Spring Tidings Never Reach Me Chapter 1

My boyfriend told his friend in French that the twelve-carat diamond ring was for the woman he had never been able to forget.

As for me, he said he’d keep me by his side with no real commitment.

But Shawn Foster didn’t know I grew up in Paris, and French was my native language.

He knew even less that the girl he called “from a modest family” and “unable to live without him” was the daughter of the richest man in the world—and the mysterious designer Lune he had been desperately searching for.

* * *

Wendy Wells POV

My name is Wendy Wells. That afternoon, while I was ironing a shirt for my boyfriend, Shawn Foster, I found a ring box.

The moment I opened it, my heart started pounding so fast it felt like I was having a heart attack.

A twelve-carat pear-cut diamond refracted a blinding fire under the fluorescent light.

We had been together for seven years. For the past two, every time I tentatively brought up going home to meet my parents or getting married, he would smile and tell me to wait a little longer. He said we should wait until the company was more stable. He said he didn’t want me to settle for less.

I had thought his feelings for me had faded.

So it turned out he had been secretly preparing this all along.

My fingers trembled a little as I carefully slid the ring onto my ring finger.

It got stuck.

The ring stopped at my second knuckle and would not go any farther, squeezing so tightly that the base of my finger turned red.

It was too small.

I froze for a moment, then shook my head with an amused little smile and took it off, putting it back into the box.

Seven years ago, my fingers had been slender and fair, untouched by any household work.

All these years, I had taken care of his food, clothes, and daily life. I had stayed up with him late into the night revising proposals. In winter, I had personally washed the bespoke shirts he refused to let the housekeeper touch. My fingers had grown at least one size thicker.

A designer’s hands had slowly become a housewife’s hands, the knuckles swelling by a full circle.

And he had actually bought it according to my size from back then.

That careless idiot.

I carefully slipped the ring off and put it back in the box exactly as it had been.

I couldn’t let him find out. I had to let him follow his own plan.

As for the size, I would just hint at it tonight. When he proposed, I would pretend to be surprised.

But no matter what, I couldn’t press down the corners of my mouth.

My mind was full of thoughts. How would he propose? What would he say to me?

I was in a good mood the entire afternoon.

That night, as usual, I personally stewed his favorite seafood soup and pushed open the door to his study.

Shawn Foster was leaning back in his chair, on a phone call.

His long legs were crossed, his figure tall and sharp, his posture effortlessly refined.

When he saw me come in, he lifted his eyes and smiled at me. Then he hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me onto his lap.

The man on the other end spoke fluent French with a Parisian accent, his tone full of teasing.

It was his childhood friend, Luke Bennett.

“The ring arrived? You’re really going to propose?”

Shawn Foster casually stroked my wrist, his voice lazy as he answered in French as well.

“Yeah. I had someone get it from an auction in Antwerp. Twelve carats, specially customized to fit her size.”

Leaning against his chest, I secretly curved my lips and fed him a spoonful of soup.

“Not bad. That’s a pretty big move.”

Luke Bennett whistled. “Is Fiona Quinn worth you spending that kind of money?”

My whole body went stiff.

The ring wasn’t for me!

“Of course she is. Back then, I wasn’t good enough for her.”

Shawn Foster lowered his head and kissed the tip of my ear. “Now that I have the ability, I owe her an answer.”

“Damn. I never thought I’d see the day Shawn Foster got tied down. Then what about Wendy Wells? What are you planning to tell her?”

Shawn Foster leaned back in his chair, his tone carrying that familiar indifference I knew too well.

“The wedding won’t be big. Just a few people we know well. I can keep the news under control. It won’t reach Wendy’s ears.”

“You mean you’re going to hide it from her? For how long?”

Shawn Foster was silent for a moment, then glanced at me.

“As long as I can.”

“Aren’t you afraid she’ll find out and leave?”

Shawn Foster rubbed his brow, his tone turning serious.

