Later, Cecilia Ye would think back—maybe on the day she decided to return for that marriage certificate, she should’ve gone straight for a divorce without hesitation.
She’d been too greedy, always wanting to wait a little longer. That was what led to things spinning out of control.
Inside the Fu Group’s sleek office tower, Henry Hart cast a glance at the woman standing before him: a low-cut blouse, a tight pencil skirt, cascading waves of hair, flawless makeup.
He knew he had no right to meddle in the president’s personal affairs, yet compared to her, he honestly believed Madam was far better suited for the boss.
"Assistant He, I have a document that needs Ah Ye's personal signature. Is he in?"
Henry Hart frowned. Ever since Vivian Belle showed up three days ago, she’d searched for every excuse to enter the president’s office, every single day.
He just couldn’t understand it—President Foster obviously cared deeply for Madam, so why bother divorcing her to marry this woman?
But still, matters regarding the president were not for him to comment on. He shook his head and replied coolly, "President Foster isn't here. You can leave it here if you’d like."
Vivian Belle let out a sweet laugh. "Oh? No need to trouble you, Assistant He. I’ll come by and look for Ah Ye again later."
Since returning from the ski resort, Vivian Belle had pestered Xavier Foster for ages until he finally relented, agreeing to let her start working at his company.
Xavier Foster figured, since they’d be getting married anyway, having Vivian Belle around was better than risking her running into Cecilia with nothing to do.
When he got back to his office, Xavier Foster immediately spotted Vivian Belle waiting outside. He only spared her a glance before unlocking the door and stepping inside. Vivian Belle was quick to follow.
“Ah Ye, it seems Assistant He doesn’t much like me coming to see you,” she pouted.
Settling casually into his wide chair, Xavier Foster, dressed today in a smoky blue-gray suit, leaned back, his long legs crossed in front, and unbuttoned his shirt collar. He looked up at Vivian Belle, standing before him.
His tone cold, he said, "Don’t come looking for me unless it’s necessary. This is a workplace."
"It is necessary—I’m only here for work." She placed the document on the table, leaning in, her petite figure bending deliberately into an alluring pose. The short skirt rode up just a bit, the intention unmistakable.
With bedroom eyes, she gazed at Xavier Foster. "Ah Ye, you see, this document really does need your signature."
Xavier Foster, utterly unmoved, pressed a finger to the document, glanced at it briefly, and said, "Something of this level, let Henry Hart handle it. Don’t waste time—go do your work."
He pressed the intercom: "Henry Hart, come in for a moment."
Vivian Belle gritted her teeth, scooped up the document, and stormed out in frustration.
Her heels clicked briskly as she left. She’d thought that working at the Fu Group would mean seeing Xavier Foster every day—plenty of chances to win his heart. But after several days, she’d only bumped into him twice.
Some female staff watched her with murmured curiosity. "Who is she, suddenly showing up at the company?"
"I see her making trips up to the president’s floor several times a day."
"Could she really be someone special to President Foster?"
Vivian Belle walked right past their whispers, head held high, hands tugging at her skirt, proud as ever.
Hmph. Just wait—once I marry Xavier Foster, I’ll be your president’s wife. Let’s see who dares to talk then.
*
Cecilia Ye had rested at home for several days now. The injury on her leg had healed considerably; she could manage a few slow steps on her own.
When she reached the living room, the TV happened to be playing New Year’s coverage. The shopping malls on screen were brimming with red lanterns—everywhere looked so lively.
In years past, Cecilia Ye and Xavier Foster spent the New Year at the old house, having dinner with his grandparents. They never had to think about preparations—Aunt Whitney and the others took care of everything. So she’d never experienced shopping for the New Year herself.
So this is what all the excitement was really like.
She watched for a while, then her phone rang. It was Mia Moore.
"Cecilia, darling!" Mia Moore’s bubbly voice greeted her.
"What is it?"
"I just miss you! Are you feeling any better? That Xavier Foster is just the absolute worst!!"
Remembering what happened that day, Cecilia Ye sighed, "Sorry about that, Yao Yao. I almost let that woman kick you."
"Oh, please! Actually... um—" Mia Moore was unusually hesitant for once.
"What’s up? Is there something you want to tell me?"
"Cecilia, um... did Xavier Foster ever give that woman a lesson? That day, my brother meant to have someone scare her a bit, but it turns out she got beaten up instead."
"What? How could that happen?"
Cecilia Ye recalled Xavier Foster saying he’d take care of things. A shiver ran through her.
Could Xavier Foster really...?
"I don’t know, Yao Yao. He said he would handle it, but I did try to stop him..."
"Never mind—just asking out of curiosity. She had it coming. Even if nobody else did, my brother would have taught her a lesson."
Cecilia Ye frowned. So, Julian Jarvis wasn’t as she’d always imagined, either.
That’s just how this world is; sometimes the people you think you know aren’t the way you expect. But it doesn’t matter—everyone has sides they keep hidden, just like she did. Deep down, she always yearned for what belonged to someone else.
Still—between the two of them, it was only natural to stand up for herself.
Cecilia Ye drowsed on the sofa, a wave of sleepiness washing over her lately, maybe from the cold weather. She just wanted to burrow under the covers and sleep away the day.
When Xavier Foster got home, the first thing he saw was Cecilia Ye in the living room, half-watching TV, half-dozing, her small hands on the armrest, chin tilted, black hair spilling onto her white dress—a picture of imminent sleep.
The house always stayed warm in winter, and today she wore a fluffy sweater, making her seem all the more delicate.
Xavier Foster set his coat aside and came over. The crystal chandelier refracted a spectrum of cozy light over her figure.
She really was sleepy—even when he entered, she didn’t notice.
He sat down beside her, carefully picked up her foot for a look.
His cold hand pressed gently to her slender ankle. Cecilia Ye shivered from the chill, then glanced up. Her eyes still glowed hazy with sleep.
"Does it still hurt?"
The little one shook her head. "No, it doesn’t anymore," she mumbled.
Xavier Foster bent down and pulled her into his arms. Suddenly awake, she pushed against his chest, trying to wriggle away.
"If you’re tired, just sleep on me. If you stay like that, your arm will go numb."
Cecilia Ye was truly exhausted, though she stubbornly insisted, "I’m not sleepy, I don’t want to nap. I’m watching TV."
She didn’t want to be this close to Xavier Foster.
Just then, the TV broadcast switched to highlights of last year’s New Year’s fireworks.
Cecilia Ye’s attention was instantly stolen—the spectacular fireworks blossomed across the screen. She blurted, "So beautiful!"
Fireworks were banned in the capital, so to see a true display, you’d have to travel far. But every New Year’s Eve they stayed with his grandparents, so she’d never had a chance to watch in person.
Xavier Foster caught the sparkle in her gaze. "You like them?"
Cecilia Ye nodded before she could stop herself, utterly entranced.
Xavier Foster said nothing more. He pulled over the newspaper from the coffee table, leaning comfortably back on the sofa, legs stretched ahead, the newspaper resting on his lap, his arm draped languidly along the sofa back.
Cecilia Ye nestled beside him. From a distance, one might think he was holding her within his arms.
And soon enough, despite her protests, the “wide-awake” girl’s little head began to nod, eyes drooping closed.