He asked her plainly, "Do you have the money?"
Celia blinked, then shook her head honestly. "No."
Pfft—
Laughter erupted through the ballroom.
Some people chuckled. Others couldn't stop. The crowd practically roared with amusement.
Nathaniel Fu, too, curved his lips into a smile and lazily said three words:
"Little poor thing."
What?!
Little Poor?!
Celia was speechless.
She hadn't even raised that bidding paddle. And fine—so what if she didn't have one hundred million yuan? That didn't make her poor... just not ridiculously rich.
But whatever. He had money. So whatever he said must be "right."
She admitted it silently in her heart—Okay. I'm a little poor.
Then Nathaniel added, voice dripping with mockery:"Trying to dance with me without a cent to your name? You must be obsessed with me."
Celia: "…"
But as the laughter continued, it began to fade—because something felt… off.
He wasn't just mocking her.
His eyes, tilted downward toward her, held a strange warmth. His smile wasn't cruel. It was… teasing. Maybe even indulgent.
And the way he said "obsessed with me"—like he liked the idea.
Mr. Li, one of the business elites nearby, raised a brow with interest. Of course, he recognized Celia right away. Wasn't she the girl who danced like wildfire at that bar weeks ago?
So that's why she was here. Brought in personally by Mr. Fu, no doubt.
Mr. Li laughed. "Mr. Fu, the girl clearly adores you. Come on—why not give her a chance?"
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, as if reluctantly giving in.
"Well," he drawled, "since she's broke… I guess I'll pay the one hundred million on her behalf."
Gasps spread through the room.
Secretary Song acted immediately, producing a check like magic. "President Fu, here's the donation receipt—one hundred million yuan."
He turned to the crowd and, with the elegance of a showman, deliberately brought the check over to Vivian's family.
"Please take a good look," he said with a polite smile, then dropped it into the donation box.
Vivian: "…"
The ballroom fell silent.
So—was this still Celia spending one hundred million to dance with Nathaniel Fu?
Or was it Nathaniel Fu spending one hundred million… just to dance with Celia?
The answer hung in the air like smoke.
Back in the center of the ballroom, Nathaniel tilted his chin upward and said coolly,"Well, Little Poor—what are you standing there for? Aren't you going to ask me to dance?"
He wanted her to invite him?!
Celia was stunned.
Wasn't it supposed to be the man who did the inviting?
But here, in front of all these people, there was nowhere to hide. She could either run—or play along.
Her fingers clutched the hem of her dress nervously. Then, mustering all the courage she could, she stepped forward, mimicked a gentleman's posture with awkward grace, and extended her hand.
"Mr. Fu… may I have this dance?"
Nathaniel took her hand, his grip firm and warm.
"Of course."
The lights dimmed.
And just like that, the first dance of the night—Nathaniel Fu's first dance—belonged to a girl who'd come from the countryside, not a socialite.
The ballroom held its breath.
As the music began, Nathaniel slipped one arm around her slim waist and pulled her into him. Celia's other hand rested against his shoulder as she followed his lead into the dance.
It felt surreal.
His scent was crisp and cool—like cedar and cold air—and the strength in his arms left her no choice but to lean in.
Then, in a quiet voice, she murmured, "Mr. Fu… I really didn't raise that sign. It wasn't me."
Nathaniel smirked. "Do you think I believe that?"
Celia looked up at him in confusion.
He continued, his voice rich with amusement:"Tonight, everyone saw it. You—some poor little country girl—threw down one hundred million yuan for love… and beat every rich heiress in Yecheng just to dance with me."
He leaned in closer, so close she could feel the breath of his words:"Celia, I knew you liked me… but I didn't think you liked me this much."