CHAPTER 12: CHAPTER 12: HER CHEEKS, SO SOFT

Rachel Hayes grabbed the hem of his clothes. She was bent over, clutching her stomach with one hand, "President Fordham, my stomach hurts."

This clumsy act, who wouldn’t see through it?

But this child is her most important bargaining chip.

She looked at Julian Fordham with grievance, "President Fordham, I..."

Only to meet the man’s icy gaze, as if his eyes could become tangible, she would already be sealed by countless ice needles.

"Let go."

Just two words made her back feel cold, and her fingers quickly loosened.

Julian Fordham didn’t look back and sprinted off in the direction that Victoria Monroe had left.

Rachel Hayes played with her hair, a victorious smile tugging at her lips.

A woman, once she has sand in her eyes, can never rub it out.

Whether it’s a misunderstanding doesn’t matter, as long as she, Rachel Hayes, lives, she’ll always be a thorn in Victoria Monroe’s side!

Even if Julian Fordham doesn’t care for her now, so what? Just with this child, one day he’ll see her.

She took out her phone and snapped several selfies with the fireworks.

By the time Julian Fordham caught up, Victoria Monroe had already driven away.

"Victoria, it’s not what you think it is!"

Victoria Monroe looked at the man in her rearview mirror. The always calm and restrained him now appeared flustered, chasing after her car.

She couldn’t miss such an obvious ploy.

If the man truly intended to confess to Rachel Hayes, why would he deliberately inform her to come over?

Has he lost his mind?

Thinking of the Porsche that crashed into the street lamp for no apparent reason, Victoria Monroe laughed wryly at herself.

The real pain was not witnessing Julian Fordham confessing to someone else but realizing that the person she had cherished like a sister for years was willing to plot against her for Rachel Hayes.

So, the Fordham family had long known about Rachel Hayes’s existence!

Even before she knew it, the Fordham family had accepted the third party who had shattered their marriage.

So what did she count for to the Fordham family?

Victoria Monroe didn’t stop; the explanation was unimportant, unable to change the direction of the ending.

It would only continuously remind her of Rachel Hayes’s presence.

And she didn’t want to get tangled up with Julian Fordham on the roadside, contributing yet another scandalous headline to the media.

The car stopped by the seaside, and the fireworks display hadn’t ended yet.

Victoria Monroe looked up at the fireworks that were originally prepared for her by Julian Fordham.

They were beautiful, but they didn’t hold the same longing and anticipation she had years ago when she and he watched the fireworks from across the river in the affluent district.

Now they were already at the peak of wealth, witnessing the fireworks just for her, leaving behind only endless melancholy.

When the last firework blossomed, the sky transitioned from bright to dark.

As if nothing had ever happened.

"What? Blinded by the fireworks?" A voice, one that should have been in Portoros, suddenly appeared in her ear.

Victoria Monroe froze, tears blurring her vision as she turned to look.

Rhys Hawthorne stood under the streetlight, looking different from his usual white shirt in Portoros.

He wore a black turtleneck sweater paired with a mid-length black cashmere coat.

The soft edge of the sweater settled against his prominent Adam’s apple, subtly restraining the man’s aura.

He lowered his eyes, handed her a square handkerchief with a gentle expression.

The black prayer beads on his wrist naturally swung with his movement.

This scene reminded Victoria Monroe of the short videos created by various internet celebrities dubbed "Divine Maiden."

He seemed like a deity from the heavens, handing her a branch of green lotus to rescue and redeem her when she was trapped in a muddy swamp.

His black pupils were compassionate yet distant as he said, "Wipe your tears."

Did she cry?

Victoria Monroe raised her hand to touch her cheek, only to feel a chill.

The handkerchief he offered was soft, exuding a faint sandalwood scent, gradually calming her chaotic thoughts.

Her voice was hoarse, "Sorry, I was a bit out of control just now."

Rhys Hawthorne sat next to her, handing her a cup of hot coffee.

"Just bought it at the airport."

Victoria Monroe held the coffee in both hands. At that time, she had to shoot several scenes a day and could only rely on coffee to stay awake. She was deeply passionate about this brand.

After getting married, Julian Fordham had stopped her from drinking it, citing pregnancy preparation as the reason.

The withdrawal was initially painful, but she eventually endured it.

After years of not enjoying the taste, the temperature was just right, but her mood was different now.

Her voice was bitter, "Thank you."

