In early spring, the trees are covered with frost. The farther you go to the suburbs, the thicker the fog becomes, with the scenery outside the window flashing by; Rosie Scott sits with poise, her slender waist and graceful shoulders exuding a beauty reminiscent of the misty rain in southern China.
"I heard Miss Scott studied performance in college. Are you planning to become an actress in the future?"
"The Anderson Clan owns several film companies. The hottest movies right now: 'West Palace,' 'Eighty Only,' 'Three Lives Three Worlds, Ten Miles of Chrysanthemums,' 'The Ghosts Enter the Village and are Bombed' are all sponsored by the Anderson Clan. If you want to be an actress, you can talk to Mr. Anderson."
The young woman withdrew her gaze from the window, a slight displeasure in her eyes, but a small arc curled at her lips: "Just by saying it, will I really have a chance?"
"Naturally."
The young woman scoffed lightly and fell silent.
When murkiness becomes the norm, innocence becomes a crime. She detested these despicable capitalists the most—who, with their wealth and power, reveled in their indulgence; it was because of them that the acting industry became so murky.
The shadow of the trees flickered, and the car gradually slowed down.
The car slowly drove into Anderson Castle, a medieval European castle reflecting in the girl's pupils.
Round turrets, semicircular arches, stately yet everywhere exuding luxury; the entire castle covers over ten thousand square meters, with roads built inside the courtyard, pomegranate trees planted by the roadsides; at a glance, one could see five or six neatly dressed maids.
Jack Hugh opened the car door, gentlemanly covering the top of the door with his hand. Although he was full of nonsense, his manners were impeccable: "Miss Scott, please."
The girl followed him, entering the castle. She did not glance sideways and was not curious about every brick and tile here.
On the way here, Rosie Scott had already drawn a rough image of Charles Anderson in her mind.
Based on his astonishing deeds from a past life, he must be a very insidious, deceitful man, narrow-minded and deeply scheming.
Such a man's appearance was undoubtedly unattractive—either with mismatched eyes or bulging eyes and protruding teeth. He might even be wheelchair-bound with a huge beer belly. This thought sent a shiver down her spine.
Simply...disgusting!
Rosie Scott was raised in a privileged environment, possessing an innate confidence.
She knew that marrying Charles Anderson would surely generate many voices, but for someone who've experienced life and death, such rumors are as trivial as a grain of rice in a vast ocean.
The daughter of a minor enterprise suddenly marrying into the noble Anderson Clan—who knows what underhanded methods she might have used.
The passing maids glanced at her with a hint of ridicule and derision; yet, the girl only slightly tilted her chin and boldly looked straight back, causing those few maids to immediately avert their gaze, admitting defeat.
Following Jack Hugh, they walked for a long time in the castle—from corridors filled with famous paintings to a grove full of apricot trees, took many turns before finally stopping at a greenhouse.
Famous paintings, apricot trees, crabapple flowers,
Rosie Scott stood with arms folded in front of the greenhouse, sizing it up. Indeed, it was exuding elegance everywhere, but she wondered, if the facade was peeled away, would that heart beneath be red or black?
"Miss Scott, Mr. Anderson is inside. You may go in."
The sun hung high overhead, golden light piercing through thin clouds.
The greenhouse was large, but inside it only one type of flower was planted—crabapple flowers.
But the colors varied, the shapes differed; from the outside, the walls of the greenhouse were all glass, covered with large patches of Boston ivy, evoking a vibrant sense of spring. The sunlight filtered through the gaps, casting mottled spots on the variously colored crabapple flowers inside.
The girl stepped gracefully into the greenhouse, her long dress brushing through the mottled light and shadow, her cuffs brushing past the vibrant crabapple flowers. Her long lashes fluttered like a butterfly, more charming than the flowers; Rosie rounded a tall flower rack, seeing the man in the circle of light.
Her pupils slightly contracted.
The 'vicious dog' in her impression, insidious and cunning, was vastly different from the person in front of her.
He seemed so clean.
