Alia Garcia considered herself well-versed in life, having seen her fair share of the world.
But even she found her horizons broadened at this mont.
Hiring a translator, driver, and bodyguard out of her own pocket, all just to be her little assistant.
This...
The secretary watched from the side, while Betty pleaded with a fawning smile.
Thinking about the company’s several foreign designers, though they stayed after the last turmoil, they undoubtedly had lingering concerns—if Betty joined, with her background, she might just put their minds at ease.
So, Alia changed her mind and looked at the secretary next to her: "Take her to the HR departnt to process her onboarding."
The secretary froze, then quickly asked, "And... her position?"
"For now, she’ll temporarily take over Shaw’s responsibilities. Once Shaw returns, we can decide on adjustnts."
She thought to herself, perhaps this impulsive wealthy heiress wouldn’t even last until Shaw ca back.
Betty didn’t fully understand and imdiately turned to the translator beside her. The translator leaned in and whispered, "President Norton agreed to let you temporarily be her assistant."
"Great!" Betty almost jumped for joy.
Watching her interaction with the translator, Alia shook her head repeatedly, her temples throbbing nonstop.
Two annoying matters already in the early morning, and co evening, she had to head to the Imperial Garden Villa to serve that Three-Year-Old Hart—the day couldn’t start over, could it?
She ssaged Snow on WhatsApp to share the news, leaving Snow Fitch equally shocked.
"You better stay sharp; what if she’s a spy sent by the competition?" Snow suggested, clearly having watched too many lodramas.
Alia chuckled weakly, "With her background, who could even afford her? Kane said she’s run away from an arranged marriage. She wants independence, without relying on her family."
"Really? I always thought as long as you had money, life would be worry-free. Turns out they’re just like us ordinary folk after all."
Exactly, everyone has their struggles. Who could ever be entirely free of worries?
That day, Betty was positively bursting with enthusiasm—not only did she eagerly seek advice and learn from her colleagues, but she also generously treated everyone to afternoon tea.
From her office, Alia observed through the floor-to-ceiling windows as Betty flitted around like a social butterfly. Once again, she pressed her fingers to her temples in resignation.
She couldn’t help but wonder... was this decision the right one?
"President Norton, would you like so milk tea or snacks?"
Speak of the devil, Betty promptly pushed the door open, setting an afternoon tea set on her desk along with a folder. "I’ve completed what you asked—here, have a look."
Alia was a little surprised.
Betty didn’t know Chinese, not even recognizing the characters, yet she managed to complete the task so quickly?
Alia had fully expected her to make a ss of it, but upon opening the folder, she was secretly astonished.
"You did this?"
"Uh..." Betty chuckled awkwardly, "Well... I don’t know Chinese, so the translator helped with part of it. But I personally went to the design departnt to gather the materials."
Alia nodded, understanding.
Those foreign designers were probably close with her, making coordination and communication smoother for Betty than it would’ve been for a secretary.
"Your translator is quite capable."
"Of course. I have a keen eye for talent!"
"..."
Alia had originally planned to advise this enthusiastic heiress to go ho once the novelty wore off. But seeing her so exuberant, she swallowed her words for now.
She decided to observe for a while longer.
————
In midwinter, the sky darkened early.
With the relentless rain, by just after four in the afternoon, it already looked like nightfall outside.
Alia had just gotten in her car when her phone rang.
"Where are you now?"
Hearing his urgency, she huffed irritably, "I wouldn’t forget what I promised, so why are you hounding like this?"
"You’d better not!" The voice on the other end snapped back harshly, then softened as it added, "It’s raining; drive carefully. I wasn’t rushing you."
So that’s why he called?
It seed she had wrongly assud the worst.
"Got it... No one cares about their own life more than . Quit nagging..." she teased, but her tone carried unintentional sweetness, and her heart felt warmly comforted.
Having soone constantly worry about you—this feeling was both unfamiliar and deeply soothing.
Lately, she often found herself pondering late at night—was all this truly real? Not just a dream?
Christopher Hart had turned around, treating her with boundless affection and going so far as to selflessly offer her all his wealth and assets.
When sothing seems too perfect, one can’t help but question its authenticity.
More than once, she had pinched her thigh hard—painfully hard! It hurt, truly hurt. So, it must be real.
She had regained Christopher Hart’s love, a love surpassing even what she had dreamt of or yearned for in her childhood and youth.
A small smile involuntarily tugged at her lips, though her thoughts wandered. Just as her white Audi exited the garage and began to accelerate, a figure darted out in front of her.
Her heart stopped in terror. Instinctively, she slamd on the brakes, but it was too late.
The sickening sound of "Bang!" echoed, chilling her to the bone.
