The corridor fell silent at once, leaving only the relentless drumming of heavy rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The oppressive atmosphere made it hard to breathe.
Xavier Foster cast a long, lingering glance at the gloomy sky outside, then lowered his eyes to his hands, staring at the bloodstains in his palms, unable to snap out of it.
He clenched his fists. If only he hadn’t been so foolish, if he’d discovered... if he’d realized Cecilia was pregnant sooner, none of this would have happened.
When did I—Xavier Foster— become someone this wretched?
His face looked awful, steeped in regret and anger—a fury that was directed both at himself and at those who simply wouldn't learn their lesson.
Henry Hart stood behind him, never having seen his boss like this before. Every inch of Xavier Foster radiated an air of forbidding menace.
"President Foster, maybe you shouldn't—"
He wanted to say, 'don’t worry too much,' but the words caught in his throat as he remembered how Madam had been covered in blood. He couldn’t say it.
"Go. Deal with those people..."
Henry Hart shot him a worried look but obeyed and left. Those people really had it coming.
Xavier Foster stood there for a long while before dragging his numb legs to the bench and sitting down. The blood on his hands had long since dried, staining his palm a dark red, filling every line.
His long fingers suddenly clenched tight as he scrubbed at the blood, almost desperately, as if somehow, if he just washed it clean, Cecilia would be all right.
His actions were nearly frenzied. If anyone had seen his expression, they'd have been terrified. He kept going until his hands were raw and red, then finally let his arms drop, exhausted.
All this time, he’d caused Cecilia so much pain, over and over.
She was so young; when she found out she was pregnant, she must have been frightened and worried. Where was I then? What was I doing?
How much must she love their baby, to be willing to keep the child even on her own.
Xavier Foster couldn’t bear to imagine—if they lost the baby, how devastated Cecilia would be.
He absently rolled up his shirt sleeves, exposing an old stitched wound on his forearm. It brought back memories of that day.
In Qinghe’s little apartment, he'd said he’d been hurt while rescuing a child. Cecilia had looked at him from the sofa, raised her head, and quietly asked, "Do you like kids?"
The living room lights had been on. He’d just finished some work, snatched one of Cecilia’s sketches.
Her lashes, backlit by the lamp, were thick and feathery; her face, flushed by the warmth of the room, radiated light from her eyes.
He was surprised to remember every detail so clearly—down to his cold reply: "No. They're trouble."
After that, Cecilia never asked again. So, even then, did she already know about the baby?
How foolish—how utterly foolish he’d been.
The blood on his hands had long since dried; nothing could truly wash it away. He made a tight fist, looked at the rain outside, and suddenly slammed his fist into the wall.
His eyes were bloodshot, his whole body disheveled and lost. His Cecilia and their child were inside that room—yet he could do nothing.
He didn't know how much time had passed—an hour, two, maybe more—before the rain began to lighten.
At last, the lights in the emergency room went out, the doors swung open, and the doctor stepped out first.
In that instant, Xavier Foster’s mind went numb. He shot to his feet, his voice cold and clipped: "How are they?"
The man standing before the doctor was tall and imposing, his face severe, yet worry clouded his eyes.
"Fortunately, you brought her in time. She’s out of danger now, but we'll need to observe her closely tonight. Miss Ye’s health is very weak—it wasn’t easy for her to make it this far with the pregnancy," the doctor said, breathing a visible sigh of relief. "Aside from her first prenatal visit with Young Master Jarvis, the next two times Miss Ye was here, it was always because of emergencies. Especially today—we almost lost the baby."
"And you are...?" the doctor asked.
"I’m the baby's father."
The nurse wheeled the unconscious patient out. Xavier Foster immediately hurried to her side, his heart breaking at the sight of her pale, unconscious face.
The hospital bed was pushed into the ward. Dr. Zhao gave a few more instructions—not to sleep that night, to keep a close watch for any more bleeding.
Xavier Foster nodded solemnly, sat at her bedside, and gently took Cecilia’s small hand in his.
Her hand was icy cold, utterly devoid of warmth; so small and soft, with nothing but delicate bones left in her wrist. She'd gotten so thin.
He rubbed her hands gently until they grew warm, then tucked them under the blanket. Next, he moved to the end of the bed to warm her small feet as well.
Only when he’d done everything did he finally sit back down beside her, keeping watch.
Spring rain in the capital can last for days without end; when dawn broke, the world beyond the window was still a curtain of rain.
She hadn’t woken, but at least there'd been no more accidents through the night.
Through that long night, Xavier Foster had many thoughts—his mind had never felt so clear.
Looking at Cecilia Ye’s small, sleeping face, a gentle expression softened his always-severe features.
When did he first fall for her?
Was it when she waited up for him each day, always ready with a bowl of hot soup? Was it every time she looked at him with such trust and joy in her eyes? Or when, even in her sleep, she unconsciously clung to him with utter dependence?
Or was it even earlier—when she’d signed the prenuptial agreement without hesitation?
Or that rainy night when she fell right in front of his car?
In that moment of rare clarity, he finally understood—there had never been any Vivian Belle. The only one in his heart was Cecilia Ye.
There was never any external reason to marry her. The truth was, he'd always wanted her for himself.
He could easily tell Vivian Belle he felt nothing, offering only a promise without affection.
But he never once said he didn’t like Cecilia. So many little clues—his heart had known the truth all along.
He laughed softly at himself. People always called him a ruthless decision-maker, the President of Fu Corporation—and yet he’d let emotions become an unmanageable mess.
Xavier Foster pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes, bloodshot from staying up all night, never left the sleeping girl. But he didn’t feel tired at all—as long as Cecilia was all right.
He would make it up to her, use every day from now on, the rest of his life, pouring all his love into her and their baby—as long as she could forgive him.
With this thought, his heart finally felt peaceful—for the first time.
"Cecilia, I love you."
I’m sorry, for leaving you to suffer alone, for so long.