The next day, the art studio officially opened its doors.

Just as Cecilia Ye had imagined, nothing was really different—except for the small "Open" wooden sign now hanging at the entrance.

The moment the sign was up, Julian Jarvis arrived.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, a gentle smile on his face, holding a fresh bouquet—sunflowers and lisianthus, all in bright yellows and oranges, looking especially refreshing.

Cecilia Ye took the flowers, murmuring her thanks. Julian Jarvis grinned, "Wait till you see the gift Yaoyao has for you."

At his words, Cecilia Ye glanced outside, just in time to see Brother Hua and Uncle Braid hauling in a pink pig-shaped ottoman; it was so hefty, it took both of them to lift it.

Plump and rosy pink, the little pig's back was wide enough for someone to sit or ride on. Cecilia Ye couldn't help laughing.

"Guess Yaoyao's taste is questionable lately," she teased, but clearly delighted. Just looking at the gift made her happy.

They set the pig ottoman by the floor-to-ceiling window, at Cecilia Ye's suggestion. After all, Yaoyao's present deserved the most attention-grabbing spot in the whole studio.

Once they were done, Brother Hua and Uncle Braid left.

Without waiting for instruction, Julian Jarvis headed to the refreshment counter and began making coffee with practiced ease.

Cecilia Ye walked over to watch him. His hands, slender and graceful, made every movement look refined—not at all like her own clumsy fumbling.

"What will we do with a little boss who can't even make coffee?" he teased as he skimmed the milk froth.

Cecilia Ye's cheeks flushed. "Well... people can always make their own here. I just need to teach the guests to paint."

Seeing the coffee ready, Cecilia Ye led him to the easel by the window. On it rested an unfinished painting of a snowy landscape.

Julian Jarvis gazed at the layered snowy peaks. All white, yet full of depth; golden sunlight spilled over the mountaintops, breaking through clouds and mist.

"Is that Heming Mountain?"

"Yes, from when we went skiing last time."

For the past couple of days, she'd sat here working on this painting, though only halfway done.

Settling herself beside the easel, Cecilia Ye picked up her palette, adding details with careful strokes.

Her seaweed-like hair cascaded down her back, settling at her waist. Tilting her head, she revealed the delicate white curve of her neck.

Julian Jarvis stood behind her. Looking down, he could see her long lashes fanned out like tiny brushes.

Zoey Zhang padded to their side, sniffing curiously around Julian Jarvis's feet before curling up on the rug to play with her own tail.

Julian Jarvis watched intently. Cecilia Ye's paintings always radiated a certain tenacious vitality, something that moved him in ways he couldn't quite explain.

The air was filled with the gentle scent of coffee and a quiet warmth.

Before long, two young women stepped inside, curious about the studio.

"Wow, it's so beautiful in here!"

One of the girls spotted Cecilia Ye painting and politely asked, "Hello, can we paint here?"

Cecilia Ye set her brush aside, smiling. "Of course. There are easels and paints over there—if you already know how, feel free to start. If not, I can teach you."

The girl in the white dress, notably lively, laughed. "We're learning! We're students at the art academy. Been hanging around at home on break—my place is nearby. It's so great to have somewhere to paint! It's so boring alone at home."

"Go ahead and pick your materials then."

Julian Jarvis watched from the side. Seeing Cecilia Ye's gentle demeanor, he thought to himself: she was the kind of girl who deserved to be cherished.

The cheerful girl blinked, playfully asking, "Are you two a couple? Is this your studio together?"

"..."

An awkward silence hung in the air. Cecilia Ye hurriedly waved her hands in protest. "No, no, he's just my friend! It's just me here."

"Ah," the girl looked a little disappointed, "You two look so cool and so pretty together."

With that, she grabbed her friend's hand and hurried away.

Cecilia Ye could only shake her head, offering Julian Jarvis an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine. I should get going anyway."

Draining his coffee, he washed the cup at the counter.

Cecilia Ye got up to walk him out. "Let me see you to the door."

They stepped outside; as they approached the gate, Julian Jarvis slowed down. "Cecilia, you and Xavier Foster..."

He wanted to ask—would the two of you get back together? Would you forgive him?

But it felt like overstepping.

Cecilia Ye looked up at him, her voice tinged with fatigue and helplessness. "Julian Jarvis, I don't know what he wants. But I'm terrified of going back to how things used to be."

Gently, Julian Jarvis reached out to pat her head, not wanting to stir up painful memories. "It's alright. I'm just worried he'd try to force you. Take care of yourself. If you need anything, call me."

"Okay."

Cecilia Ye replied softly, watching as Julian Jarvis walked away.

A little ways off, hidden around the corner, Xavier Foster gripped his steering wheel tight, pressing his knuckles to his brow.

Jealousy was eating him alive. It was almost enough to drive him mad.

He could only watch as Julian Jarvis stood so close behind Cecilia—standing in a space Xavier Foster couldn’t approach.

He wanted badly to burst in and close the distance. But he couldn't. Frustrated, he slammed his elbow against the car window, barely keeping his desire at bay.

Evening crept in. The studio closed at five, and Cecilia Ye walked her last guests to the door.

The number of visitors that day felt just right—not too many, not too few. It suited her perfectly.

Not too noisy, always interesting.

She stepped out, took down the wooden sign, and pulled the front door shut. Glancing back, she noticed a bouquet of white bluebells resting on the little table in the courtyard.

Delicate bluebells, white as tiny lanterns, tied with just a simple ribbon.

Cecilia Ye scooped up the flowers, peered around the gate, but saw nobody.

A puzzled look crossed her face. The sweet, clear fragrance was subtle but enchanting. She couldn't resist bringing the bouquet close and inhaling deeply: so beautiful, so fragrant.

She brought them inside, carefully placing them in a vase.

Selling paintings was one thing, but running a studio was something else entirely.

Busier, yes, but forcing her out of her shell—to talk, socialize. Yet her heart felt all the fuller for it.

Meeting new people, living an ordinary life.

She carried the vase of bluebells upstairs, setting them on the nightstand beside her bed.

The second-floor bathroom was just outside her bedroom. Gathering her clothes, Cecilia Ye soaked in the warm tumb, her fair, delicate skin glistening.

She rested a hand on her belly, which was already just the slightest bit rounded now. Thinking of the baby quietly growing inside softened her heart.

After her bath, she towel-dried her hair in front of the mirror.

Suddenly, a faint noise echoed nearby, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Cecilia Ye froze, instinctively reaching for the switch beside the door. The switch clicked twice, but the lights stayed off.

The washroom was humid with steam. The curtains were drawn, letting in only a sliver of faint light.

In the small, quiet space, her pounding heartbeat seemed to thunder, sharp and heavy in her chest.

Fear crept in. She gripped the edge of the sink, unable to look in the mirror, afraid to move around.

Was it a power outage? Or something else?

The darkness crept over her, as if swallowing her whole. She tried to reassure herself not to be afraid, but couldn't help curling up on the floor.

Bad memories crashed through her mind. She covered her face and shrank into herself, trembling in the gloom.