Celia's collar had been torn by Ji Shao earlier, revealing a smooth shoulder. Now, with her soaked clothes clinging to her body, a faint glimpse of the three-petaled peach blossom birthmark beneath her butterfly-shaped shoulder blade peeked through—just enough for Nathaniel Fu to catch sight of it.
His eyes narrowed sharply. In a flash, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her back.
"Nathaniel Fu, let go of me! You're a married man—didn't you say you had no intention of cheating?" Celia struggled in his grip, her voice trembling with anger and confusion.
But Nathaniel didn't answer. His chest heaved as he stared at the mark. As she twisted in protest, the fabric slipped further down, revealing the full bloom of that delicate peach blossom.
He froze.
That mark… wasn't it supposed to be on Sylvia's body?
Shock rippled across his usually composed face. His eyes dropped to the long scar on Celia's cheek. Without hesitation, he reached out and rubbed at it with his thumb.
The edge of the scar smeared.
It was fake.
She drew it on.
Memories surged through his mind like a fast-rewinding film reel. Nathaniel, sharp and calculating, had suspected before—but he hadn't thought the scar would be artificial.
Now, it all made sense.
Fu Jue had hinted she was pretending to be ugly. So this was what he meant.
Nathaniel's gaze darkened, turning predatory. A dormant beast awakened in his chest, and he stared down at the girl in front of him, his breath ragged and eyes wild with disbelief—and rage.
How dare she.
Still woozy from the alcohol, Celia had no idea what was going on. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind cloudy. She tried to push him away but couldn't summon the strength.
"Nathaniel," she whispered, her voice slurred with exhaustion, "let me go. If you don't, I'll call Sylvia and tell her you're cheating—"
He let out a cold, dangerous laugh from deep in his chest. "Call Sylvia?" he repeated, his tone laced with venom.
Weren't she and Sylvia the ones who orchestrated this? Wasn't it Sylvia who sent her into his bed?
No one had ever dared play him like this.
Suddenly, he leaned down and kissed her.
"Mmm—!" Celia's mind went blank. What was he doing? He was actually kissing her—forcefully.
She placed both hands on his firm chest and bit down hard, determined not to let him deepen the kiss.
Nathaniel chuckled darkly.
It was her.
She still had that stubborn habit—clenching her teeth when she didn't want to let him in.
That night… the night he returned to China… the girl in his bed…
It had always been her.
Celia.
So it wasn't Sylvia who had taken his first night back.
It was her.
It had always been her.
Nathaniel abruptly scooped her into his arms and strode out of the bathroom, his steps firm and unrelenting. Then, without a word, he tossed her onto the bed like he was reclaiming something that was rightfully his.
Celia was too dizzy to react. She tried to sit up, but before she could, his tall figure loomed over her, one knee sinking into the mattress.
His palm braced beside her shoulder. The other hand reached up and began to undo the buttons of his black shirt, the fabric stretching over powerful muscle. Each movement was sharp, decisive, and masculine.
Fear crept into Celia's chest. Things were spiraling out of control.
"Nathaniel... what are you doing?" she stammered. "Did you mistake me for someone else? I'm not Sylvia. I'm Celia—the maid you hate most!"
Nathaniel's lips curled into a sly, dangerous smile.
"No," he said quietly. "You're not Sylvia. You're Celia."
He paused, his eyes burning into hers.
"And I've finally caught you."
She was the one he'd wanted from the beginning.
The one who had slipped through his fingers once.
But not this time.
In the girl's wide, terrified eyes, Nathaniel leaned down and kissed her again.