The car arrived at the Imperial Garden Villa and slowly ca to a stop.
"We’re here, get out," Christopher Hart opened the car door, preparing to get out.
Alia Garcia asked, puzzled, "Why aren’t we going to the hospital?"
"Hope doesn’t like hospitals; she insisted on coming back," the man lied without blinking an eye.
Actually, he had deliberately chosen to be at ho to see if revisiting the old place would expose any slip-ups from her.
Alia Garcia looked at the villa outside and mories began flooding back to her.
"What’s wrong, Miss Norton? Are you afraid of sothing?" The man smirked, his words loaded with implication.
"Not at all, I just feel it’s inconvenient to go to soone else’s house."
"You’re overthinking it, get out of the car," the man urged again, standing by the car door.
"Wait a second." Alia Garcia bent her head to open her purse and rummaged through it to pull out a silvery yellow object.
Christopher Hart stood outside the car, leaning slightly to look in. With the help of the car’s roof light, as soon as he saw clearly what the object was, his face instantly turned grim and taut.
She actually——
"I rember Miss Hope saying she liked Princess Elsa, how about it? Not bad, right?" Alia Garcia had put on the wig, got out of the car, and smiled graciously at the man.
Christopher Hart gritted his teeth in silence, clenched his fist, and scoffed, "You’re really attentive to my daughter."
"You’re overthinking it, my assistant just really loves COSPLAY; I’m simply passing on a favor," she said, turning around and walking towards the villa.
In fact, this Princess Elsa wig was specifically bought because her daughter had ntioned last ti how much she liked Princess Elsa, and she had casually ntioned she would dress up as Elsa next ti, so she prepared accordingly.
Little did she expect that this act would inadvertently add a layer of protection for herself.
If Christopher Hart really wanted to pull her hair for a DNA test, wouldn’t wearing a wig ruin his plans?
Thinking of the man’s incredulous and secretly frustrated expression just now, Alia Garcia couldn’t help but snicker to herself.
Lucas King, who was following by Christopher Hart’s side, watched the woman who had put on the wig, his mind buzzing.
"President Hart, what do we do now?"
Having failed to seize the opportunity twice on the road, he thought there might be a way once they were ho—but now that she had put on a fake wig, it seed even less likely.
Christopher Hart, irritated by his words, turned back and glared fiercely, "You’re not getting a bonus this month!"
"Ah..." Lucas King’s face fell, "President Hart, I was only trying to help you!"
————
Alia Garcia stepped into the villa, scenes from the past vividly coming to mind.
Even though she knew the place like the back of her hand, she still stopped, turning her head to look at the man, "Where is your beloved’s room?"
Christopher Hart stared at her, his gaze filled with suspicion and scrutiny.
If she wasn’t Alia Garcia, then all her reactions were within reason.
But if she was, to be able to act so convincingly, as if she had lost her mory, that really was an eye-opener.
Their gazes t and the man, without a word, led her further inside and up the stairs.
Alia Garcia silently followed.
The villa’s servants had all been changed, and as they saw the woman who looked so much like the mistress’s mother, they were all stunned and whispered among themselves.
One of them quietly walked away, withdrew a cell phone, and hid in a dark corner to make a call.
As the two went upstairs, Aunt Harper rushed out from a room, looking flustered, "Sir, you’re back! Miss Hope has a fever again, and Dr. Wood is out of options; we can’t keep giving her fever dicine..."
Before she could finish, Aunt Harper saw the woman following the master, her eyes widened, mouth slightly agape, "Ma’am—"
Alia Garcia politely smiled, "Hello, I’m not your mistress, I just look like her."
Aunt Harper murmured, "Yes, so alike..."
Christopher Hart was worried about his daughter and quickly hurried into her room, followed anxiously by Alia Garcia.
Aunt Harper stood frozen in place, muttering to herself, "They say the wife bled heavily postpartum and died four years ago... It can’t be, they just look similar, but they do look so much alike..."
In the room, as soon as Alia entered, she encountered Hope deliriously speaking in her high fever and waving her arms, calling for her mom.
Without a second thought, she stepped forward to the bed and took the young girl’s delicate, lovely hand.
"Hope... Mommy is here, open your eyes and look..."
At that mont, she couldn’t care about anything else and just wanted to comfort her child; the word ’mom’ slipped out unconsciously.
Christopher stood to the side, raising an eyebrow, his gaze growing deeper as he watched her.
So, in her concern, had she unintentionally admitted it?
The family doctor, stunned, paused montarily before walking over to Christopher’s side. "Mr. Hart, if things really don’t improve, she’ll need to be hospitalized for treatnt."
Christopher nodded, "Wait outside for now."
"Okay."
With the family doctor gone, only the sleeping child and the solitary man and woman remained in the room.
Christopher moved to the bedside, grasping another of his daughter’s small, soft hands, his gaze unblinkingly fixed on her abnormally flushed cheeks.
"Seeing your daughter like this, do you regret abandoning her? Even if you had your reasons, you shouldn’t have been so irresponsible."
His deep, husky voice quietly rose, and Alia, taken aback, looked at him and stood up straight, her gaze turning cold. "Mr. Hart, when will you stop these baseless suspicions?"
"I will find evidence, and when I do, you—will bear the consequences."
Alia glared at him and then diverted her gaze back to the child. "I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I’m just here out of pity for the child, to keep her company. If you want to think otherwise, I can’t help that."
Perhaps it was Alia’s voice that awakened the feverish, sleeping Hope, as the young girl slowly beca alert and opened her eyes.
Neither of them was in the mood to argue any further and both stooped down simultaneously. "Hope."
"Baby..."
Hope Hart weakly propped her eyelids open, her lifeless gaze fixating on the person in front of her for a while before she murmured weakly, "Mommy... Mommy..."
Realizing she was half-asleep, Alia’s heart suddenly ached, and she nearly let tears fall.
"Hope, get well soon so we can play together. Rember, you said you liked Princess Elsa? Look, does Mommy look like Princess Elsa? Is she pretty?" Alia gently coaxed while sitting up a bit and adjusting her blonde hair, smiling as she asked.
The little girl’s eyes widened a little, a gleam appearing in them. "Princess Elsa... it’s the real Princess Elsa..."
"Yes, Princess Elsa has co to see you, so you need to get better soon, okay?"
The family doctor was just outside the door and, hearing the child’s talking, re-entered the room, whispering, "Mr. Hart, Miss Hope is awake, please let her take her dicine."
Christopher looked at the dicine on the bedside table and stood up to walk over.
Alia naturally spoke, "Prepare the dicine, and I’ll feed it to her."
She was the most experienced at giving dicine to children.
The man turned to look at her, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "Giving dicine to kids can be tricky, are you sure you can?"
Alia’s heart skipped a beat, realizing she had almost given herself away, but covered it up with a smile, "I’ll try first, she might listen to Princess Elsa."
With soone volunteering, Christopher naturally agreed, so he prepared the dicine and handed it to her.
As Alia turned to receive it, their fingers barely touched.
The man glanced at her, but she acted as if nothing had happened.
"You lift Hope up," she instructed.
Christopher, very obedient, squeezed past her to sit by the bed and gently lifted his daughter.
"Here, let Mommy give you your dicine today," the man said intentionally.
Alia’s hand trembled, almost spilling the dicine.
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