Crybaby Girl's Unexpected Pageant Entry

"You are..." William Blake raised his eyebrows slightly, but soon recognized her and smiled, "The crybaby girl, is that you?"

"Uh-huh." Jane nodded obediently.

"How come you're here?" William Blake steadied her on her feet and noticed the badge on her chest. He frowned and read, "Contestant number seventeen... Crybaby girl, you've joined the beauty pageant as well? I remember you're a high school student... Oh, are you that high school student who's been hyped up by the media?"

His series of questions, filled with suspicion or amazement, were met with Jane's nodding, not a single word in response. Tears welled up more and more in her eyes. Suddenly she bit her lip, took a step back, and said in a fluster, "Uncle, I-I need to go. The reception is about to start, and I have to go touch up my makeup!"

With that, she turned and ran away.

Her deliberate avoidance and the tears brimming in her eyes surely piqued William Blake's interest. He followed her, not in pursuit, but after Jane entered the makeup room, William Blake paused and then pushed open the door to another dressing room.

Shayla was doing her makeup. Seeing William Blake enter through the mirror, she asked, "Blake, you seem in a good mood?"

William Blake walked over, leaning half against the makeup table, watching the makeup artist apply makeup to Shayla's face, and smiled, "Met a pretty interesting kid."

"Kid?" Shayla turned her head sharply, eyeing him, "Male or female? It's not one of those milk-faced brats, is it?"

William Blake laughed, lighting a cigarette, squinting as he blew out smoke rings, "Since when have you become so anxious and unconfident? Since you've said they are just milk-faced, why the wild guesses?"

"Shayla, does this makeup look okay?" The makeup artist bowed, asking Shayla with a smile.

Shayla scrutinized herself in the mirror from various angles, front and side, lifting her hand arrogantly, "Mediocre. Everyone out, please!"

"Yes." The makeup artist and several assistants obediently left, closing the door behind them.

The relationship between William Blake and Shayla, although not publicized, and with Shayla always denying to the media that they were just friends, was well known as something special within industry circles. The makeup artists and others always followed industry etiquette, keeping any rumors to themselves.

As soon as the staff had left the room, Shayla rose from her chair and approached William Blake. With one hand, she caressed his chest and nestled her impressive figure in his arms. Pouting coquettishly, she said, "Blake, were you angry just now? It's because I care about you that I get nervous. After all, you are mine now, but others still don't know that you're mine…"

William Blake wore a smile on his face, his other arm encircling Shayla's waist. Through the haze of smoke, he looked down at Shayla, his gentle smile not quite warm. "Didn't you tell the press last month that we have no connection whatsoever? Are you pressuring me into marriage with what you said? If I were to marry you now, both our reputations would be ruined. Remember, my Jane only died five months ago. It's impossible for me to remarry so soon."

Shayla's face turned a sullen shade, bristling with anger, she retorted, "I don't care about the reputation, I just want to marry you! Now, who in our circle doesn't know I'm with you?"

Blake chuckled, tenderly stroking her face, "You might not care, but I do. Inside the circle is one thing, but beyond that lies even greater public scrutiny. If you can't wait, I'm afraid it's going to be hard to explain this to my mother."

"So, she really dislikes me that much? Have you told her that we've been in love for a long time? After this beauty pageant is over, I'll definitely visit your mother!" Shayla, somewhat threateningly, distanced herself from his embrace, "Anyway, no matter what, in this life I will either be a ghost of William's family or a living member of it. You, William Blake, won't be rid of me!"

William Blake extinguished the cigarette between his fingers, his expression obscure as he faintly smiled, "All this talk of your mother, my mother—it doesn't sound quite right to me."

Seeing that he might be displeased, Shayla quickly altered her tone, tilting her head up to kiss the side of William Blake's face, obediently saying, "Blake, from now on I'll call her our mom, is that okay?"

"Shayla, Mr. William, the cocktail party is about to begin. Please make your way over." Intimacy interrupted, they heard a knock and a call from outside.

Linking her arm with William's, Shayla suggested, "Blake, after this tedious banquet, shall we go to my place?"

Upon opening the door to the dressing room, however, the two separated, behaving as if they were merely good friends without any overly intimate relationship.

As they entered the open-air venue of the cocktail party, they saw thirty beauties standing on both sides of the red carpet, dressed in uniform white low-cut dresses, gracefully welcoming them. William Blake glanced at the tags hanging against each of their chests, his gaze pausing on Number Seventeen. As he looked at her, Jane bit her lip, pathetically raising her eyes for a fleeting glance before quickly looking forward again, her entire face spelling out tension.

The candid innocence pleased William Blake, who offered a smile and strode away, then proceeded to mingle with the various captains of industry present.

Every passerby glanced over the thirty beauties with eyes that seemed to sift and select, and when the cocktail party began, the thirty girls took on the role of waitresses. With impeccably trained manners, they catered to the guests until someone specifically requested to speak with them. That was the moment they were all hoping for—the chance they sought within the cocktail party...

Jane weaved through the venue, searching for William Blake and Shayla while cleverly and unobtrusively dodging the advances of any lecherous attendees. Finally, her opportunity arrived.