“Wendy won’t leave. She loves me that much, and her family doesn’t have any real background. Her social circle all these years exists because she followed me into it. Her parents are probably dying for me to marry her. Tell me, if she leaves me, where can she go?”

The man on the other end laughed suggestively.

“Shawn, that’s pretty ruthless. She’s been your girlfriend for seven years, and now she’s turning into your mistress?”

Shawn Foster’s face darkened. He rubbed my hair.

“Don’t talk nonsense. I do have feelings for Wendy. It’s been seven years. How could I not? She treats me well and worries about everything for me. I know all of that.”

He paused, as if choosing his words.

“But Fiona is different. You know how devastated I was when she left back then. Now that she’s come back, I don’t want to miss my chance again.”

I lowered my head and looked at my own hand.

That afternoon, when I had tried on the ring, it had left a faint indentation on my knuckle.

So it wasn’t that he had carelessly remembered my size wrong.

That ring had never been meant for me from the very beginning.

Seven years. I never knew the person he truly wanted to marry had never been me.

Just like he didn’t know that the person in his arms had never been some little girl without any powerful family background.

Just like he didn’t know that the mysterious designer Lune, whom the whole world was desperately searching for, was right now in his arms.

Seven years ago, Dad asked me to come home for an arranged marriage alliance. I had a huge fight with him and sat by the river crying.

Shawn Foster thought I was upset over something and stayed with me the whole night.

He talked to me about his dreams.

He said he wanted to build his own fashion group and make everyone who looked down on him regret it.

The fire in his eyes drew me in.

It made me willing to wager everything on him.

We naturally ended up together.

I took off the Wells family name, moved out of a luxury apartment in the city center and into his two-hundred-square-foot rental, and told him I was from an ordinary family too.

I accompanied him as he founded AVEUN, secretly sending him money and resources.

The three earliest rounds of financing for AVEUN were quietly injected by me under the name of an investment company owned by Wells Group.

Later, AVEUN needed a designer who could hold up its image.

Shawn Foster searched everywhere, but he was never satisfied.

One late night, while Shawn Foster was asleep, I submitted my designs to AVEUN’s official email under the name Lune.

That collection later became AVEUN’s most classic series, and it was also the foundation that turned Shawn Foster into a legend in the industry.

Simon Foster said signing Lune was the best bargain he had ever made in his life.

But to this day, no one knew who Lune was.

Not even Shawn Foster himself.

All he knew was that Lune refused all interviews, never attended any events, communicated only through email, and was a genius but eccentric person.

He didn’t know that genius slept beside him every night, making him coffee and ironing his shirts every day.

From the days when he couldn’t afford to rent an office and could only sketch in a rental apartment, to now, when his AVEUN Group had become the hottest fashion group in the country, I had always been there.

But he had never once brought up marriage.

At first, I understood.

Back then, he had nothing. The one-bedroom apartment he rented did not even have a decent bed. He said, “When I’m worthy of you.”

I smiled and said okay.

Later, the company secured its first round of financing.

Then it signed several major celebrity endorsements.

Then AVEUN’s annual revenue broke two billion.

His reason became, “Wait a little longer. This year is too busy.”

After that, it became, “What’s the rush? It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

In the past two years, he had already become unwilling to even hear me mention it.

“All right, let’s stop talking. My Wendy should be getting sleepy.”

He hung up the phone, lowered his head, kissed my forehead, and asked gently in Chinese, “What are you thinking about?”

“I was thinking about what you two were talking about.” I lowered my head, hiding my emotions.

“Just work. What’s there to think about?” Shawn Foster laughed softly, picked up the bowl, and took a sip of soup, his features relaxing.

“I’m going to shower. Let’s sleep early tonight.”

The sound of running water came from the bathroom.

My phone vibrated.

It was the monthly email from Paris, from the family legal team.

[Miss Wells: Your father asked me to pass on a message. The family is ready to welcome you back at any time.]

I glanced in the direction of the bathroom and calmly replied with four words:

[Arrange the return trip.]

Since you think I can’t live without you.

Then I’ll take everything I gave you and leave you forever.