Cecilia Ye when she was little, and now the girl had grown up to be so beautiful—a true little vixen.
But so what if she’s pretty? The one being driven out now is Cecilia Ye, while she, Bai Yu Zhi, would soon be moving in, taking her place as the mistress of the grand Fu family here in Newbridge.
With a sideways glance, Bai Yu Zhi put on a look of disdain. “Why didn’t you knock before coming in? You scared me.”
Cecilia Ye strode forward and yanked her away, shouting, “Who told you to touch my painting? This is my painting!”
She’d worked on this painting for more than two months, off and on, pouring her heart into it, just so she could give it to Grandpa Rivers for his birthday.
Bai Yu Zhi was briefly startled by her outburst, but quickly scowled in disgust. “I just thought all that purple was ugly, so I added a bit of color for you. Why are you acting so fierce? Ah Ye would never let you treat me this way.”
Hearing her call Xavier Foster “Ah Ye” so intimately, Cecilia Ye instantly understood who she was. So they couldn’t wait, huh? She’d barely stepped out the door, and Bai Yu Zhi had rushed right in to claim her spot in his heart.
“This is my painting—it has nothing to do with Xavier Foster. I won’t let you lay a hand on it!”
Cecilia Ye, for once, stood her ground. She glared at Bai Yu Zhi, like a cornered little animal, baring her teeth in a show of defiance.
Bai Yu Zhi stepped closer, her expression half-mocking, utterly dismissive.
“Your painting? Isn’t everything in this house Ah Ye’s? Cecilia Ye, it was because of me that you got to come back here in the first place. And now you’re acting like the lady of the house? What, have you gotten addicted to stealing my life?”
Cecilia Ye was so furious she couldn’t get a word out. She bent down to pick up her paintbrush from the ground, but Bai Yu Zhi was quicker. She snatched it up and dabbed more paint onto the canvas.
Scarlet red splattered, bit by bit, onto the hibiscus.
Cecilia Ye surged forward to snatch it away. “Bai Yu Zhi! I haven’t even finalized my divorce with Zhiye yet. As long as you two aren’t married, this isn’t your life!”
Her voice cracked in anguish, her hands smeared in red paint.
Footsteps sounded outside the door. Bai Yu Zhi grabbed Cecilia Ye’s hand, pressed it hard onto her own dress, then theatrically fell to the floor.
“Why did you push me? I didn’t mean to dirty your painting,” she whimpered from the floor, eyes rimmed red with tears about to fall—a pitiful contrast to her earlier arrogance.
Xavier Foster frowned and looked inside. The hibiscus painting was ruined beyond recognition. He glanced at the two women, then walked over and helped Bai Yu Zhi up.
Turning to Cecilia Ye, his voice was icy. “What are you doing?”
Cecilia Ye bit her lip hard—she wouldn’t let herself shed a single tear in front of this woman.
Ha. Xavier Foster, do you even realize the woman you’ve loved for all these years is nothing but a shameless fraud?
She stubbornly kept silent, and turned to retrieve her painting. The canvas was almost two meters long; she carefully unfastened it with shaking hands, her white dress streaked with paint.
Xavier Foster watched her, saying nothing. Bai Yu Zhi snuggled up to him, her voice pitiful. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have made a mess of Miss Ye’s painting. I thought it was just something left out for fun. I’m really sorry—don’t be angry.”
She said all this to Cecilia Ye, but kept inching closer to Xavier Foster. “Ah Ye, I think I twisted my ankle. It hurts so much.”
Xavier Foster shot her a glance and helped her to a chair. “Sit for a while. I’ll take you to the hospital in a bit.”
His gaze locked on Cecilia Ye’s slender figure as she struggled with the canvas, prying it out of the frame with her bare hands. Paint scratched her skin, leaving fresh welts—but she looked numb to the pain.
Xavier Foster stepped over and grabbed her wrist, his voice frosty. “Enough. It’s ruined already. Just paint another.”
Cecilia Ye froze, looking at the face she’d loved for so many years. Now, all she saw was a stranger’s coldness.
Paint another? She could paint a hundred more, and none would ever be the same as this one.
She jerked her hand free, stubbornly took down her painting, rolled it up to her chest, and walked out.
Why did every departure have to be so humiliating? Why did every goodbye have to be so agonizing?
Cecilia Ye couldn’t understand. She’d already prepared herself to slip away quietly. She had to admit, the moment she saw Bai Yu Zhi, all her strength collapsed.
That girl called him 'Ah Ye' so sweetly, while Cecilia Ye had spent years just learning to call him 'Zhiye.'
That girl could playfully cling to his arm, but Cecilia Ye still hesitated over a single embrace even now.
Her name was Cecilia Ye. She was always late for everything.
Even falling in love had come so late for her.
Her dress was stained with paint; her hands, arms, and even her face were smeared red. She probably looked frightening to passersby, but all Cecilia Ye wanted was to leave as quickly as possible.
Xavier Foster watched her small figure disappear from sight, thinking of the stubborn look on her face just now.
She’d nearly cried, but still forced herself to keep it in.
What he couldn’t stand most about Cecilia Ye was her refusal to rely on anyone—even him.
“Ah Ye, aren’t you taking me to the hospital?”
Bai Yu Zhi glanced at Xavier Foster, who was still staring out the door, and her eyes darkened. So he still cared about that woman, did he? Hmph.
Xavier Foster drew back his gaze and said coolly, “I have to go to the office. I’ll have the driver take you.”
Incredulity flashed in Bai Yu Zhi’s eyes, and tears instantly spilled over.
“Ah Ye, are you mad at me? I really didn’t mean to ruin Miss Ye’s painting. If you’re angry, I’ll go and apologize to her.”
Getting up from the chair, she tottered and half-fell into his arms. Xavier Foster caught her, “No one asked you to apologize. Sit and wait for the driver.”
With that, he left the house without looking back.
When the driver came upstairs for Bai Yu Zhi, Xavier Foster drove off alone in the Maybach Cecilia Ye usually rode in.
From far down the street, he spotted that slender figure trudging along the sidewalk—one hand dragging a suitcase, the other clutching the rolled-up painting to her chest.
Xavier Foster stopped the car beside her, got out, and seized her wrist. “Get in. I’ll take you.”
Cecilia Ye stumbled as he pulled her—she was exhausted, running on nothing but sheer willpower.
“No need. I can get a taxi myself.”
Xavier Foster’s patience snapped. “You’re such a mess—think any driver would pick you up?”
“Then I’ll just walk.”
Cecilia Ye tried hard to pull away, but her thin wrist couldn’t break free from his grip.
At last, the tears she’d held back spilled down her cheeks, her face crumpling with hurt.
Xavier Foster’s heart thudded. He softened, just a bit. “Why are you crying? It’s just a painting. Is this really worth it?”
Cecilia Ye shook her head. To her, it wasn’t just a painting. She’d lost the man she loved and her home—all at once.
Ignoring her protests, Xavier Foster scooped her up and placed her in the car. The SUV behind them quickly drove past.
Watching Xavier Foster carry Cecilia Ye away, Bai Yu Zhi clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white.