The force of inertia sent Alia lurching forward, slamming her forehead against the steering wheel. Buzzing filled her head in an instant.
She had hit soone...
She had hit soone.
Though her mind hadn’t fully cleared, her first reaction was to get out and check. If it was serious, she needed to call an ambulance imdiately.
Fumbling anxiously, she pushed open the door and hurried over in two quick strides. But in the very next second, her eyes widened in shock, her expression frozen.
It was... Michael Garcia!
Her ears began echoing Jacob Garcia’s words from earlier that morning—he’s out of options.
It seed that was true.
He hadn’t been able to extort money from the Hart Family, and now he resorted to such despicable asures, faking an accident to blackmail his own daughter?!
Trash! Scum!
A man without even a shred of decency left!
Seeing it was Michael Garcia, Alia’s first instinct was to ignore him, get soone to handle the situation, and leave imdiately.
But to her surprise, Michael had co prepared. Seeing she intended to leave, he cried out in agony, "Ahh... I’m in so much pain! You run soone over and just walk away? Where’s your conscience?!"
With his shout, a crowd quickly began to gather.
Luckily, the parking lot exit had a security guard.
The guard approached and carefully examined Michael, then questioned skeptically, "Sir, where does it hurt? You don’t seem injured. Are you one of those professional scamrs?"
"Who are you calling a scamr?! I was just passing through, and this car suddenly sped out of nowhere and hit ! My leg’s broken!" Michael snapped.
Alia paid him no mind and directly called the police on her phone.
If he wasn’t afraid of losing face, then as the "victim," what did she have to fear?
After all, her car had a dashcam, and the parking lot exit was under surveillance.
This would be an easy case.
After making the call, Alia stood by the car, saying coldly, "The police will be here soon. If you’re not afraid of the cold, go ahead and keep lying there."
Hearing this, Michael forgot all about his "pain," sitting up angrily to rebuke her: "Alia Garcia! I’m still your father, and you’re going to leave to die?!"
"Father?" The onlookers imdiately gasped in surprise. "You’re father and daughter?"
Before Alia could respond, Michael raised his voice to the surrounding crowd: "Look at this! Is there any worse daughter in the world? She married into wealth, drives luxury cars, but refuses to support her own father. She’s worse than an animal!"
The crowd quickly started criticizing her, "Such an ungrateful child! How can such a pretty girl have such a horrible heart?"
"Quick, take a video and expose her!"
Panic bubbled in Alia’s heart, and her first instinct was to get back in the car. But then, she reconsidered—hiding now would only make her look guilty.
So, she boldly stood before the gathering crowd. "Go ahead, film it! Share this man’s reprehensible behavior with the world!"
"His actual daughter is long dead—driven to death by him. I just happen to look a bit like her, so he’s decided to claim I’m her and now haunts like a ghost, constantly demanding money. He threatens my relatives and friends, too. He’s nothing more than a lunatic!"
"Look at his clothes and watch—they’re clearly not cheap. Does he look as destitute as he claims? He’s a con artist and an excellent actor. Don’t let him fool you into being his accomplice."
After all, he had a mouth to argue with, and so did she. The line between right and wrong was all about who was more willing to fight the narrative.
Michael had counted on swaying the crowd to his side, but this eldest daughter of his turned out to be even better at manipulating public opinion.
Noticing how he instinctively tried to hide his watch under his sleeve, Alia seized the mont, urging the onlookers, "See? He’s feeling guilty, trying to hide his watch now."
"Hey, that’s true!"
The nosy bystanders imdiately echoed her thoughts, "Sha on you! Is this girl even your child? You look so sleazy; how could you father a daughter this beautiful and classy?"
"You must be a scamr! Quite the professional outfit you’ve got here—bet that watch was extorted too!"
Michael, enraged, jumped to his feet to argue.
But the mont he stood up, everyone was convinced he was a scamr and began recording him with their phones: "Expose him! So he can’t harm anyone else next ti!"
Seeing him surrounded by the crowd, Alia quietly slipped away and called Fuller, instructing him to send soone to deliver her another car. She also made sure he wouldn’t inform Christopher.
If that man found out, he’d definitely make a fuss and rush over.
Not long after, the police arrived to assess the situation. They were about to take everyone to the station for further handling.
But Michael adamantly refused, claiming it was all a misunderstanding.
Alia wasn’t inclined to go to the station either. She had promised soone she’d cook dinner tonight, so she agreed to a "private settlent."
Of course, she didn’t give him a single cent.
"You damn brat! Think you’ve grown wings, don’t you? If I can’t live well, neither will you! You just wait!" Michael cursed venomously as he left.
