In the blink of an eye, the day of the annual company gala arrived. The biting wind cut through the air, and the weather forecast predicted snow that night.
The outfit and jewelry Xavier Fostern brought home that day were precisely for Cecilia Ye to wear at the event.
That afternoon, someone arrived to do Cecilia Ye's hair and makeup—a famous styling team reputed for working with top celebrities.
The makeup artist, Clio, lavished Cecilia Ye with compliments while working her magic.
When Xavier Fostern returned, the team was just leaving. Cecilia Ye had been handed a business card; Clio winked conspiringly and whispered that she should come to him again next time she wanted a makeover.
Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Cecilia Ye could barely recognize herself. She was truly beautiful tonight.
It seemed vain to think so, but Clio’s skills really were extraordinary.
Her waist-length hair was styled with minimal fuss—loose, soft French curls, lightly clipped back on either side with rhinestone-studded barrettes, framing her pale neck.
Her makeup was almost imperceptibly light, just a hint of brow and lipstick, yet somehow she appeared more captivating than usual. The tiny mole on the tip of her nose added a unique vivacity to her look.
But when Xavier Fostern walked through the doorway, Cecilia Ye suddenly felt uneasy, a pink blush blooming across her cheeks.
Xavier Fostern’s cold, sharp features seemed to soften—he’d always known his young wife was beautiful, but not like this. For a moment, he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
"Zhiyen…" she called out in a small voice, seeing him standing motionless at the door. Did something go wrong?
"Yeah. You look beautiful tonight," he said, masking the amazement in his heart before heading upstairs to change.
The gala was held at the same hotel where Xavier Fostern had been injured last time. The fountain at the entrance had long been replaced by a new statue.
Cecilia Ye took his arm, and they took the private elevator to the 28th floor.
The moment Xavier Fostern and Cecilia Ye stepped into the crowd, all eyes were instantly drawn to them.
Xavier Fostern wore a silver-grey suit, perfectly tailored to emphasize his tall frame. His hair was slicked back, revealing his prominent brows and cold, impassive face—it was an air of reserved nobility.
And the girl on his arm—no, she should be called the president’s wife.
Her beauty defied easy description; words like 'graceful' seemed hopelessly inadequate. Her eyes shone with a watery brilliance, framed by long lashes that softened her entire expression.
Black, wavy hair cascaded down her back. The champagne-pink off-the-shoulder gown set off her fair neck, making her look like an elegant swan.
The dress shimmered with a silvery luster, its silky fabric hugging her curves. At her slender waist, the folds gathered like clouds—utterly enchanting.
Murmured gasps spread through the crowd. The gown, luxurious as it was, wasn’t even the most eye-catching detail: around Cecilia Ye’s neck glittered a rare pink diamond necklace. Wasn’t this the one that had fetched a record price at a recent auction?
Only when Xavier Fostern’s gaze narrowed in displeasure did those around them finally avert their eyes a little.
The attendees, all top executives, immediately felt the pressure radiating from their president.
From behind the crowd, Vivian Belle watched Cecilia Ye with undisguised hatred. Her polished fingers clenched red with tension; her perfectly made-up face was twisted with rage.
Hmph, it should be her standing at Xavier Fostern's side. What was Cecilia Ye, anyway?
How could a foundling orphan be allowed to stand so brazenly next to Xavier Fostern?
Tonight, the whole world would finally know: she would be the one Xavier Fostern was going to marry!
She, Vivian Belle, was the true mistress of the Fu family.
Elegant violin music floated through the grand, two-story hall, spiral stairs adorned with Roman columns winding upward.
Flower arrangements, fine wine, exquisite pastries.
Apart from company staff and business partners, the hall was filled with media reporters—every year, many awaited the annual speech from the wealthiest, most handsome president in all of Newbridge, Xavier Fostern.
At precisely eight o’clock, the music stopped and the spotlight fell on the stage at the front. Xavier Fostern, holding Cecilia Ye by the hand, stood out in front as the crowd instinctively parted to give them space.
After a quick opening, the host invited Xavier Fostern to the stage.
He wore a frosty, indifferent expression, but as he leaned slightly to murmur in Cecilia Ye’s ear, he said, 'Wait here for me.'
