CHAPTER 15: CHAPTER 15: SHE GRABBED RHYS HAWTHORNE’S HAND AND CALLED HIM HUSBAND

Mrs. Xu faced Julian Fordham’s eyes that seemed ready to devour her, "I don’t know, but before leaving, Mrs. Fordham specifically instructed not to prepare her dinner, so she must be dining with friends."

Finally, she heavily sprinkled salt on Julian Fordham’s wounds. "I wonder if it’s a girlfriend or a boyfriend?"

After speaking, she turned and went to the greenhouse, leaving Julian Fordham surrounded by a chill.

Julian Fordham knew well that she had few true friends in the entertainment circle and had long since severed ties.

Could it be that man again?

He dialed Assistant Prescott: "Check the flight list from Portoros to Kenton yesterday afternoon, especially the first-class passenger list for me."

"Yes, President Fordham."

"Is the immigration documents for that woman ready?"

Mentioning Rachel Hayes, Julian Fordham felt like killing her with his bare hands, even her name disgusted him immensely.

Had he known she would be so bold, he definitely wouldn’t have chosen her back then.

Even over the phone, Assistant Prescott could feel Julian Fordham’s low pressure, and he quickly spoke up, "Everything has been submitted, but you know Rachel Hayes doesn’t belong to the EB-1A outstanding talent immigration category. Our fastest operation here will take three months to half a year."

Julian Fordham pinched the bridge of his nose, "Keep an eye on her, don’t let her cause more trouble during these months."

"Understood, but Miss Autumn is still causing a fuss, and even the bodyguards don’t dare to handle it. I’m afraid..."

"I’ll come over right away, and I need you to do something else for me."

Julian Fordham hung up the phone, picked up his coat, and left.

*

As soon as Julian Fordham fell asleep, Victoria Monroe left the house.

In the quiet morning, sanitation workers swept away the fallen leaves that were blown down by the autumn wind last night.

A man selling sweet potatoes pedaled his tricycle through the streets and alleys, while steam swirled around the bun shop at the school gate.

In the streets and alleys, students hurriedly rushed to school, a chaotic yet vibrant scene.

She opened the car door, and a blast of cold air hit her.

The air was filled with a mix of various food aromas, and she went to a breakfast shop where she used to buy food, ordering two baskets of soup dumplings and soy milk.

The owner still recognized her and smiled as he asked, "Why are you alone today? Where’s the quiet young man who used to accompany you?"

Victoria Monroe said expressionlessly, "Him? He’s dead."

Behind her, the owner sighed, "Such a pity, so young and already gone."

The owner did not know that the young man already died in Victoria Monroe’s youth and memories.

Soon, she was parked in front of a private villa.

"Ding-dong—"

The doorbell rang, breaking the morning tranquility.

The door opened, and Rhys Hawthorne saw a slightly awkward face. Victoria Monroe asked, "Did I disturb you this early?"

He stepped aside, "No."

Victoria Monroe, carrying a bit of chill, entered the warm interior.

The tall man bent down and handed her a pair of guest disposable slippers.

Rhys Hawthorne’s home was much like his personality, low-key, luxurious, yet devoid of any warmth.

Besides the sofa and carpet, there wasn’t even a coffee table in the living room.

The potted red lucky bamboo in the corner added a touch of greenery to the home.

Victoria Monroe placed the dumplings and soy milk on the dining table.

In fact, he didn’t really like eating buns, especially soup dumplings, since the broth tended to splatter everywhere if not careful, causing a mess.

He looked up at Victoria Monroe, opened his pinkish mouth, and took a bite, the broth dyeing her lips a bright and alluring shade.

During her years as Mrs. Fordham, Julian Fordham hired a nutritionist to customize meals for her, with less oil and salt.

She didn’t even have the chance to taste the school gate soup dumplings she craved.

She commented, "Finally got a taste, but I suppose you’re not used to them?"

Rhys Hawthorne responded indifferently, "The taste is good."

She looked up at him; the man in a loose cashmere sweater appeared more aloof and lazy than his meticulous self outside, inherently noble above everyone.

Such a person eating soup dumplings seemed unimaginable to Victoria Monroe.

After breakfast, Rhys Hawthorne leisurely wiped his fingers with a wet towel.

Victoria Monroe observed his villa, "Back then the producer asked me to guide you, thinking you were a newcomer, didn’t expect you to be so wealthy."

A villa in this area was worth several small fortunes.

Victoria Monroe leaned closer, supporting herself on the table, "I barely know anything about you. Could you be a young master from some family experiencing life on earth?"

Rhys Hawthorne stared at the approaching face; her fair skin showed a pair of clear dark circles, his voice paused slightly, "Do I look like one?"

"You do, but you also don’t."

She remembered he was very dedicated during filming, more so than many top stars in the industry; what kind of young master could endure such hardship?

Rhys Hawthorne dropped the wet towel, leaning forward, his unique sandalwood scent wafted over.

The sudden proximity made Victoria Monroe a bit uneasy, his deep-set eyebrows and eyes accompanied by a restrained voice seemed mesmerizing.

"Then what do you think I resemble?"

Victoria Monroe pondered seriously for a moment, "Not like an actor, nor a businessman, somewhat like the moon high above."

Distant from the world, so far, yet so cold.

Without the restlessness and wantonness seen in rich heirs.

"Ha." His Adam’s apple gently rolled, the indifferent expression gained a hint of smile, adding a bit of human warmth.

Victoria Monroe said earnestly, "By the way, I’m a bit tight on money recently, weigh what to eat today yourself."

Her honesty dispelled some of his coldness, "Alright, you call the shots."

"But you’d best give me some time to freshen up."

Victoria Monroe asked for his address ten minutes earlier; the man hurriedly washed his face and shaved.

"Okay, take your time, there’s plenty of time to eat."

"Do as you like." He got up and went upstairs.

As he reached the staircase corner and turned back, the woman by the dining table was now crouched by the lucky bamboo, idly touching the leaves.

Water sounds echoed from the bathroom.

He opened the news headlines, and the announcement regarding Julian Fordham and Rachel Hayes from last night was still there.

The golden eight hours for public relations had passed.

The matter was settled.

The man in the mirror had lowered eyes, revealing no emotion, while the faint corners of his lips curled quietly.

As he returned downstairs fully dressed, he found a small figure side-lying on the off-white curved sofa.

Her upper body lay on the sofa, legs still on the floor, sleeping in a twisted posture, indicating how tired she was.

Rhys Hawthorne slowly walked to the sofa, knelt on one knee, gently lifted her legs.

Removing the slippers revealed a pair of unobstructed petite feet.

Victoria Monroe rose to fame rapidly not just for her acting and angel-kissed face but for her flawless body, without any blemish.

Even her rarely visible feet had well-proportioned bones, snow-white skin that slightly showed the veins beneath, no elaborate nail designs, trimmed neatly, exuding a faint pink hue.

Bathed in sunlight, her entire body seemed like under a beauty filter, glowing.

Rhys Hawthorne fetched a blanket and covered her, forming a curled-up shape on the sofa like a sleeping kitten.

The blanket reached her chin, her gentle breath scattered on his hand back, very quiet.

As he prepared to leave, the woman stirred from sleep and grasped his wrist.

Her body temperature ran low; warm fingers gently brushed his wrist interior, carrying a mixture of affectionate ambiguity and entwinement, murmuring softly, "Hun, you’re back..."