"No reason, Mr. Fu. I'm not worth it. Don't waste your time on me."Celia turned to leave.
But Jace Fu followed her.
"Mr. Fu, why are you following me?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
"That guy didn't look like a good person. I'm worried he might come back to bother you," Jace said, his tone tinged with stubborn protectiveness. "I'll stay here tonight. You can go inside."
"Suit yourself."
Celia stepped into the villa and closed the door behind her.
In her room.
Fresh from the shower, Celia walked to the French window and looked down. Jace's Ferrari was still parked outside, as if standing guard.
His sincerity was pure and unwavering.
She didn't dare accept it.She couldn't afford to.
Because she couldn't give him the same kind of love in return. One day, he would meet someone better—someone who could love him the way he deserved.
Celia climbed into bed and shut her eyes.
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away—in the presidential suite of a six-star hotel—Nathaniel Fu stood by the French window in a perfectly tailored black suit, a silk handkerchief tucked neatly into his breast pocket. His hair was swept back, revealing a strong forehead and sharply defined features. Every line of him radiated the poise of a man at the peak of the business world.
"President, we've just confirmed this—Li Chong was sentenced ten years ago and served nine years in prison. He was recently released. A small-time thug, nothing more," Secretary Song reported.
"Miss Su was very young at the time, and all court documents were sealed for her protection. Only one photo was preserved."
Secretary Song handed him a photograph.
Nathaniel took it—and froze.
It was Celia, at ten years old. Winter had already set in. The courtroom was filled with people wearing thick down jackets, yet the girl in the photo wore a washed-out dress, loose and ill-fitting, making her seem unbearably frail.
A deep gash ran down her right cheek, the wound crudely stitched with dozens of black sutures, like a red centipede crawling across her face—angry, glaring, unforgettable.
Yet her small face was utterly still. No pain. No tears. Her dark, clear eyes were cold, carrying a faint numbness… and a quiet, heartbreaking resignation.
She stared straight ahead, meeting the camera's gaze.
He had always thought she was pretending to be unapproachable. He never knew she had truly been hurt. Deeply.
Nathaniel's fingers brushed over the image, his touch lingering on her scarred cheek. She had always been so guarded—never asking for help, never reaching out, keeping her heart locked away where no one could enter.
For the first time, he felt like he was standing right in front of that ten-year-old girl.
"President, the internet is still in an uproar. The trending topic about Miss Su returning to the countryside hasn't dropped, and that… beast of a stepfather is reportedly harassing her again. Should we send someone to take care of it?"
Nathaniel didn't answer.Instead, he pulled out his phone.
The screen was empty.
She hadn't reached out to him.
With a sudden decision, he dialed her number.
Celia lay in bed, wide awake.
The blanket felt cold, offering no warmth. No matter how she tried, sleep wouldn't come.
Then, the soft chime of her phone broke the silence.
She glanced at the screen.
Nathaniel Fu.
Her heart gave an involuntary jolt.
Why was he calling her?
They hadn't spoken in days. To her, it was already over.
Still, she answered.
"Hello, President Fu."