When he received this message, Charles Chase was just about to return the mug and thermos box Cecilia Ye had used to bring him soy milk.
The little meat buns that girl made were really delicious—maybe he’d swing by after his morning run someday and snag a few more.
The road to Cecilia Ye’s villa was a gentle slope downward, and Charles Chase strolled along unhurriedly. His long legs moved leisurely beneath sharp suit trousers, every step relaxed and a touch careless.
Chestnut-brown hair and gold-rimmed glasses gave him an air of both elegance and quiet nobility.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He shifted the thermos box to his right hand, then took out his phone with his left.
“Mr. Chen, we’ve found Ye Jing just as you asked.”
Charles Chase paused, his usually cool voice lowering a fraction. “Where?”
The location given was not at all where he’d expected—he stopped in his tracks.
His expression turned serious as he glanced at his watch. “Pick me up at Qingshui Bay in an hour.”
When the call ended, Charles Chase stood in place, lost in thought. The usual warmth in his features was now overtaken by a sharpness that made others hesitate to approach.
Who was Ye Jing? She was the woman that Gao Kangshi had been with before marrying into the Chase family.
And who was Gao Kangshi? His biological father.
All these tangled relationships—complicated and simple all at once. Just a greedy man who, blinded by the allure of wealth in the capital, had abandoned a local woman and squeezed himself into the Chase family, pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
No point thinking about it further. Charles Chase withdrew his gaze and headed toward the villa ahead.
……
Mia Moore had left several days ago, and Cecilia Ye was gradually adjusting to being alone.
Some of her artworks that had been stored at Shuiyun Jian were picked out by Julian Jarvis and delivered to her—they now adorned the foyer downstairs, instantly giving the space the atmosphere of a real studio.
She’d already picked a name for her studio: 'Late•Early.'
Late and Early—a simple pairing, not much meaning behind it; she just liked the way it sounded.
When the nameplate was finished and delivered, she’d consider that the grand opening.
Every morning, she got up and made herself something simple in the little kitchen upstairs. Then, sitting by the window to eat, she’d spend a while gazing out from the balcony afterwards.
She was now living a life she’d never imagined before—a life by herself.
A little lonely, maybe. But at least, her heart was at peace.
She still thought about her grandmother and grandfather from time to time. They must miss her, too, she thought. Cecilia Ye wanted to call them, but decided to wait a little longer—give herself a bit more time.
She had no idea how other people recovered after a breakup, or how long it took to truly forget those memories.
Every day, there was always a moment or two that caught her off guard, making her think of the past.
Perhaps it was while making a cup of soy milk, or simmering a pork rib and lotus root soup, or maybe when picking up her pen for a sketch.
These memories would come rushing in unexpectedly, making her chest ache—a little pain, a little sorrow.
But it was all right. Time would see her through.
Though the house was kept warm, and the heater was always on, there was still a certain chill that came with being alone in such a big villa.
She wrapped herself in a white, hand-crocheted shawl and curled up on the sofa, chatting softly to her baby.
Knees gathered to her chest, with a little mound of soft flesh resting atop her belly, Cecilia Ye stroked her stomach tenderly, her heart impossibly soft.
After a while of chattering away about nothing in particular, she got up to fetch her sketchbook, intent on drawing something.
Zoey Zhang lay belly-up in one corner of the couch, fast asleep. With her pencil in hand, Cecilia Ye started sketching her.
Not long after, the doorbell rang. Cecilia Ye looked up.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, she saw Charles Chase standing at the garden gate.
The wooden gate was only waist-high, shielding Charles Chase’s long legs from view.
“Your mug and thermos,” he said, giving the items in his hands a slight shake as Cecilia Ye came out.
“Ah, sorry for putting you through the trouble,” she replied, reaching out to take them.
She looked soft and sweet, wrapped up in her white shawl. Remembering the call about Ye Jing, Charles Chase realized that meant his half-sister would soon be found, too.
“It’s nothing—the meat buns were great. I’ve got things to do, though, so I’ll head off.”
Pushing his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose, Charles Chase waited for his driver to arrive.
“Okay…” Cecilia Ye watched him turn to leave, the thermos clutched to her chest, ready to head back in herself.
She’d barely taken a step when his voice sounded behind her again: “By the way, he’s… looking for you. He called me. Seems like he’s gone to Country Y.”
Cecilia Ye froze. She hadn’t expected to hear news of Xavier Foster from Charles Chase, of all people.
Her eyes, clear as a startled deer’s, blinked slowly, tinged with a pleading note. “Please don’t tell him, okay?”
Charles Chase shrugged. “I haven’t. What’s between you two is none of my business.”
With that, he turned and left.
The wind had picked up, scattering leaves in the garden before settling them back down again.
Cecilia Ye took a deep breath, hugged her things, and walked back inside.
She put the mug and thermos away before curling up on the sofa with her sketchbook again.
So, he’d gone to Country Y?
He must be furious. In all these past six years, she’d never once disobeyed him.
Except this time—this time, she’d left behind just a marriage certificate and walked away. He must feel utterly humiliated.
He was always so domineering—how could he accept such defiance?
Cecilia Ye rested a hand on her stomach, hoping that he wouldn’t come searching for her anymore.