After breakfast, Chi Chi went downstairs and opened the door. Xavier Fostern was sitting by the window, reading the newspaper, with Zoey Zhang sprawled across his lap, her little backside raised as she basked in the sun.

She tidied up the table a bit when her phone rang, and she answered it in a gentle voice.

"Yes, this is she." "Okay, are you at the gate?" "Thank you."

It was a call from the delivery station—some art supplies had arrived. So many things were needed for the studio; it was only when she started working that she realized what was missing.

She looked over at Xavier Fostern and said, "I'm going to pick up a package."

But there was no way Xavier Fostern would let her handle something like that. He’d already been listening in, so as soon as she spoke, he put down the newspaper, got up, and tossed out, "I’ll go," before heading for the door.

Chi Chi wanted to protest, but just then, An Ke and the others came in. Catching sight of Xavier Fostern leaving, An Ke winked at Chi Chi.

"Ms. Ye, is Mr. Fu pursuing you? Last time, you said that handsome young guy wasn’t your boyfriend—so is this one?"

"Ahem, no, he’s not pursuing me. We just know each other," Chi Chi replied, setting down her cup and turning to get her painting apron from the hook on the wall.

"Oh~ friends, got it, got it," An Ke nodded with a look that said she understood everything. But in her mind, she thought, Impossible. The way Mr. Fu keeps his eyes glued to Ms. Ye?

She invited An Ke and the others to sit, then brewed some freshly bought peach oolong tea for everyone at the tea counter.

The delivery station was right at the entrance to the villa complex, not far from the studio, but they couldn’t deliver inside.

Xavier Fostern walked quickly; it took him less than ten minutes to get there. Thankfully, he’d come himself—the delivery included two big boxes that Chi Chi couldn’t possibly have brought back on her own.

He effortlessly hoisted the boxes, not caring in the slightest about the rough cardboard scraping against his bespoke suit.

As he rounded the corner near the studio, someone stuck out an arm to block his way. It was a young woman with curly hair in a ponytail, wearing bold makeup, her gaze challenging as she looked up at Xavier Fostern.

Xavier Fostern recognized her vaguely—her surname was Su, something like that. She was one of the studio students. He stopped, an impatient chill flickering across his otherwise impassive face.

"What is it?"

Su Ai felt a jolt under his icy gaze but managed to steady herself. "Mr. Fu, my name is Su Ai. I want you to be my boyfriend."

Su Ai loved gossip and trending topics—although the video from the annual gala had been taken down the next day, it had already circulated wildly in her gossip group.

Watching the video, Su Ai had thought, Huh, a man this handsome and this rich? She’d be willing to be the mistress, let alone an official girlfriend. Those two other women must be mad to get so worked up.

Xavier Fostern simply ignored her, giving a cold half-smile as he turned to head back toward the studio.

"Hey, I’m serious," Su Ai called after him. "You’re not interested in Ms. Ye, and you’re not with Vivian Belle either. So why not give it a try with me?"

Su Ai hadn’t even planned to come to the studio to paint—she only showed up when she found out Ye Chi Chi was the main character in all those gossip stories. She never imagined she’d run into Xavier Fostern too.

Comparing herself to Ms. Ye, Su Ai reasoned she was younger—sure, Ms. Ye was pretty, but she was always giving Mr. Fu the cold shoulder. What man could put up with that?

Seeing Xavier Fostern slow his steps, Su Ai looked smug; men always pretended not to care, until you called their bluff.

But Xavier Fostern turned around. His face was frosted with cold, shifting the packages to his right hand as he took long strides toward her.

"Repeat what you just said."

His voice was laced with venom. Su Ai suddenly felt her throat seize up—his fierceness made her tongue-tied, trembling in place.

Xavier Fostern shot her a warning look. "Don’t come to the studio again."

He turned and left. Behind him, Su Ai stomped in frustration. Who was he to decide whether she could go or not? She wasn’t about to listen.

With reckless bravado, she dashed into the studio anyway, purposely brushing past Xavier Fostern. He let out a cold laugh and dialed Henry Hart.

Inside, the studio was calm. Despite Su Ai’s late arrival, everyone else was already immersed in their work.

When he entered, Chi Chi reached out to take the boxes, but Xavier Fostern dodged, carrying them straight to the table. "I’ll handle it."

Inside the packages were numerous oil paints. Xavier Fostern slipped off his jacket and began arranging the paints on the shelves by color, methodically and carefully.

He was tall enough to place the paints on high shelves without a stepstool—Chi Chi usually needed one. His black shirt outlined a lean, elegant waist.

Chi Chi sorted the colors and handed them to him, the two working side by side—a scene so harmonious that An Ke and the other girls watched, stars shining in their eyes.

Only Su Ai glared with a look of disdain laced with jealousy.

She surreptitiously pulled out her phone and snapped a few photos of Chi Chi, instantly uploading them to her Weibo account. She even dug out the old annual gala video and posted it, too.

While she was at it, she fanned the flames in the comments, spinning the story that Ye Chi Chi had usurped Vivian Belle’s rightful place, opening an art studio in the posh Qingshui Bay villa district.

As dusk fell, An Ke and the group left together. Xavier Fostern helped Chi Chi tidy up the studio, just as the driver arrived with a homemade dinner from Aunt Whitney—and a change of clothes for him.

Xavier Fostern took the packages, and when he glanced back, he saw Chi Chi staring at him, wide-eyed. "Didn’t you say your grandpa won’t let you come home? Why is he sending you food?"

…Xavier Fostern’s eyebrow arched, but his face remained perfectly calm. "I just can’t stay there overnight. Besides, this is all for you."

"And the clothes… maybe he thought they were taking up space at home and tossed them out…"

Chi Chi was half-convinced, half-skeptical, as she headed upstairs to wash up. Meanwhile, Xavier Fostern laid out all the dishes with care.

They shared a quiet dinner. After washing up, they each retired to their own rooms for the night.

The next morning, Chi Chi was first to go downstairs and open the door, while Xavier Fostern tidied up the breakfast dishes.

He’d just loaded the last bowl into the sterilizer when a commotion erupted downstairs. Xavier Fostern’s heart tightened, and he hurried down.

Outside the wooden door, a crowd of reporters pressed in.

The annual gala video had been deleted the day after the event, and gossip about the Fu Group’s CEO had faded—everyone knew most media outlets present had felt pressure from the Fu family.

But plenty of ambitious young reporters were dying for a scoop that could make their name. Unlike the established journalists hired for the Fu Group’s gala, these people would stop at nothing.

"Ms. Ye, what brings you here?"

"Were you kicked out by the Fu family?"

"And Vivian Belle? At the gala, Mr. Fu promised to marry her—why hasn’t there been any news since?"

A jumble of microphones were thrust toward Chi Chi, who stood behind the firmly shut door as reporters desperately reached and shoved recorders through the gap.

Dressed in a white knitted cardigan and a pale pink skirt, her slender frame looked all the more fragile in front of this pack of rabid reporters.

The early spring wind was still cold, and suddenly, memories she thought she had forgotten came rushing back—the chill wind on the twenty-eighth floor; Xavier Fostern leaving, carrying Vivian Belle in his arms; the same kind of relentless reporters.

"Ms. Ye, have you and Mr. Fu divorced?"

"When did you leave the Fu family?"

Chi Chi’s hand balled into a fist at her side, struggling to keep from trembling. But her voice was steady: "Please leave, or I’ll have to call security."

The wooden door, buckling under the pressure of a dozen people, gave an ominous creak.