The man's face was handsome and fair, his skin so pale that veins could be seen, his black hair was fluffy, and he wore a white shirt with a blanket covering his legs, holding a book in his hands; he slowly lifted his long lashes and looked over at the sound of footsteps.
The initial meeting was like a dream, Charles Anderson even seemed to still have a golden glow from the sun all over his body.
At the moment of eye contact, Rosie's eyes trembled, and her heart skipped a beat; she actually averted her gaze first, looking down, seeing a puddle of water on the floor, yellowish and near his feet, she furrowed her brow and suddenly asked: "Did you... pee?"
It was rumored that those with paralysis couldn't control their bladder.
The man's eyebrows were sharp and clear, with a faint smile: "Only tea."
He wasn't angry at the girl's misunderstanding but instead gently asked: "Have you had breakfast yet?"
"Mr. Anderson invited me just for breakfast?" The girl was full of suspicion; Charles Anderson wasn't supposed to be such a gentle-speaking person.
"To be Miss Scott's long-term meal ticket wouldn't be impossible either."
Rosie couldn't reconcile the deeply scheming Charles Anderson from a previous life with the clean young man before her.
As the saying goes, don't hit a smiling face. Rosie originally had a belly full of anger, ready to confront Charles Anderson, but who knew that in front of him, seeing him with this smiling young and warm demeanor, all she could do was put down her guard.
"You really are, Charles Anderson?"
The man closed the book, placing it on the blanket, and his eyebrows slightly bent: "Miss Scott, why so surprised?"
"Just finding your face quite pale, Mr. Anderson." Rosie chuckled softly: "Like a kept man."
Honestly, if he weren't paralyzed, all the girls in Ael would probably want to marry him.
Charles Anderson gave a faint smile, not speaking much, and was not one to chat with others.
Jack Hugh pushed Charles Anderson towards the dining room, while Rosie followed behind, picking up her pace to catch up, and sidely asked Jack: "Is Mr. Anderson always this gentle with people? Can't really see him as someone who would forcefully marry someone."
Charles's eyes were void of expression, his lips with a shallow curve, more like disdain than a smile.
In the distance came a few barks of dogs; Charles spoke up, rare for him, to say: "Anderson Castle has dogs; be cautious while you're out."
He seemed to want to avoid the topic, but Rosie rolled her eyes behind him.
She glanced toward the source of the barking, thinking to herself: Is this a reminder or a warning?
The girl stared at Charles's back. Being an actress, she was used to speculating about people's intentions; ever since seeing Charles at first glance, she felt this man was definitely not simple and advised herself to remain cautious.
There's no reason for such a powerful person from a past life to appear so gentle now.
Driven by curiosity, Rosie was really eager to tear off this 'gentle' young man's mask to see his true face.
What plot did he have in marrying her?
After many turns, the three finally arrived at the dining room.
The wealthy are so vulgar, as if they wish to build walls with gold; the dining room walls shimmered with a golden light, the mahogany furniture stretched eight meters, and the utensils were made of jade.
Two bowls of fresh shrimp porridge were served by the maid.
"Rosie, may I call you that?" Charles sat at the head of the table, his posture upright, his bright eyes like a galaxy of stars, with red lips and white teeth, and a very smooth jawline.
He could only be described as a handsome man.
Rosie examined the deep meaning in the man's eyes, then smiled slightly, propping her chin on her hand: "I heard from Jack that you're madly in love with me, longing day and night, your mind set on marrying me?"
"Yes." The man's black eyes slightly deepened, lips smiling lightly, without a blush or a heartbeat, and not even a moment of hesitation.
The girl's heart snickered coldly, hiding really deep, if it were someone blinded by lust, they wouldn't be able to resist such a clean 'gentle' young man's love confession.
The girl fiddled with the jade spoon in the porridge, not a stickler for rules, she preferred to go against the grain.
"If that's so, on our first meeting, call me wife, then." Having lived two lives, Rosie was long past caring about face, and this moment naturally carried a bit of a vengeful undertone; the girl's fox-like eyes squinted slightly at him, her voice deliberately soft: "Alright? Husband～"