"President." Secretary Song rushed in with several bodyguards. "President, what should we do with this man?"
"Send him in. Make sure someone takes good care of him." Nathaniel Fu's deep voice was calm, devoid of emotion.
"Yes, sir."
Nathaniel turned, stopping in front of Celia. He slipped off his black coat and draped it over her delicate shoulders, wrapping her completely. "Are you alright?"
The coat carried his lingering warmth, quickly chasing away the chill from her skin. Celia shook her head gently, her gaze falling to his bleeding hand. "I'm fine. But your hand—it needs to be bandaged right away."
Before she could say more, Nathaniel had already scooped her into his arms.
Celia froze, dizziness overwhelming her as she instinctively struggled. "President Fu, what are you doing? Put me down—I can walk myself. Your hand is injured."
Nathaniel's dark eyes still carried a dangerous glint from earlier. The corners of his lips lifted slightly. "If you move again—hiss—my hand hurts."
His lazy tone carried a teasing lilt, as though mocking her.
Celia stopped resisting immediately.
Nathaniel carried her out and into his Rolls-Royce Phantom.
The car was quiet.
Celia sat in the passenger seat, carefully opening the small first-aid kit. She reached for his injured hand.
The cut across his palm was deep, the raw flesh stark against the blood. Her movements were gentle as she disinfected the wound. "Does it hurt?"
Her face, delicate as porcelain, lifted toward him. Her eyes glistened, filled with worry, as though the pain in his hand had pierced her heart as well.
Nathaniel's lips curved faintly. "Yes, it hurts."
"Then… let me blow on it for you."
She lowered her head and gently blew across the wound.
Nathaniel was both amused and charmed by her innocence. "Do you really think that's going to help?"
"…Then what do you want?" she asked softly.
He pulled a cigarette from the pack and held it between his lips, giving her a cool glance. "My hand hurts. Can't you show me a little love? Maybe… feel it for me?"
Her cheeks flushed crimson. Instead of answering, she plucked the cigarette away and shoved it back into the pack. "You're hurt. You shouldn't smoke."
Nathaniel chuckled in disbelief. He cupped her face in his large hand, tilting it up so he could study her closely. She was breathtaking—too breathtaking. "You're too beautiful for your own good. Even at your age, men can't help but covet you."
Celia's fingers tightened slightly. She knew what he meant, and her voice was soft. "Mr. Fu… thank you, for today."
He arched an eyebrow. "And how do you plan to thank me?"
Tears shimmered in her eyes as she whispered, "A simple thank you."
Nathaniel's thumb pressed against her cheek as he pinched her lips into a soft "O." The glimpse of her red tongue and pearly teeth made his throat tighten. "You're awfully good at saying thank you without giving anything in return."
In retaliation, Celia pressed the cotton swab against his wound a little harder.
"Hiss—" Nathaniel flinched in pain, releasing her face.
She lowered her head again and continued tending to his injury as though nothing had happened.
Nathaniel considered lighting another cigarette, but remembering her earlier disapproval, he reluctantly gave up.
When she finished, he drove them back. Celia leaned against the passenger seat, eyelids drooping until sleep claimed her.
The next time she opened her eyes, it was already morning. She was lying on a large, soft bed.
This was Longshuiwan Villa—Nathaniel Fu's residence. The very same master bedroom he had used after their breakup.
Knock, knock.
There was a soft rap on the door.