Christopher Hart stared at his phone, deliberately waiting for a while before answering nonchalantly, "Hello, who is this?"
Alia thought to herself that this man had called her before and couldn’t possibly have forgotten her number. His distant and formal manner of speaking was obviously intentional.
Though her heart pounded with panic, she thankfully wasn’t in his line of sight through the phone, so she quickly composed herself before speaking calmly, "Mr. Hart, it’s , Clarke Norton."
"Miss Norton?" He feigned surprise, then asked carelessly, "What can I do for you?"
Alia, guessing at his psychological state, decided not to beat around the bush and said bluntly, "Snow Fitch called , said she ran into you at the amusent park. Were you there with Hope, playing?"
Christopher was taken aback!
Just monts ago he was pondering how to question her about her acquaintance with Snow Fitch, curious as to how she would cover it up to make her story sound convincing—he was quite looking forward to that scenario.
But he never expected her to be so forthright and co clean!
After a stunned silence of two seconds, he spoke with a firm declarative tone, "Alia, you’ve finally stopped pretending."
"No, Mr. Hart, you’ve misunderstood. My knowing Snow Fitch was purely a coincidence. The first ti she saw , she literally lunged at , calling ’dear’ and nearly scared to death! Later on, I found out that I look a lot like her best friend—that’s the Alia you know."
Christopher’s flicker of cleverness on his face instantly faded.
This woman was just...
If she were in front of him right now, he probably couldn’t resist strangling her!
Seeing that there was no response from his end, Alia could probably guess his mood at the mont and continued nonchalantly, "Is your daughter feeling better? I ant to ask you yesterday, but I got so busy I forgot."
"If you’re not Alia, why would you show up at the Monarch International Hotel that day and then run away?"
Christopher was infuriated by her evasiveness and decided to confront her straight on to see how she would continue.
"That day, ah, sothing ca up last minute, I’m really sorry for the no-show."
"What happened?"
"I wasn’t feeling well."
"How weren’t you feeling well?"
"..." Alia could tell he was being obstinate and felt both annoyed and amused, "Mr. Hart, it’s all in the past, why bring it up again?"
"So, you can’t fabricate a story anymore? How about I tell you what happened? You ca back to the country and Snow Fitch picked you up. You drove her car to et a client, and when you reached the lobby on the ground floor, you saw Hope. You were emotionally disturbed, or maybe you were scared you’d run into , so you decided to leave."
"But Lucas King called you, and after a bit of persuasion, you couldn’t outright refuse, so you went upstairs again. But then you saw Lily Garcia, and as you two sisters are like fire and water, seeing that your client was her only reinforced your decision to leave, hence the hasty retreat."
Alia was sweating bullets listening to him.
He must have thoroughly reviewed the surveillance footage.
"Mr. Hart, what an imagination you have; it’d be a sha not to be a screenwriter."
"It’s not appropriate for to discuss a woman’s physiological matters with a man, but since you’ve brought it up..."
Her voice sounded helpless as she paused before continuing to explain, "That day, I happened to start my period and accidentally stained my dress, so I thought I should reschedule for another day. However, your assistant called , insisting that I simply had to co that day. I had no choice but to clean up hurriedly in the restroom and stick it out to keep the appointnt..."
"As I was just outside the presidential suite, suddenly a warm flow gushed out—you, being a man, could never understand the discomfort and awkwardness won go through during those days. If I hadn’t left then and had endured and gone in..."
Alia was making it up as she went along while admiring her own creativity and imagination.
Turns out, the person best suited to be a screenwriter was herself!
"I might have ended up staining the scene with blood."
Christopher strongly suspected she was making up stories, yet he couldn’t help but visualize the scene she described.
And even, he recalled a long-ago incident.
He rembered the scene of Alia’s first period.
It was over a decade ago, and a group of adolescent friends had made plans to go out over the weekend, to a small hill on the outskirts of town.
Halfway up the hill, Alia suddenly slowed down, complaining of a dull pain in her stomach.
At the ti, no one paid much attention, thinking it was just fatigue and suggested she sit down to rest.
Alia sat down.
But after sitting for a while, she beca uncomfortable, as if she had wet her pants.
When they stood up and looked back, they saw a pool of blood on the ground, and she burst into tears in fright.
"Christopher, I’m bleeding, so much blood, I’m going to die, wu wu wu..."
Christopher looked at the blood on the ground and then checked behind her to see her pants stained with blood—shockingly so—that he too froze with fright.
He had biology classes; he knew what was happening, but the suddenness of the mont, coupled with concern, had montarily slipped his mind.
It took a reminder from one of the friends who suggested, "Alia, is it your period?"
Both of them realized then—she wasn’t sick and dying; she simply had her period.
What followed was incredibly awkward.
Christopher told everyone to turn around and not to look back, while he hid the girl behind so bushes. Then he rummaged through all the tissues available from the pockets of their group, stood with his back toward her, and handed them over to the mortified girl.
Alia, shy and experiencing her first period without any knowledge, was beet-red, crying, and struggling to manage on her own.
Christopher couldn’t turn around to look at her; instead, he listened to her sniffling and crying, anxious and comforting her non-stop.
The rest of the group continued their hike, and he waited until the girl was done with her awkward adjustnts, hesitantly erged, and without a word, he took off his jacket, tied it around her waist.
"It’s okay, no one will notice this way, let’s go down the hill and head back."
Alia dared not look at him, her head hung low in silence all the way back.
At that ti, he thought it would surely be the most embarrassing and frustrating event of his life, but looking back on it years later, the mory unexpectedly stirred a sense of nostalgia.
After a brief silence on both sides of the phone, Christopher snapped out of his reverie, involuntarily saying, "I rember the ss of your first period, so what if you stained the place."
Alia’s heart skipped a beat, instantly knowing what he was referring to.
But she had to play dumb.
"Mr. Hart, please be more serious."
"Heh!" The man scoffed disdainfully, "All this man-and-woman business, too much seriousness takes out the fun."
Alia didn’t bother with him.
But after all the random talk, he hadn’t ntioned her children, which ant he probably hadn’t discovered the secret of her two sons.
Alia was relieved.
"I called just to check on your loved one’s condition. Since she’s recovered, that’s good. Enjoy yourselves, I’m quite busy."
She prepared to hang up the phone.
But unexpectedly, as she lowered her arm, she heard a cheerful and joyful cry through the phone, "Mommy mommy! I miss you so much; can I co and play with you?"
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