The Billionaire’s Secret Bride

As the girl's soft, delicate figure suddenly fell into his arms, Nathaniel Fu's entire body stiffened.

It was her. The maid.

He instinctively reached out, catching her slender waist in one firm motion and shielding her with his arms.

Celia blinked in confusion. She had run right into a solid wall of muscle. Pain pricked through her shoulder, and as she looked up—tears welling from the impact—she met a face she had hoped to avoid.

Nathaniel Fu.

Why was he here?

"Uncle?!" Yvonne Fu's voice rang out behind them.

Uncle again?!

Celia stood frozen.

She and Yvonne were classmates. Yvonne had a birthmark on her right cheek and was often teased as the "ugly duckling," but her cheerful personality had quickly made them fast friends.

Yvonne had never told anyone at school about her background, let alone that she came from the powerful Fu family. No one had any idea she was Nathaniel Fu's niece.

Now Celia felt like she'd just stepped into a Fu-family trap.

Yvonne came bouncing over, completely unaware of the tension. "Uncle, why are you still holding onto my Celia's waist? Be careful—her waist is exactly 16 inches. Men can't handle it!"

Celia flushed crimson and only then realized he was still holding her tightly. His arm was warm, unrelenting—like a band of iron around her waist.

She wriggled to break free, and finally, Nathaniel let her go.

Only then did he realize—her waist was so soft he could practically cup it with one hand. It had felt like porcelain in his grip. Fragile. Dangerous.

"Yvonne," Nathaniel said, his voice cold again, "Aren't you living here alone? Why did you bring someone else in?"

Celia's heart skipped a beat.

She had known this villa belonged to Yvonne's uncle—but not that he was that uncle.

Yvonne clutched Celia's hand protectively. "Celia is my classmate and my best friend. I invited her to stay here with me."

Nathaniel's gaze landed on Celia, impassive. "Move out. Immediately."

He wanted to throw her out. Just like that.

"But why?" Yvonne immediately pouted, clearly aggrieved. "Why are you chasing away my best friend? Besides—didn't you just hug her 16-inch waist like you didn't want to let go?"

"…" Nathaniel's jaw tightened. Where did this niece learn to talk like that?

Celia hadn't expected him to be so direct—so merciless. She didn't want to stay under his roof either. After leaving the Imperial Garden, she had told herself she'd never have anything to do with this man again.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

She couldn't leave yet.

"Mr. Fu… please wait!" she called after him as he turned to go upstairs. "I don't have anywhere else to go. Just give me a little time—I'll find another place and leave as soon as I do."

Nathaniel said nothing and kept walking.

Desperate, Celia darted forward and gently tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket.

He stopped.

His gaze dropped from her trembling fingers to her small face. Her big, dark eyes were filled with unspoken fear and pleading.

"Mr. Fu," she said quietly, "my grandmother is in the hospital. Her treatment costs a fortune. I… I really have nowhere to go right now."

Her voice was soft, full of helplessness and dignity.

Then, like instinct, she bit her lip lightly, trying to hold back tears. Her pearly teeth left a faint indent on her soft red lip, and for a moment, Nathaniel's breath hitched.

His eyes flickered downward—to that lip—and the image of that night surged forward.

That kiss.

That girl in his bed.

The clean scent of her hair, the taste of her lips, her bare face without a trace of makeup. She had curled into his arms so naturally, like she belonged there.

Now, here she was again.

The same lips. The same face.

His hand twitched at his side.