Staring at the photo, Wanessa's smile curled with sinister intent. She could never stand being outshined—especially not by that "clown girl."
Celia made an excuse to leave Julian and hurried back to the hotel. In her rush, she accidentally bumped into a portly man in the hallway.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to," she apologized, then quickly ran off.
Inside the hotel's restroom, she wiped off the scar makeup on her face, revealing a cold, refined beauty.
Though she hadn't changed out of her school uniform, Sylvia was also a student at T University—and a well-known campus belle—so showing up in uniform wouldn't raise suspicions.
Taking a deep breath, Celia stood outside Room 6901.
She had to get the jade pendant back. That was the only reason she had agreed—once again—to be a stand-in.
She had sworn last time would be the last time. But here she was, once more.
She rang the doorbell with a soft "ding."
Soon, Secretary Song opened the door. "Ma'am, the president is working in the study," he said respectfully.
Celia stepped inside. Nathaniel was in the study, seated in his leather chair, reviewing documents.
"I won't disturb him," Celia said lightly and sat on the sofa. Her eyes fell on a stack of papers on the coffee table. "What are these?"
"Some French documents that still need translating. Our translator hasn't arrived yet."
"I'll do it," Celia offered casually.
Secretary Song blinked in surprise. "You understand French, ma'am?"
"I'll give it a try," she replied with a small smile.
Half an hour passed.
Nathaniel finally stepped out of the study and paused.
Celia was sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, fully absorbed in translating a document. Nathaniel was suddenly reminded of what Zane had joked about earlier—someone boasting of having the most beautiful legs in the city. But weren't Celia's even more elegant?
Yet she always hid herself behind ugly makeup and modest clothes, as if trying to dim her natural brilliance.
Nathaniel strode over, exhaling a stream of smoke as he reached out to take the document from her hand. His deep, magnetic voice broke the quiet. "Are you studying French at university?"
Celia looked up at him, her clear eyes locking onto his chiseled face. "No. I taught myself. Just for fun."
Nathaniel glanced through the translation. It was flawless—key points even color-coded with different pens. She didn't lose to any professional in his company. And this was the so-called "clown girl" from the countryside?
He couldn't help but pinch her cheek and lift her chin so he could admire her face up close. She was too stunning—too exquisite.
He was still a man, after all. A man with weaknesses. And beautiful women had always been his.
And her face? She was exactly his type.
Taking another drag from his cigarette, he slowly exhaled the smoke onto her delicate face and smiled faintly. "So… how many languages do you know?"
More smoke drifted toward her. Was he... teasing her?
Celia's almond-shaped eyes narrowed slightly, a glint of mischief in them. She leaned in close, toward the cigarette between his fingers.
"What?" Nathaniel raised his hand a bit, perhaps worried he'd burn her.
But Celia didn't hesitate. She leaned in, took a puff from the spot where he'd just smoked…
…and then lifted her head and exhaled the smoke right back—onto his handsome face.
She smiled sweetly and asked, "How many do you know?"