Her car was actually fine, but the encounter with Michael had shaken her. She didn’t dare drive and decided to wait for the bodyguards Fuller had dispatched.
She didn’t expect Fuller himself to show up.
What’s more, when the imposing door of the sleek Lincoln opened, the one person she wanted to keep this from was seated right inside.
Christopher’s face was dark as he stared at her, his entire aura seething with fury.
Fuller stood by the car, explaining in a low voice, "I had instructed soone to handle it, but Sir saw it and insisted on coming..."
"Never mind, go back," Alia muttered resignedly, getting into the car.
Since he was already here, there was no point arguing further.
Once the door shut, Alia glanced at the frosty-faced man, taking the initiative to explain, "I wasn’t trying to hide it from you. I just thought since it’s cold and raining, there was no need for you to co all the way here. I planned to tell you when I got back."
As she spoke, she silently berated herself.
He was a cripple after all, wholly reliant on others for everything—essentially a paper tiger. But why then did she still feel so cowardly?
He didn’t even need to speak; just his cold deanor was enough to leave her trembling, blurting out everything.
Pathetic...
Christopher, seeing her timid and submissive deanor, found his anger unexpectedly dissipating.
Taking a slow, deep breath, he waited for his mood to stabilize before saying, "I’m rescinding the week I gave you. I’ll handle this myself."
Alia’s head shot up, her voice filled with alarm, "What are you going to do? You’re not planning to..."
He shot her a glare, mocking her with her own words, "In my current state, I couldn’t even kill soone while pretending to be insane!"
"..." Alia didn’t dare make a sound.
"Don’t worry. I have my ways."
In truth, Alia already had her own plan.
After learning who lived in the courtyard house that day, she had intended to leverage them to deal with Michael Garcia.
But she hadn’t had the chance to carry it out yet.
Now that this incident had occurred, Christopher would undoubtedly intervene.
After so thought, she decided that since she couldn’t escape his protection, she might as well work together with him. So, she actively confessed, "Michael Garcia has another family outside. His children are quite grown. Maybe... that could be used as leverage against him."
Hearing this, Christopher’s brows furrowed with an undercurrent of rage. Drawing a deep breath, he asked, "What else are you hiding from ?"
"I..." She unconsciously licked her lips, hesitating briefly before spilling everything about the courtyard house, as well as the tasks she had assigned Jacob Garcia to handle.
Christopher rubbed his temples, unwilling to say another word.
This woman was becoming increasingly headstrong and difficult to control.
Initially feeling guilty, Alia suddenly realized she had no reason to be.
"I didn’t tell you because, aside from not wanting to worry you, I also... find it humiliating, honestly. I like to maintain my dignity. This is a part of my life I can’t escape, yes, but I don’t want to broadcast it. I had intended to deal with it myself..."
"Am I still an outsider in your eyes? Do you think I’d mock you or look down on you because of this?"
Christopher could hardly believe how much this woman excelled at provoking him!
"You know what Michael Garcia is like—I’ve known for twenty years! If I judged you for it, why would I still want to be with you?"
Alia lowered her head, remaining silent.
She didn’t even understand her own passive-aggressive stubbornness. It was likely just her personality at play.
No matter how successful her career or how impressive her public image, deep down, she would always harbor a sense of fragility and insecurity.
As they say, the fortunate spend a lifeti healing from childhood, while the less fortunate spend their childhood healing from life.
She assud she was the latter—unfortunately so.
After venting his frustrations, Christopher observed her bowed head. A single glimring tear escaped, sliding silently down her cheek before vanishing into her sleeve. A pang of pain struck his heart, filling him with regret.
Damn it!
He had known all along how sensitive and obstinate she was. Yet he still chose to clash over such trifles.
And now, he had made her cry.
"Forget it. Let’s not talk about this anymore. Just leave everything to ."
Still holding onto her frustration, Alia retorted, "Do whatever you want."
The tension in the car reached suffocating levels. Christopher scrutinized her, then stretched out a hand to pull her closer.
She smacked his hand away.
"What are you getting all upset about? Let check if you’re hurt." His tone softened, but he refrained from apologizing, convinced she was in the wrong.
"I’m fine."
"Even if you are, sit closer."
"Stop bothering !"
"You’re out of line!" Christopher was far from cooled down. Witnessing her petulant behavior despite knowing her fault, his irritation surged. Without further ado, he grabbed her and forcefully pulled her into his arms.
She was about to struggle when his next words stopped her cold—
"Go ahead and thrash around if you’re okay with my wounds reopening!"
Alia imdiately froze, motionless in his embrace, glaring up at him with an indignant frown.
Christopher stared down at her—simultaneously furious, exasperated, and infatuated—before suddenly bending down to seize her lips in an unrelenting kiss.
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