At the dinner table, Mia Moore and Charles Chase instantly became the focus of Grandpa Rivers and Grandma Rivers’s gossip.

“Hey, Yaoyao, when did you two start dating?”

“So, when are you planning to get married?”

“Want kids? How many? One seems a bit lonely. If you have them early, they could keep Cecilia company.”

“Will you move into the old family home then? It’s close by, you could come over to eat every day, and Grandma Rivers could help look after you.”

Charles Chase answered every question with a calm smile, eating as if nothing could phase him. Meanwhile, Mia Moore looked like she wanted to disappear into her bowl.

Cecilia couldn’t help but double over with laughter. Well, this was good—at least Grandpa Rivers and Grandma Rivers weren’t focused on making her eat more.

She took a shrimp Xavier Foster put in her bowl, helped herself to a few spoonfuls of steamed egg, and then stopped, shaking her head. The baby was getting bigger now and pressing against her stomach; she just couldn’t eat that much anymore.

Seeing Mia Moore blushing and squirming, Cecilia finally pitched in, “Grandpa Rivers, Grandma Rivers, don’t worry! Yaoyao already said, she’ll have two in three years.”

“…”

“…”

Mia Moore tugged Cecilia’s sleeve and whispered, “Thanks, baby, but really, you don’t have to help anymore.”

Dinner was lively, like a little New Year celebration.

After the meal, Mia Moore and Charles Chase took their leave and went upstairs. Meanwhile, Xavier Foster called Henry Hart to arrange a photography team.

That night, they curled up together on the bed, looking through outfits recommended by a designer Henry Hart had found.

Xavier Foster snuggled with Cecilia as she leaned against him, eyeing the clothes on the tablet. The line of zeroes on those price tags was jaw-dropping.

Cecilia quietly counted on her fingers—how many paintings would she need to sell to afford even one of these outfits?

Xavier Foster saw what she was doing and couldn’t help chuckling. “What’s wrong?”

“These clothes are so expensive. My priciest painting only sold in the six-figure range... I’d have to paint so many just to buy one of these.”

“Not expensive at all. Making money is my department. Yours is spending it. If you like it, it’s never too much.”

Now that he thought about it, ever since coming to the Fu family’s home, Cecilia hadn’t really spent his money at all. She wasn’t the type to splurge, and she’d never even touched the card he gave her.

“Why don’t you ever spend, anyway? Don’t all girls love buying pretty things? You didn’t even use the card I gave you.”

Cecilia kept her eyes on the clothes on the screen. “I just don’t want to spend recklessly. It’s all money you earned. I don’t want you to work too hard.”

“It’s not hard. Honestly, even if I did nothing, I’d never be able to count all the money coming into the company.”

Cecilia turned to glare at him, suddenly feeling a pang of envy at the rich.

Leaning down, he kissed her and ruffled her hair. “Get some sleep. I’ll pick the clothes.”

Satisfied, Cecilia burrowed into the covers. President Foster couldn’t decide on any one outfit—every set looked stunning on their Cecilia—so, in the end, he tossed the tablet aside and ordered them all.

——

Since it would take some time for the custom outfits to arrive, the photoshoot was delayed by a few days.

The next morning, a makeup artist came over to help Cecilia get ready.

It was someone familiar—Clio, the same artist who’d done her makeup at the company’s annual gala.

“Wow, Mrs. Fu, how are you still so beautiful even when pregnant?” Clio was just as sweet and enthusiastic as ever, leaving Cecilia a little embarrassed by the praise.

All the products Clio used were natural and gentle, but honestly, she wasn’t exaggerating at all—Cecilia was genuinely stunning, and a simple fresh look suited her perfectly. All that really needed to be done was a touch of hairstyling.

The clothes were rushed to their photoshoot location in Newbridge (Beijing).

Grandma Rivers and Grandpa Rivers smiled as they watched the two go off for their photoshoot. Just thinking of last year, they’d been so worried about these kids. Now, seeing how good things were, they could finally relax.

Once makeup was ready, the two headed out the door.

“Zhiye, where are we going for the photos?”

“The estate on the west side of the city—the one that’s always looked after but nobody lives in. You’ve never been there.”

Cecilia nodded. How many houses did she and Zhiye own? She had completely lost track.

