Alia Garcia's heart rate accelerated as she took a mont to compose herself, then she lifted her radiant, confident visage and stepped over the threshold.
The lounge was spacious, a large room filled with light and housing a set of sofas with a strong sense of design.
But not a soul occupied the sofas.
Doubt crept into Alia's heart as her gaze shifted slightly to see a tall and upright figure in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.
Her heartbeat skipped wildly, and she clenched her fists in secret as her high heels carried her forward at a asured pace.
The man turned around, his well-tailored slim suit accentuating his features—more mature and indifferent than they had been four years ago.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he scrutinized the woman entering the room, perhaps startled by her makeup and attire.
As he walked towards the sofa, his thin lips curled into an amused smile, causing Alia's heart to start pounding all over again.
She had to act as if she knew nothing, yet she couldn't appear too unfamiliar—after all, they had already t by chance.
Her mind was in disarray, uncertain of what deanor to adopt for this encounter when the man's clean, handso palm extended: "Miss Norton, we et again."
With no escape available, Alia feigned sudden realization, "So it's you! What a coincidence!"
"Yes, a coincidence." Christopher's smile deepened with significance, secretly musing that this woman seed addicted to acting, and that perhaps she'd be better suited to a career in drama than as a designer.
Once seated, Christopher made no effort to disguise his intent gaze upon her, his lean fra slowly leaning toward the sofa as he began with aristocratic aloofness, "Miss Norton, although you bear a striking resemblance to my ex-wife, you are far more beautiful and fashionable than she ever was."
As he said this, his eyes lingered on the white wig atop the woman's head and her overly avant-garde runway fashion, his brow furrowing once again.
Clearly, he did not favor such a flamboyant and eye-catching style.
Question marks popped up in Alia's mind—had she been ugly before?
Before she could reply, he shook his head with a disdainful tone: "My ex-wife... she was quite the bumpkin."
!!!
Alia abruptly looked up, nearly spluttering out loud—You're the bumpkin! Your whole lineage is full of bumpkins!
"My ex-wife also had body odor, Miss Norton... you certainly don't have that, do you?"
What?
The curse she had just suppressed almost burst forth once again!
When had she ever had body odor? And even if she did, how could he have embraced her so tightly and clung to her relentlessly in bed for three years?
That bastard! Alia struggled to hold back her curses, nearly spitting blood with the effort.
Christopher observed the woman's reaction with a sly glint in his eye.
Seeing her continue to hold back, he sighed excessively, feigning helplessness and grievance: "Moreover, she had a terrible temper, like a matron Kali."
Alia couldn't take it any longer, "Mr. Hart! Your ex-wife is no longer with us, it's utterly immoral of you to slander her like this!"
"Slander? No, I'm simply stating facts." The man's face remained calm as he t her gaze head-on, waiting for her response.
"..." Alia was rendered speechless once again.
Even though she knew he was fabricating insults, she couldn't refute any of them.
Because she wasn't Alia Garcia, she was just a stranger who had never t him before.
That jerk! It had to be deliberate, this was just too much!
The room fell into silence, the atmosphere awkward.
Lucas King, standing to one side, listening to his boss frequently utter complints, also tightly pursed his lips, clearly struggling to keep it in.
—President Hart, leave so food for the giant pandas! You've taken all the bamboo shoots from the mountains!
How long the suffocating silence lasted could not be known, but a cheerful and magnificent lody began to resonate within the quiet space.
Listening closely, it was a simplified version of "To Alice" by Richard.
Christopher Hart listened with great enjoynt for a while, then pridefully said, "This is played by my daughter. How is it?"
Alia Garcia, imrsed in the tune, was dumbfounded upon hearing this—was this really played by Hope? She was still so young, yet she could play so fluently and joyfully!
"She plays very well and is very talented," Alia sincerely praised.
The man smiled faintly and continued, "My daughter has a high IQ and learns everything very quickly. It's just a pity her health isn't very good... Next month, she needs to undergo lung surgery. If it's successful, she'll be able to play and jump around happily like other children."
Speaking of his daughter, Christopher's entire being exuded a kind of paternal affection and tenderness, and his words beca much more animated.
Alia listened almost greedily.
She couldn't bear to miss a single word related to his daughter.
"It will be, the surgery will definitely be a success!" Alia blurted out, her tone sowhat excited. "She's so smart and cute, surely God will have rcy."
"Really?" The man raised his eyebrows slightly, sensing a breakthrough, and continued discreetly probing, "But I feel that God has been too cruel to my daughter."
Alia frowned.
"She was premature, and her mother passed away just after she was born. When she ca to , she was no bigger than the size of two palms, her breath was faint, and her body was purple and bruised..."
These words stirred up mories Alia had been reluctant to touch upon for years.
Countless nights, she had woken up from dreams, unable to shake the image of her daughter's premature birth.
It was even more pitiful and heartbreaking than what Christopher was describing.
"She lay in the incubator for over two months, with doctors issuing nurous critical condition notices. Her small, frail body was filled with tubes, fighting with death every day. She was so young, but she'd already had several surgeries and had to take dication every day..."
The man spoke at a asured pace, and at so point, a thin layer of mist had covered his deep eyes, with a hint of redness at the corners.
Alia felt even more heart-wrenched, as if her insides were quivering tightly together.
"Do you think God is too cruel?" Christopher Hart looked at her reaction and asked solemnly again.
Alia was startled, then ca back to herself, looking up with a sudden coldness on her face as a tear rolled down, landing on the back of her hand.
She was scared, hastily covering the tear with her hand, but could not escape the man's sharp gaze.
"Miss Norton, what's wrong?" The man furrowed his brows.
"Uh... sorry, I just felt so sorry for Hope when Mr. Hart was speaking that I couldn't help myself... My apologies." Now that she had been noticed, Alia simply dabbed at the corner of her eye and quickly adjusted her emotions, changing the subject, "Anyway, Mr. Hart, let's get back to the design draft. I've already given two preliminary versions, and you were unsatisfied with them both. May I ask—"
But the man didn't give her a chance to evade, suddenly interrupting, "Miss Norton, are you married?"
Huh?
Alia was taken aback and beca defensive, "Mr. Hart, that's a personal question. I have no comnt."
"Do you have a boyfriend?" he pressed on, ignoring her reaction.
"..." Alia was annoyed, unable to hold back a retort, "What, does President Hart intend to solve my personal problems?"
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