The car pulled into the company parking lot, and the first thing Xavier Fostern did was take a shower.
After staying up all night, a faint bluish stubble had sprouted on his face. He took a moment to tidy himself up.
By the time he sat down in his office again, he was back to being the calm, composed CEO with a sharp, elite air.
Henry Hart pushed open the door and set a stack of documents on his desk.
"President Foster, out of the six joint projects with CG Group, three of the investment projects have withdrawn their funding. As for the other three, they've canceled the contracts for the Y-country imported raw materials and taken them back."
Xavier Fostern’s expression was cool. Hah, this move from Charles Chase was nothing more than a self-destructive two-way loss. They broke the contract unilaterally and would have to pay a huge penalty fee.
Meanwhile, because of these holdups, the Fu Group might be unable to deliver on certain project deadlines.
"Did you look into Charles Chase? Anything unusual about him?"
Henry Hart nodded. "Nothing much, except for something odd he did a few days ago: he visited Shaoyang Town, a small place near the capital. He met with an inmate there, someone named Ye Jing."
"Back when Charles Chase's father was kicked out of the Chase family, he moved back to Shaoyang Town, and later got entangled with Ye Jing. The two of them have a daughter together."
A sudden flash of inspiration crossed Xavier Fostern’s mind; his brows drew together in deep thought.
"Ye Jing..."
He mouthed the name, rolling it over again and again, as if on the verge of dredging up some elusive truth...
A wild, unbelievable thought leapt to mind. He remembered the first time he'd met Charles Chase, when Chen had said he was searching for a girl.
Charles Chase was a businessman through and through; profit was everything to him. For him to burn his own bridges in this manner, it clearly wasn't just a business matter. In a place like the capital, there was no profit in crossing the Fu Group.
So, it had to be something personal for Charles Chase. Something that mattered to him deeply.
Xavier Fostern tapped his long fingers against his chin, his brows lifting ever so slightly. If Ye Jing truly had a daughter, that would make her Charles Chase’s half-sister.
A sister... Ye Jing... Cecilia Ye...
His sharp eyes suddenly widened. No way!
He gripped his hands tightly, dumbstruck. If Cecilia really was his sister, even half-sister, there was still a blood tie there.
That would explain Charles Chase’s protectiveness toward her, wouldn’t it?
He’d witnessed with his own eyes Cecilia’s predicament at the annual party. Charles Chase must have hated him for it, which would also explain the beating he’d received...
All that anger faded from Xavier Fostern’s face, replaced by a look of utter astonishment.
When Cecilia first came to the Fu family, he had ordered a background check on her. But she’d been left at the door of an orphanage with nothing but a name—there was no other information at all.
Perhaps the truth was too cruel, and Cecilia herself resisted finding out about her origins, so the matter had been dropped.
"Go check into Ye Jing. And... her daughter as well."
Henry Hart immediately left to carry out the order.
Xavier Fostern pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled a long breath.
The company had taken quite a hit from Charles Chase’s actions, though for the Fu family it was still bearable.
Even so, ever since Xavier Fostern had taken over the company, nothing like this had ever happened.
He called a meeting, assigned the cleanup tasks to the higher-ups, and made it clear he had no time to waste on such matters himself.
By the time all that was handled, the morning was already gone.
He headed downstairs, planning to go over to Qingshui Bay. Just yesterday, he’d finally managed to get a little closer to Cecilia—he couldn’t afford to let this rare chance slip away.
But just as he pulled out of the parking garage, his grandfather called him home.
......
When Cecilia Ye woke up, it was already past nine. She hadn’t slept this well in ages.
It was, in fact, the most restful sleep she’d had since coming to Qingshui Bay—even after such a scare the night before.
She sat up, stroked her belly, and leaned against the headboard for a moment.
Sunlight filtered softly through the pale purple curtains, pooling on the table beside her bed.
A bouquet of bluebells lifted their delicate heads, their white petals dusted with golden sunlight, filling the whole room with a gentle, sweet fragrance.
She couldn’t help but think of Xavier Fostern, who had suddenly appeared the night before.
Cecilia Ye thought she was calm—completely, utterly calm.
But when Xavier Fostern truly stood before her, all those months of self-deception shattered like a soap bubble, pierced in an instant.
She was just lying to herself—her heart still ached, the pain still hard to face.
With sorrow in her gentle eyes, she gazed at the bluebells. Her pale little face was expressionless, empty but for a trace of confusion.
Cecilia Ye, how many times are you going to be abandoned before it’s enough?
Maybe he was just caught off-guard by your sudden departure.
Maybe he was acting on a whim.
Do you really want to repeat the same mistakes all over again?
It would just be history repeating itself...
Forcing herself to stop overthinking, Cecilia Ye pushed herself out of bed. She always felt a bit dizzy each morning, so she needed to get something to eat.
The art studio didn’t open until ten anyway, and lately she had been sleeping in, so there was no need to open up early.
Just outside the bedroom was a semi-open dining room and kitchen. The chairs that had fallen over last night were now set neatly in place; Cecilia Ye glanced at them.
She washed up quickly, then opened the fridge.
There were eggs and toast—she decided to make a sandwich.
She slipped the bread into the toaster, poured some oil into a small pan, and cracked in a golden egg. Soon, a faint, savory aroma wafted up.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea swept over her. The scent of the egg, normally pleasant, made her want to retch. Hand over her mouth, she rushed straight to the bathroom.
Leaning over the sink, she vomited—though she hadn’t eaten breakfast yet and nothing came up, the urge only grew stronger.
She heaved until her world spun, body growing wearily limp. Her long hair fell over her cheeks, but she couldn’t be bothered to brush it away—all she could do was empty her stomach until it ached.
Finally, when her stomach cramped in protest, the sickness ebbed.
Her throat burned and felt raw, her face even paler than usual, her eyes brimming with involuntary tears.
Clutching her belly with one hand, she rested her little head on her arm, hunched over for a long while before managing to straighten up.
The doctor had told her it had already been three months—morning sickness was normal. She just hadn’t expected it to be this rough.
The smell of burnt eggs drifted from the kitchen. Swallowing down the lingering nausea, she turned off the stove and put the lid back on the pan.
She’d just have to deal with it later.
After drinking some warm water and managing to nibble half a slice of toast, Cecilia Ye gave up on breakfast.
For several days in a row, this became her new routine, her morning sickness now a daily occurrence—every meal a struggle, her body weakening rapidly.
And the person who used to stand guard outside her door each night hadn’t shown up in a long time.