Chapter 383
Alexander got up to wash his hands, running them under hot water for a long time until both hands were warm and flushed red. Then he walked back, crouched down in front of her again, and carefully placed his hot palms gently over her lower abdomen.
Through the soft fabric of her loungewear, warm and dry heat continuously transferred over, effectively relieving that faint aching heaviness and chill.
Zoey did feel much more comfortable. She asked with surprised laughter, "Where did you learn this trick?"
Alexander's ears seemed to turn slightly red. He said in a low voice, "I looked it up. Everything said this would help. I'll keep you warm like this every time from now on."
A simple promise, yet more touching than any sweet words.
Zoey's heart melted completely. She couldn't help but wrap her arms around his neck and responded softly, "Okay."
The two of them stayed quietly nestled together for a moment.
Zoey suddenly remembered Tamsin's situation and spoke up, "Oh, Alexander, do you know that Daniel proposed to Tamsin?"
Alexander lifted his head from the crook of her neck, showing genuine surprise on his face. "Really? Daniel moved fast. But did Tamsin say yes?"
He knew Tamsin—very career-driven, not necessarily ready to get married right away.
"No." Zoey shook her head and briefly explained Tamsin's worries and struggles in the trailer that afternoon, as well as the obviously cooled atmosphere between her and Daniel. "Tamsin really likes Daniel, but she doesn't want to get married so soon. She wants to focus on her career first. She told Daniel, but the conversation didn't seem to go well. Daniel seems angry or troubled, and things are awkward between them now."
Alexander frowned slightly after hearing this.
Daniel was his good friend—good character, capable, and genuinely sincere about Tamsin.
But when it came to marriage and future plans, disagreements were normal.
"What are you thinking?" Alexander looked at Zoey.
Zoey leaned against him, her fingers unconsciously playing with the buttons on his shirt. "I think their relationship is fine—they just need a deep, calm conversation."
"Tamsin doesn't dare ask again. Could we set something up? Find a relaxed setting, like dinner at home or a short trip together? Create an opportunity for them to naturally sit down and talk openly? This cold war can't go on forever."
Alexander pondered for a moment and nodded. "You're right. Tamsin seems cheerful, but she's actually quite stubborn sometimes, and she hates being a burden. I'll feel Daniel out about the situation. Setting something up is no problem—let's do it this weekend. We'll have a barbecue at home, keep it casual, and invite Daniel's parents too. That'll make the atmosphere more relaxed and natural."
"Great." Zoey smiled, thinking it was a good idea.
Just then, there was a gentle knock at the door, and the butler came in with the porridge.
Alexander took the bowl, tested the temperature, then patiently fed it to Zoey spoonful by spoonful.
Zoey enjoyed being fed and temporarily pushed aside the unpleasantness of running into Mason and Scarlett on the road.
After Alexander fed her the bowl of porridge, he supervised her taking two mild pain relief pills until her furrowed brow completely smoothed out, her breathing became long and steady, and she fell into a deep sleep.
Only then did Alexander gently withdraw his hand, tucked in the corners of her blanket, dimmed the lights, and watched her quietly for a while. After confirming she was sound asleep, he got up to handle some unfinished work.
He left the study door open so he could hear any sounds from the bedroom at any time.
Meanwhile, Beatrice returned to the Grace Villa with mixed feelings, clutching the recovered feather hairpin.
As soon as she stepped into the main hall, she saw Clea sitting alone on the leather sofa in the center of the living room, looking at some documents, with a crystal table lamp casting cold white light beside her.
Hearing footsteps, Clea didn't look up.
Beatrice felt very nervous and somewhat guilty, but she still forced herself to put on an obedient smile and greeted softly, "Clea, I'm back."
After speaking, she wanted to keep her head down and quickly slip past to go upstairs.
"Beatrice." Clea's cool voice rang out—not loud, but with an undeniable penetrating force.
Beatrice's steps froze in place.
Clea put down the documents in her hand, raised her head, and looked at her calmly. "Come here. Sit down."
Beatrice's heart tightened slightly.
She was very reluctant but knew she couldn't openly defy Clea, especially in this house where Clea's status and authority were far above hers.
She slowly walked over and sat where Clea indicated, her body somewhat stiff, maintaining a smile on her face. "Clea, did you need something?"
Clea didn't answer immediately, just stared at her calmly.
That gaze wasn't fierce or obviously hostile—it was pure scrutiny.
As if trying to see through her carefully painted exterior to the completely different soul inside.
Beatrice's palms began to sweat under the stare.
She couldn't help but complain internally—were Clea and Zoey working together?
Why did they both have this habit?
Always staring at people like this, making them uncomfortable, as if no secret could be hidden.
Time passed second by second, and the living room was so quiet you could hear the faint sound of the grandfather clock's hands moving.
Beatrice felt every second was torture. Just when she could barely stand it anymore, Clea finally spoke.
Her voice remained steady, revealing no emotion. "I got a call from Ms. King."
Clea continued, "She said you went to the King Group to see her this afternoon? And showed her some kind of proposal? Wanting to help the Grace Group?"
"I just wanted to try and see if I could expand some business cooperation for the family," Beatrice tried to explain, her voice somewhat dry.
Clea cut off her defense. "In a bit, bring that proposal to my study."
Beatrice nodded instinctively. "Okay, I'll—"
"I'm not finished." Clea interrupted her again, her eyes becoming sharper. "After I review it, if I think it actually has merit and meets the Grace family's interests and risk management standards, I'll naturally consider it. Perhaps I'll agree to let you participate in some peripheral project in your personal capacity as a trial."
Her tone suddenly turned cold. "But if I think it's no good—full of holes or has ulterior motives—you can forget about it. Understand?"
That look, that tone, made it crystal clear to Beatrice.
In the Grace family, when it came to business and interests, she was in charge.
Without her permission, Beatrice shouldn't even think about making any moves.
Beatrice felt deeply humiliated and angry.
But she could only clench her back teeth, lower her head to hide the venom in her eyes, and respond, "I understand. I'll bring it to your study shortly."
After speaking, she couldn't wait to get up and leave.
However, Clea's voice came from behind her again.
"Beatrice."
Beatrice's body stiffened, and she stopped in place.
Clea didn't get up, still sitting on the sofa, but her voice reached Beatrice's ears clearly:
"I don't know who you really are."
Beatrice's heart suddenly stopped beating, and all the blood in her body seemed to freeze instantly.
"But I'm warning you." Clea's voice was terrifyingly calm yet contained enormous pressure. "If you do anything to harm the Grace family or damage the Grace family's interests, I will personally make sure you disappear completely."
Beatrice whipped around, her face drained of color, looking at Clea in horror.
Clea slowly stood up. She was slightly taller than Beatrice and now looked down at her from above:
"I'm not one of those people who don't understand anything."
"I started learning from my father at 12, handled branch company business independently at 15. These eyes have seen too much of people's dark schemes and calculating greed."
"You'd better not let me catch you doing anything wrong."
After speaking, she no longer looked at Beatrice's pale face and turned to go upstairs first.
Beatrice stood there as if ice water had been poured over her from head to toe, her limbs cold and stiff, unable to move for a long time.