"Yu Zhi, come here." Xavier Foster held out a hand to him.

Vivian Belle's expression was dazed; she cast an almost careless glance in Cecilia Ye's direction. In that instant, Cecilia Ye thought she glimpsed a look of provocation in Vivian Belle’s eyes.

But only she saw it. No one else—neither Xavier Foster nor anyone else present—noticed.

To everyone else, Vivian Belle was just delicate and pitiable.

Cecilia Ye bit her lip hard enough to draw a trace of blood. Her frail body pressed tight against the wall, as if only by clinging to it could she muster the strength to face what was before her.

Just half an hour ago, she'd still been at Xavier Foster’s side, the envy of all. And in a blink, she’d been reduced to this sorry state.

Vivian Belle could so effortlessly destroy everything she’d gained.

After all, everything she possessed had been given by Xavier Foster. As long as Vivian Belle held the top spot in his heart, Cecilia Ye would only ever be forced to relive such humiliations.

He wasn’t wrong; those who keep making mistakes aren’t the real problem.

It was her mistake. The real mistake lies in being the one who endlessly compromises.

"Ah Ye, will you really marry me? You’re not disgusted by me?"

"I will," Xavier Foster replied, brows knit, his voice cold and clipped, patience suddenly gone. "Come here, or there’s nothing more to discuss."

Had Vivian Belle been sober, Xavier Foster might not have let such emotional blackmail slide. But now, drunk and disoriented as she was, he was still weighed by guilt toward her—a guilt fueled by having recently neglected her.

Vivian Belle glanced up, saw he was angry, and decided to back off while she was ahead. No matter; Xavier Foster had just acknowledged her in front of everyone—company staff, countless reporters. By tomorrow, the whole world would know. Let’s see who dares gossip behind her back now.

Ha. Cecilia Ye—let’s see how you can possibly stay after this.

She’d gotten exactly what she wanted.

Vivian Belle lowered her hand, letting shattered glass from her wineglass fall to the alabaster floor with a brittle crack.

She staggered toward Xavier Foster, and he stepped forward, pulling her into his arms, his hand protectively covering her neck.

Yet, for a brief moment, he thought of that time Cecilia Ye had been kidnapped—he’d felt the same then. Fear, worry, regret...

But now, all he felt was a splitting headache and an inexplicable irritation.

People crowded around the doorway as Xavier Foster lifted Vivian Belle and stood up, shooting the room a cold, warning glare.

The reporters, cameras poised, silently lowered their equipment at his look.

Vivian Belle clung to his neck, trembling pitifully in his embrace.

“President, the ambulance is downstairs,” Henry Hart reported as he stepped inside.

Xavier Foster strode toward the door, and everyone hastily made way.

At the threshold, he glanced at Cecilia Ye where she stood, pressed to the wall, dazed, not sparing him a single glance.

Vivian Belle whimpered softly as Xavier Foster left, with Henry Hart following close behind.

With the two leading actors gone, Cecilia Ye was left alone at the scene.

Now, with Xavier Foster gone and everyone realizing that Cecilia Ye was only ever a stand-in, the press found new courage.

They immediately swarmed around her, microphones and recorders shoved in her face.

"Miss Ye, what exactly happened here—did you really take Miss Bai’s place?" barked a sharp-eyed reporter.

The others soon piled on, eager not to lose out on such a scandalous story.

"Miss Ye, when will you and President Foster be divorcing?"

"Since your marriage was by agreement, what exactly did you agree to?"

"Do you know the promises President Foster made to Miss Bai? Why haven’t you agreed to the divorce—are you trying to replace her, seize her place?"

On and on the questions came—civil words delivering knife-sharp accusations.

They circled her like vampires thirsty for blood, baring their fangs as they drew closer.

Cecilia Ye shook her head, her pretty face growing even paler, murmuring, "Don't ask me, I don't know. Please don't ask me."

She felt terrible. The ache in her abdomen was becoming unmistakable, while her formal dress was chilled by the wind billowing in from the window.

Her interrogators pressed closer still, nearly suffocating her, as though they’d swallow her whole.

She wanted to leave, but it was clear no one intended to let her.

Of course—not one of them saw her as an actual Mrs. Fu; to them, she was nothing but a tool, a fake, a prop, so why bother showing any restraint?

She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come—she just bit her lip, hugging her arms tightly to her chest.

Among the crowd, Charles Chase frowned as he watched the girl. He'd only come because he'd been invited to the Fu Group’s annual party and hadn’t expected to witness such a scene.

Despite her fragile figure and striking beauty, she was merely Xavier Foster’s contract wife. Clearly another gold-digger after the Fu family’s wealth and status—or so he thought as he turned to leave, but found himself rooted in place.

Why did he feel a pang of sympathy? He’d seen plenty of women try to cozy up to the powerful, and he detested it.

Yet, his next move surprised even himself. He shrugged off his suit jacket, pushed through the crowd, and draped it over Cecilia Ye's shoulders.

The sudden warmth made Cecilia Ye look up in confusion; the man was a stranger to her.

Every journalist immediately swung their cameras toward Charles Chase. After all...

Rumors had been swirling for weeks about a tycoon from Country Y returning to China to do business—these reporters couldn't possibly not know who Charles Chase was.

But unlike with Cecilia Ye, none dared shove microphones in his face.

He moved forward, steadying Cecilia Ye, who was on the verge of collapse. Leaning in, he asked quietly, "Can you walk?"

Cecilia Ye nodded weakly; whoever he was, so long as he could help her leave, that was enough.

She felt so unwell, so worried for the baby in her belly—all she wanted now was to get to a hospital.

"Yes, I can..."

Charles Chase supported her as they headed for the exit. Seeing the reporters about to follow, he turned and shot them a cold, mocking smile. “Are you all sure you want to report on the Fu family’s affairs?”

Everyone blanched. Charles Chase had always been known for his gentle demeanor—many of them had dealt with him before, but never seen this side of him.

Sure enough, wealth bred an intimidating aura.

Charles Chase guided Cecilia Ye downstairs. Beneath the bright lobby lights, she caught sight of her own reflection in the pristine windows—hair disheveled, face colorless, her beautiful dress wrinkled and limp.

They waited by the revolving doors for the driver. Charles Chase released his hand and asked, "Should I take you home?" The words were barely out before he regretted them—he could have just called her a cab.

Cecilia Ye crouched slightly, pain still twisting in her abdomen. Panic rose—is something wrong with the baby?

"Could you call a car for me? My stomach hurts so much. I need to go to a hospital," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. Normally, she would never ask a stranger for help if it wasn’t truly unbearable.

Charles Chase noticed the cold sweat beading on her forehead and how pale her lips had turned; a pang of sympathy struck him.

There was just something about her that tugged at him, maybe because she was about the same age as the little sister he'd never met.

Without another word, he bent down and picked Cecilia Ye up, carrying her to the car. "To the hospital," he told the driver.

The driver responded at once, and with a roar of the engine, they sped toward the hospital.