The baby moved again in her belly, uncomfortably tight, so she rubbed at it through her clothes. The due date was just a bit over ten days away. Dr. Song had said these occasional false contractions were normal—she’d gotten used to them by now.

The estate wasn’t far, and Xavier Foster refused to let her be in the car too long.

Before long, they arrived, and Cecilia finally understood why this was called an estate—it was ridiculously huge.

Behind their car trailed several security vehicles. The convoy drove through the front gates and down a winding driveway.

The gardens were immaculate. It was late August, and the air was scented with sweet osmanthus blossoms. The ginkgo leaves were dusted with a pale gold.

Knowing the family would be coming, all the staff had thoroughly tidied up the estate in advance.

As they crossed the garden, a European-style mansion came into view: white-walled, Roman pillars, ornate doors and windows, and a slate-blue roof shrouded in a faint haze.

There was a white pool and fountain with lifelike white swan sculptures at the edge.

A little further off, on the emerald lawn, two white deer were harnessed to a carriage—it looked magical.

“Wow, it’s beautiful—like a castle,” Cecilia sighed.

Seeing her delighted, Xavier Foster’s spirits lifted as well. “If you like it, we can live here.”

Cecilia shook her head. “It’s way too big.”

The car pulled up to the front lot. Xavier Foster carried her out, and Cecilia pressed a hand to her belly—why was the baby so fidgety today?

Staff stood on either side, eyes shining—they almost never got to see their boss or his wife in person.

If not for Mrs. Fu’s photoshoot, they could probably go years without a glimpse.

But she really was beautiful—and such a perfect match for the president, too.

A small group followed behind, but Lao San quickly shooed everyone back to their own work.

They went straight upstairs with a staff member leading the way to the cloakroom, where Xavier Foster finally set her down.

All the delivered outfits were neatly hung on golden racks: evening gowns, cocktail dresses, even bridal-styled ones. In a glass case nearby, jewelry and accessories sparkled.

At the center, a sea-blue crystal necklace lay on velvet, utterly dazzling.

Cecilia couldn’t help but giggle, cheeks flushed pink as she leaned close to Xavier Foster and whispered, “I just wanted some maternity photos. Isn’t this a bit much? Looks like a full-on wedding shoot.”

Her original plan had just been to go to a studio for a simple shoot.

Xavier Foster lowered his head, brushing aside a wisp of hair from her face and speaking gently, “It’s all right—more is better! Just pick whatever you like.”

“And what about your clothes?”

He gestured toward a corner, where a few suits hung on a rack. Out of the whole room, his collection took up maybe a tenth of the space. Very fair indeed.

“If you’re tired, let me know. Don’t overdo it,” Xavier Foster said, unable to hide his concern. With the baby due so soon, every day for the past half-month had set him on edge.

“Got it.”

Downstairs, a whole room had been converted into a makeshift photo studio. Cecilia changed and came down in a white dress, the belly section a sheer mesh that softly revealed the curve of her pregnancy. They’d shoot the indoor set first, moving outside at sunset.

Cecilia couldn’t help giggling—her gorgeous husband looked so awkward in front of a camera. At last! Something he actually wasn’t good at.

She posed obediently as the photographer instructed.

Xavier Foster sat on a chair, resting a hand gently on her belly. As he looked up, his gaze fixed on Cecilia’s lips, glossy with a touch of lipstick—they looked just like cherries. He itched to kiss her.

President Foster’s attention was nowhere near the camera, though of course, the photographer didn’t dare to criticize.

Cecilia frowned and mouthed, “Focus.” Only then did Xavier Foster rein himself in.

Watching from behind, Lao San shook his head. The president really had no talent for posing—no wonder he’d dodged photos all these years. Back when those finance magazines ran features, all his pictures had been candid shots! If it weren’t for that knockout face of his, Lao San figured even he could pose better than the president.

They snapped a few more pictures before Xavier Foster sent Lao San to fetch water and led Cecilia over to the sofa to rest.

Cradling her belly, Cecilia let the white gauze fall over her. Xavier Foster took a little blanket from the maid and covered her up. But as the blanket settled over her, she was jolted by a sharp pain in her abdomen.

Cecilia gripped her dress tightly—it hurt, and her belly felt harder than usual, nothing like before. Panic rising, she reached for Xavier Foster’s sleeve.