Mr. Li wasn't in a hurry. He merely smiled. "Mr. Fu, I'm only passing the message along. After all, she's your niece—not mine, right?"
Nathaniel Fu: "…"
Mr. Li kept emphasizing that Celia was his niece. Nathaniel ended the call abruptly, his sharp brows already furrowed in frustration.
At that moment, Mr. Song stepped forward. "President, the car is ready. We should head back now. You still have the Su family's birthday banquet tomorrow morning. That's when the news about Miss Sylvia officially becoming Mrs. Fu will be announced."
Nathaniel's expression darkened further, his brows tightly drawn into a deep crease.
If Mr. Song hadn't reminded him, he would've forgotten all about the Su family's party—and about Sylvia entirely. Forgotten that he even had a "Mrs. Fu."
Right now, all his thoughts—his attention, his emotions—were focused on Celia, that little maid.
From the moment he saw her on the dance floor, she had captured his full attention.
But why?
Why was it always like this with her?
What was it about Celia that drew him in so completely?
Nathaniel clenched his jaw, forcing her image from his mind. That woman meant nothing to him. He needed to focus on Sylvia—his lawful wife.
He had seen through Sylvia's little schemes long ago. All she wanted was to be publicly acknowledged.
But since she bore the title of Mrs. Fu, he would naturally grant her that dignity.
He had to leave now and prepare for the Su family banquet. Tomorrow, he would formally present Sylvia as his wife.
As for Celia—she could play with any man she wanted.
"Let's go."
"Yes, sir." Mr. Song followed respectfully.
But after just a few steps, Nathaniel abruptly stopped.
Mr. Song looked at him, confused. "President, is something wrong?"
Nathaniel's face was stormy. With a forceful turn, he pivoted on his heel and walked away.
Nathaniel followed the hallway and soon heard a scream from one of the rooms—Celia's scream.
Without hesitation, he kicked open the door and stormed inside.
What he saw made his blood run cold—Celia's slender body pinned beneath Master Ji.
His vision turned red.
In one swift motion, Nathaniel lunged forward, grabbed Ji by the collar, and tore him off her. His clenched fist connected with Ji's face, over and over.
But Ji Shao was already unconscious—Celia had knocked him out earlier.
It was just that his heavy body had collapsed on her, making it hard for her to escape.
Still, Nathaniel didn't stop. Blow after vicious blow landed, Ji's face quickly becoming a bloody mess.
Celia hadn't expected Nathaniel to come. She certainly didn't expect him to start throwing punches.
A man as aloof and refined as him—resorting to physical violence?
But when he fought, he was terrifying. Ruthless.
Master Ji lay slumped on the carpet, completely out cold. Nathaniel's black shirt clung tightly to his body, the sharp lines of his arms tensed with raw fury, his fists relentless.
It was as if he were intent on killing him.
"Nathaniel! Stop! He's already unconscious! You'll kill him!" Celia jumped off the bed, shouting.
But Nathaniel didn't seem to hear her. He kept swinging.
Mr. Song rushed in at that moment and froze in shock at the scene. He had never seen his usually composed boss so completely unhinged.
Celia, frightened and disoriented, didn't stop to think. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Nathaniel's waist from behind.
"That's enough, Nathaniel! Stop hitting him!"
Her soft, fragrant body pressed against him, and Nathaniel stiffened. He instinctively wanted to throw her off.
But Celia clung to him tightly, like a vine around a tree, refusing to let go.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. The red in his eyes began to fade, his breathing slowing.
He glanced over at Mr. Song. "Handle this."
"Yes, sir," Mr. Song replied immediately.
Without another word, Nathaniel grabbed Celia's slender wrist and pulled her into the bathroom.