His gaze fell on her black long lashes still dotted with water droplets, and he spoke indifferently, "Why are you crying? Because of him?"

She disliked exposing her vulnerability to strangers, so she answered perfunctorily, "Mm, there was some trouble at home."

She had encountered him twice, both times at her most vulnerable, Rhys Hawthorne was not blind.

Victoria Monroe thought this topic ended here; Rhys Hawthorne was never one to gossip, but he spoke again, "Three years ago, you were very much in love."

She had never hidden she had a partner while on set, and even during three hours of sleep, she’d carve out ten minutes to have a phone chat with him.

Back then, when it was a few degrees below zero, she’d squat by the bamboo grove wrapped in a black down jacket, showing no trace of being a film queen.

The corner of her mouth brimmed with smiles, resembling a teenage girl, her eyes curved like little moons.

Anyone could tell, only in front of that person would she be as sweet as honey.

Now, all that remained at the corners of her mouth was a bitter smile.

Victoria Monroe looked up at the endless night sky, "But man proposes, God disposes."

"Any regrets?"

She murmured softly, "No regrets."

No regrets for resolutely retiring, nor for divorcing.

The wind rose, swirling down a tree full of golden ginkgo leaves.

She stood up and looked at the dancing leaves, the corners of her mouth faintly smiling, "People always think that the road not taken is filled with flowers. But there are no choices without regrets, nor so-called correct answers in this world. Rather than regret, it’s better to wipe your tears and move forward."

In the car, she took off her coat, wearing just a loose white dress.

Now, her hair and dress swayed in the wind, dancing, like a fairy in the moon.

Three years not seen, compared to her previous cold and noble aura, now with an added touch of cold and broken charm, making one feel pity.

A strand of black hair clung to her lip, and a man’s cool fingertips landed on her cheek without warning.

With a subtle touch, a tingling itch shot through the brain.

Touched by a man other than Julian Fordham, she was somewhat caught off guard, also somewhat at a loss of what to do.

Like being hit on an acupoint, her brain temporarily crashed, leaving only her big eyes blinking.

However, the man merely moved away the hair strand by her lips and withdrew his fingers.

She met his gaze, pitch-black and indifferent, unfathomable.

Still appearing as an aloof figure devoid of worldly desires.

It seemed as if her imagination about him was a kind of blasphemy.

Perhaps he just did it out of goodwill, Victoria Monroe didn’t think much about it at all.

Realizing it was not early anymore, she suggested leaving and got in the car.

Seeing Rhys Hawthorne standing by the car door, she lowered the car window.

Rhys Hawthorne spoke calmly, "Ms. Monroe, you promised to treat me to dinner."

Victoria Monroe hadn’t expected he’d come to Kenton so quickly, smiled and said, "Alright, is tomorrow convenient?"

"Mm."

"I’ll pick you up tomorrow."

"Okay."

The car window rose again, the man held his hand low, thumb and forefinger gently rubbing as if savoring the feel of her cheek.

Very soft, also a bit cool.

Victoria Monroe drove away, seeing Rhys Hawthorne got into a black SUV through the rearview mirror.

Next, the SUV stayed not too far, not too close, behind her, escorting her home.

Victoria Monroe got out of the car and sent him a message.

[Thank you, you really didn’t have to escort me, I could drive home with my eyes closed along this road.]

Rhys Hawthorne only replied with a few words: [Rest early.]

In Victoria Monroe’s impression of aloof and detached Buddhist figure, he turned out to be rather considerate and gentlemanly.

As she was getting out, she saw the handkerchief she randomly grabbed from the car, feeling tossing it away would be impolite.

Forget it, better wash it and return it to him, whether he wants it or not is his business.

Locking the car and getting out, she carried the unfinished coffee and handkerchief into the house.

The lights in the living room bright as daylight, she was still removing her shoes when Julian Fordham already approached her.

The man’s handsome face appeared slightly nervous, he eagerly explained, "Victoria, listen to me, what happened tonight was an accident, I..."

Being close, he keenly caught a faint scent of sandalwood.

This scent again!

Julian Fordham’s gaze shifted from her face, then fell onto the men’s handkerchief in Victoria Monroe’s hand, upon confirming the scent was from the handkerchief, his expression suddenly changed.

Victoria Monroe changed into the slippers and looked up, meeting Julian Fordham’s cold, piercing eyes with a questioning look.

His voice was icy cold, without a trace of warmth, "Who did you just meet?"