Chapter 57
Unfortunately, Ashton rejected my request to wear heels. In his own words, pregnant women shouldn’t wear high heels.
There was just no winning with him. But 3cm heels are not tall at all!
It wasn’t until we got back into my car that I realized he had taken me to the shopping mall just to get an outfit.
“Ashton Fuller!” I pouted, crossing my arms as he started the car.
“Yes?” He glanced at me briefly before returning his focus to the road, his expression calm as always.
“I’m mad at you.” I wasn’t even sure why I was irritated, but the frustration inside me needed an outlet. I had actually thought he was being nice and wanted to take me shopping.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “What are you mad at?”
What am I mad at?
Err…
I had no idea.
Annoyed at myself for not having a proper answer, I simply pressed my lips together and tried to suppress my frustration. Just then, his hand reached over, enveloping mine in its warmth. A comforting sensation spread from my fingertips to my heart. His voice was soft yet firm as he said, “Being emotional isn’t good for the baby, so don’t be angry.”
Yeah, right!
Some moments were so sweet, I wished they could last forever. Years later, memories like these would be all I had left to hold on to.
The car rolled to a stop in front of a lavish and elegantly designed villa. I frowned. “So when you said we’d be meeting a few people, you actually meant we’re visiting someone?”
Ashton stepped out of the car and handed the keys to the valet. Leaning toward me, he whispered, “Just meeting a few friends.”
Why did he have to make everything so secretive?
I followed him inside, where a well-dressed middle-aged woman welcomed us with a warm smile. “It’s been a while, Ashton.”
Then, turning to me, she beamed politely. “And this must be Mrs. Fuller?”
Ashton nodded and shook her hand. “Good to see you, Ms. Anderson. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Ms. Anderson? I studied her for a moment before realization dawned—she was Nick Harrison’s mother, Cameron Anderson!
What was Ashton up to, bringing me here?
After some polite exchanges, Cameron led us upstairs to the dining hall, where a few middle-aged men and their wives were already seated. The atmosphere was refined, the setting intimate yet undeniably formal.
Once everyone was settled, Cameron smiled graciously. “Thank you all for being here tonight. It’s been too long since we last gathered like this. Please, make yourselves at home.”
A deep chuckle sounded from across the table. “Hold on, Cameron. You haven’t introduced this young couple yet.” The speaker was a slightly plump middle-aged man with an air of authority.
Cameron laughed. “No need to rush, Mr. Clinton. This is the talented young Mr. Fuller I’ve spoken so highly of. And beside him, his lovely wife, Mrs. Fuller.”
One by one, she introduced the other guests. As the introductions went on, it became evident that this was no ordinary dinner party. Everyone present was either a key political figure or an influential businessperson.
Over dinner, Cameron casually steered the conversation toward a particular topic. “I recently came across some news about kyanine. It’s nearly impossible to source for medical use these days. I haven’t seen it on the market for decades.”
Mr. Clinton nodded thoughtfully. “Coincidentally, I encountered a case involving kyanine just yesterday. If it’s purely for medical use, a few grams should suffice.”
Cameron sighed dramatically. “That’s exactly the issue, Mr. Clinton. I was just telling Mrs. Fuller about this the other day. Such a kind girl—she even got a friend to search for it. And what happened? That poor friend is now locked up at the police station!”
My body stiffened as I processed her words. Mrs. Fuller? She meant me? When did we become so close?
I turned to Ashton for an explanation, but he remained composed, his eyes fixed on Clinton.
Clinton, ever perceptive, caught onto Cameron’s underlying message almost immediately. His sharp gaze flickered toward me as he said, “I wasn’t aware you and Cameron were so well-acquainted. May I have your friend’s name? I can look into it. If it’s truly a misunderstanding, we wouldn’t want her to be treated unfairly.”
I stood up, lifting my glass of orange juice with a polite smile. “Thank you so much, Mr. Clinton. Her name is Macy Markle—she’s around my age. Since I’m pregnant, I’ll toast you with this instead of wine. I truly appreciate your help.”
Clinton let out a hearty laugh. “I like your attitude. Cheers!”
I exhaled quietly. It seemed Macy would be okay after all.
As the evening progressed, the guests relaxed, their conversations growing livelier. Despite the initial tension, the night carried on with an air of ease, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that this gathering was far more than just a simple dinner.