With a long stride, he took the stage. "Thank you for coming to the Fu Group’s annual gala…"
It was a simple address, yet in Xavier Fostern’s deep, magnetic voice, paired with that striking face, everyone was spellbound.
Cecilia Ye gazed at Xavier Fostern bathed in that spotlight, heart pounding.
He belonged in the center of everything; admired, envied, and respected by all.
He seemed untouchable—noble by nature.
And she, Cecilia Ye, was only ever meant to watch quietly from the shadows.
It would be the same in the future—even if they parted ways, she would still see and hear of Xavier Fostern everywhere. Maybe, that way, she wouldn’t miss him quite so much.
Her hand lightly covered her stomach, the soft fabric of the gown pressing against her flat belly. Silently, she said, 'Baby, this is your father.'
Thunderous applause. Xavier Fostern stepped down from the stage and wrapped his arm around Cecilia Ye’s waist.
Music resumed. Couples began to dance in the hall’s center. Xavier Fostern accepted a glass of red wine from a server, handing Cecilia Ye a glass of orange juice.
After socializing for a while, Cecilia Ye whispered to Xavier Fostern that she needed to go to the restroom, then made her way upstairs.
Xavier Fostern had told her there was a private lounge waiting on the second floor if she needed to rest.
She rarely wore heels, but the pair Xavier Fostern had picked were beautiful. Still, after all this walking, her feet were starting to ache.
The lounge was quiet—a peaceful retreat from the noise outside. Sinking into the plush sofa, she was just about to slip off her shoes and relax.
Suddenly the door burst open. Thinking it was Xavier Fostern, Cecilia Ye looked up, but it was none other than Vivian Belle, whom she hadn’t seen in a long time.
Vivian Belle was in a white evening gown, makeup heavy, a glass of red wine in hand, her gait a little unsteady—tipsy, perhaps.
Cecilia Ye really had no desire to see her. She got up to leave, but Vivian Belle, heels clicking on the floor, strode over in a few steps.
With a hand pressing on Cecilia Ye’s shoulder, Vivian Belle sneered, "Why the hurry? You’ve stolen all the spotlight tonight. Let me see just how beautiful the president’s wife is."
Cecilia Ye couldn’t be bothered to indulge her, batting away Vivian Belle’s hand and making for the door.
Maybe it was the alcohol, but Vivian Belle was surprisingly strong. Seeing Cecilia Ye’s indifference, she curled her lip into a cold smile and shoved her hard.
"Who said you could leave? I’m not done talking to you yet."
Wearing heels, Cecilia Ye could barely keep her balance—Vivian Belle’s push made her stumble backwards, toppling onto the sofa behind her.
Frightened, Cecilia Ye’s hands instinctively shielded her stomach. Thankfully, the sofa cushioned her fall.
Seeing her cower, Vivian Belle grew even bolder, leaning in with disdain. "What? Scared now? Ha! Cecilia Ye, are you so proud to show off in my place?"
"Look—this dress, those jewels," she said, fingers running over the large pearl necklace on her throat. "All paid for by Xavier Fostern. Tell me, how does it feel watching your own husband spend his money on another woman? If you had any shame, you’d file for divorce and spare yourself the humiliation!"
Cecilia Ye glared. Yes, this was indeed Vivian Belle’s place. She knew it—and she would step aside, in time.
But tonight, she refused to accept Vivian Belle’s barbed words. "Is that so? Funny, all my clothes tonight were chosen by Zhiyen himself—heard the designer’s quite famous. What about yours?"
Cecilia Ye’s sudden composure caught Vivian Belle off-guard.
Infuriated, Vivian Belle clenched her teeth. Her own gown was bought with Xavier Fostern’s card, but she knew it couldn’t compare.
Driven mad with jealousy, Vivian Belle gave a twisted little laugh, her crimson lips fierce and outlandish.
With a flick of her wrist, she splashed the entire glass of red wine all over Cecilia Ye’s gown.
"Vivian Belle! What do you think you’re doing?!" Cecilia Ye stared in shock.
"Cecilia Ye, do you dare make a bet with me? Let’s see—tonight, in front of everyone, who will Xavier Fostern choose?"