It was normal for a man like him to have such thoughts.For men with wealth and power, women were often treated as accessories.
Yet she still found it strange that he thought this way.
He wasn't supposed to be that kind of man.
Nathaniel Fu remained silent for a long moment, his dark gaze fixed on her, as though trying to read her true feelings.
Celia pushed him away, her tone firm."I don't want to."
If she didn't want to, then that was the end of it.
Nathaniel released her.
"Get some rest. I'm leaving now." Celia turned to head for the door.
"Wait," his deep voice stopped her. "Here."
Only then did she notice the paper bag in his hand. He passed it to her.
"What is this? I don't want it."
"If you don't, then throw it away."
Celia hesitated, then finally accepted the bag and left the room.
…
Back in her own room next door, Celia slowly opened the paper bag. Inside was a bunch of candied haws—bright red hawthorn berries coated in a crystal-clear layer of hardened sugar.
He had gone out of his way to buy these for her?
Finding candied haws in a foreign country was no easy task.
The glossy red fruits glistened under the light, both sour and sweet, instantly whetting her appetite.
The other day, when her small snack bag had accidentally fallen in his office, he had noticed the candied dried fruits she carried with her. He had remembered.
And today, seeing her poor appetite, he had driven out to buy her these.
Celia sat cross-legged on the carpet, her slender back leaning against the bed. She picked up a skewer and took a small bite.
The sweet-and-sour flavor burst across her tongue, washing away the nausea that had plagued her all day.
In truth, she didn't need him to buy her anything—or treat her with kindness. Because she would never agree to become someone's mistress.
Once, while they were still single, perhaps she could have been with him. But the moment he chose Lucy Yao, it was over. There was no chance anymore.
…
Nathaniel took a cold shower and lay down on the wide, soft bed.This bed, which she had once slept in, still carried her faint fragrance. It was intoxicating.
He recalled asking her just moments ago, "Do you want me?"
He knew exactly what he had been thinking at the time—he had truly wanted to claim her.
For years, he had believed that his past indulgence with other women was merely a matter of satisfying physical needs, something he could easily walk away from. And he had done so—returning to the Imperial Capital and walking alongside Lucy Yao.
But when Celia appeared again, her sharp gaze locking with his, he knew something was wrong. He hadn't had enough of her.
Lucy Yao had been his childhood companion. Because her mother, Mrs. Xia, had once shown great kindness to him and his own mother, Nathaniel had always known that the Lu family's little princess was someone he was destined to protect.
He cherished Lucy, but their age difference had always made him treat her more like a younger sister. They had never been in a romantic relationship, never dated, never crossed that line.
It wasn't until Celia that he realized how exhausting love could be—and how impossible it was to control. She made him lose himself.
Nathaniel picked up her blouse and jacket, his fingertips brushing against the silky fabric. The texture reminded him of her delicate skin.
He lifted the shirt to his nose. It carried her fragrance.
Realizing what he was doing, Nathaniel's lips twisted into a wry smile.He felt like a man losing his restraint—almost like a pervert.
…
The next day, the competition was about to begin.
The seven-member team was already downstairs, waiting for her. Celia picked up the information folder and stepped out of her room.
As she walked down the corridor, several men suddenly appeared in her path.
The next day, the competition was about to begin.
The seven-member team was already downstairs, waiting for her. Celia picked up the information folder and stepped out of her room.
As she walked down the corridor, several men suddenly appeared in her path.
They weren't ordinary guests—each wore a badge from another competing delegation. Their tailored suits and calculating eyes carried the kind of arrogance that came from both privilege and ambition.
One of them, tall and sharp-featured, deliberately blocked her way. "So this is the rumored dark horse," he said smoothly, his foreign accent tinged with mockery.
Another leaned lazily against the wall, but his gaze swept over her like a predator sizing up its prey. "Pretty, but looks fragile. I doubt she'll last long on stage."
The air grew tense. These men weren't just competitors—they were sharks circling the water, waiting to see her stumble.
Celia's fingers tightened on the folder. She forced a calm expression, though her heart beat faster.
It seemed the competition had already begun—long before stepping onto the stage.