Night had long since fallen, but Xavier Foster found himself wide awake, tossing and turning in bed. Sleep eluded him.
He kept thinking about what Cecilia Ye had said in the garden, leaving a strange feeling in his chest.
He hadn't slept well for days—he was unused to it. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Cecilia Ye.
He let out a deep sigh, only to feel that the blanket around him was icy cold.
Growing restless, Xavier Foster sat up in bed, propped one knee up, his slender arm half-exposed from his pajamas, draping lazily over his knee.
Hunched over a little, he reached for a cigarette. He’d never really been a smoker, but these past few days, he’d gone through several packs without realizing.
A faint scent of tobacco drifted through the room. Only after taking a deep drag did his thoughts finally clear a little.
He tried to sort out everything that had happened recently. Xavier Foster wanted to know where all this turmoil was coming from—and it all seemed to boil down to Cecilia Ye growing distant from him.
He could no longer hold her like he used to. These days, they barely exchanged a few words—always polite, always reserved.
Cecilia Ye had lived with the Fu family for so many years; it had never occurred to him that one day this little girl would want to drift away from him.
In the pitch-black room, the point of his cigarette glowed red, flickering in and out of the shadows. When it finally burned down, Xavier Foster stubbed it out in the ashtray on his desk.
A faint wisp of smoke rose up and then disappeared.
He walked to the door and stepped out. Cecilia Ye’s room was right next door. It was already one in the morning—the entire house was eerily quiet, everyone sound asleep.
Standing in the hallway, Xavier Foster looked at the empty first-floor living room. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, silvery moonlight streamed inside.
He quietly pushed open Cecilia Ye’s door and slipped in.
She was fast asleep, her breathing soft and even—almost like a little piglet.
Clearly, he was the only one unable to sleep. Standing by the bed, Xavier Foster stared at Cecilia Ye’s small face.
He didn’t know why, but just seeing her settled his heart, making the emptiness inside melt away.
Xavier Foster couldn’t help but ask himself, again and again: What is it to like someone? Did he like Cecilia Ye?
He stood for a long moment before finally frowning and leaving her room.
…
Meanwhile, on the first day of the new year, the Bai household was living out an entirely different kind of scene.
After days of torment at the hands of the Scarface man, Vivian Belle’s eyes were sunken and bloodshot, her messy, greasy hair matted on her head. She squatted on the living room floor in wrinkled pajamas, a picture of misery.
"Impossible," she muttered, "A’Ye must be playing a prank on me. I don’t believe any of this—this can’t be real."
"In a few days, A’Ye will definitely come to apologize to me."
She was the only one left in the house; Bai Mother had used visiting her hometown for the New Year as an excuse and snuck away with her things the day after Scarface’s group arrived.
Hmph. A snarl flashed in Vivian Belle’s eyes. Someday, when I become A’Ye’s wife, I won’t give you a single cent.
Scarface had demanded thirteen million yuan,* but she didn’t have nearly that much. After scraping together every bit of money in her accounts, she barely had over a million.
*Note: 1300万 yuan is about two million US dollars.
She had always spent money faster than she could save it, living extravagantly without a second thought.
Her usual solution was to spend everything and just ask Xavier Foster for more—she never bothered to save.
But Scarface had made it clear: if she failed to come up with the money by the second day of the new year, things were going to get ugly.
Vivian Belle trembled her way through the past two days, too afraid to even turn on the New Year’s Eve lights, curling up at home with nothing but instant noodles.
Then the thought came to her—the black card A’Ye had given her. Suddenly, she perked up. With that card, she could buy tons of jewelry and resell it for cash.
Excited by this idea, she scrambled off the sofa and staggered to her bedroom to search.
She found the black card right where she kept it, in her favorite purse. Staring at it, her eyes bulged with excitement. With this card, what was thirteen million yuan?
Clutching the card tightly, Vivian Belle headed for the door. As she passed the full-length mirror, she caught a glimpse of her ghastly appearance.
No—she, Vivian Belle, was a refined aristocrat! She hurried to the vanity, messily applied some makeup, and changed into a dress before leaving home—completely forgetting the filthy, tangled hair on her head.
She took a cab straight to the nearest mall and made a beeline for the jewelry store.
The sales assistant eyed the disheveled woman warily, her gaze guarded as she approached.
"Miss, can I help you with something?" The assistant forced a smile, fighting the urge to wrinkle her nose at the greasy smell wafting from Vivian Belle’s hair.
"Jewelry. Show me your most expensive pieces—I want to buy them all." Vivian Belle shook the black card in her hand and glared.
Recognizing the card, the sales assistant looked somewhat reassured. "Of course. Right this way."
Vivian Belle was led into a private room, where the staff carefully brought out their latest and priciest designs. Two burly security guards stood at the door.
Diamonds on the showroom jewelry glinted brilliantly under the spotlights.
Vivian Belle glanced at the staffer. "Are these really your most expensive?"
"Yes, miss. If you’d like, we can also custom-make something for you."
"No, just these—I want them all. Wrap them up," she said, pressing the black card between her fingers and handing it over.
The assistant took the card, reviewed the prices one last time, and, seeing Vivian Belle’s insistence, called someone to start packaging the jewelry and fetched the card terminal.
"Beep—"
The machine made an unpleasant sound.
...The assistant was stunned. "I’m terribly sorry, miss. Could you try another card? This one seems to be declined."
Vivian Belle’s face darkened. She stood abruptly, eyes blazing. "Impossible! How can it be declined? This is Xavier Foster’s card from the Fu Group! Do you even know who he is? Run it again! Use another machine if you have to!"
Her voice was so loud that the security guards turned and glared into the room, their expressions grave.
Nervously, the sales assistant tried a different machine. "Beep—"
"I’m so sorry, miss. It really won’t go through. The display says this card’s been frozen."
"No..." Vivian Belle staggered back, clutching at her scalp in panic. "No way! It must be your problem—your store’s got issues!"
Her face twisted with rage, hair sticking out in all directions. She smeared her lipstick across her face with the back of her hand, and the assistant instinctively took a step back.
In a frenzy, Vivian Belle lunged forward and grabbed the assistant’s hands, shaking them desperately.
"Tell me the truth—did you mess with my card? It always worked before!"
She shook the assistant so hard it bordered on madness. Immediately, the two security guards strode in, pried her hands off, and dragged her away.
The assistant, now fed up, huffed. "Miss, you can’t just make wild accusations. We’re a reputable jewelry brand with excellent reviews—the entire store is under surveillance. If you don’t have the funds, please come back another day."
With a wave of her hand, the two guards hauled Vivian Belle out the front door. The larger one gave her a shove, and she barely managed to steady herself against the hallway railing.
"This can’t be happening..." If the card wouldn’t work, where could she possibly get the money?
People bustled all around the mall, giving Vivian Belle a wide berth, glancing at her and whispering among themselves.
Annoyed, Vivian Belle shot them a glare. "What are you staring at? Mind your own business!"
But every jewelry store she tried threw her out, no exceptions.
Only now did she have to accept—it was real. Xavier Foster really had frozen her card. Yet she still clung tightly to it, unable to let it go.