After saying those words, Nash immediately hung up.

Hera pursed her lips, curious. "How did you know he's a suitor?"

Hunter Hill, son of the Jonford Hill family—Baroque's largest client—had relentlessly pursued Hera since inspecting the production line the previous week. Hera knew of Hunter's reputation as an inveterate playboy, a man who had slept with dozens of women.

Nash chuckled. "You're so beautiful; it's only natural to have several suitors!"

Hera blushed at the compliment, but soon, they were engaged in easy conversation. After exchanging some basic information, she took him shopping for clothes.

Inside the elevator, Hera quickly messaged a three-person WhatsApp group:

Rara: [Dad, Mom, I’m taking Nash out to buy some clothes!]

Harrison: [If this is about PDA, there’s no need to tell us. If it’s about money, talk to your mother!]

Lauren: [I just wired you 50 grand. Go get some good clothes in the city and don’t let others look down on us!]

Harrison: [50 grand???]

Lauren: [Any objections?]

Harrison: [No, no, of course not!]

Hera's account balance reflected the deposit, increasing from 100,000 to 150,000. Smiling, she replied: [Thank you, Mommy. Love you!]

The nearly 1.9-meter-tall Nash easily saw her message. His future mother-in-law's generosity warmed him. "Birds of a feather," he mused, contrasting Helena's snobbishness with his own family's acceptance. He felt a quiet need to support the Lewises.

Outside the complex, Hera hailed a taxi. "Jonford Fashion City!"

"Thirty dollars," the driver declared, recognizing Hera's status.

"Thirty? Fine," she sighed, accepting the inflated fare. Opening the door, she gestured, "Get in, sir!"

Nash pointed to a nearby commercial street. "Why the city center? There's a clothing store right there."

Hera smiled. "Low-end brands. As my fiancé, you deserve high-end."

Nash took her arm. "Clothes are for modesty, not showing off. My master taught me: shallow water makes noise, deep water is still."

Hera chuckled. "Saving money?"

Nash pouted. "Are you rich?"

Hera hesitated. She had 150,000, but 80,000 was for suppliers, leaving only 20,000. Without her mother's 50,000, high-end shopping would have been impossible.

"My cousin will mock me if you wear cheap clothes tomorrow," she admitted.

Nash held her hand. "Respect those who deserve it, ignore the rest. Why care about others' opinions?"

Hera's heart pounded as she gazed at him.

They arrived at the commercial street and headed for a Haier Men's store. A van pulled up; a dozen masked men with baseball bats emerged.

Nash frowned. "Go in. I'll use the restroom."

Hera, engrossed in a call with a friend, entered the store. Nash confronted the men, his aura shifting; a fierce predator facing insignificant prey.

With a single movement, he subdued them all. He lifted a masked man. "Who sent you?"

Terror-stricken, the man stammered, "M-Mr. Hunter… He wants the man beside Ms. Hera… dead!"

"Hunter Hill?" Nash narrowed his eyes. "Planning to kill me?"

"N-No!"

"Tell Hunter," Nash said coldly, "if he provokes me again, I'll emasculate him."

"Yes! I will!"

Nash tossed the man away, then glanced at a Rolls-Royce parked discreetly nearby before entering the store. The masked men fled.

In the Rolls-Royce, a burly man asked a silver-haired elder, "Did he see us?"

The elder nodded. "Probably."

"His medical skills are really extraordinary?"

The elder shook his head. "Herman Lewis has advanced stomach cancer. He might not live more than half a month. Let's observe."

Two hours later, Hera and Nash returned to the apartment, trailed by shop assistants carrying numerous bags.

"Do you always buy clothes this extravagantly?" Nash asked, surveying the mountain of shopping bags. He'd barely managed to restrain her from emptying the entire store; they had over thirty outfits, each costing over 100 dollars.

Hera said innocently, "Mom gave me 50,000, but I only spent 8,000!"

Nash blinked. "Wasn't it five?"

The doorbell rang. "Your shoes have arrived…"

Hera opened the door to several assistants carrying stacks of shoe boxes, nearly reaching the ceiling—over twenty pairs of various shoes.

Nash rubbed his forehead. When had she bought all of this? While he was dealing with the thugs?

Hera, breathless, found him pajamas. "Shower first. I need a rest."

The sound of running water filled the apartment. Hera caught a glimpse of Nash's physique, blushing furiously. There was no shower curtain.

Ten minutes later, Nash emerged, wearing the pajamas. Seeing her blush, he smiled. "Your face is red. Were you peeking?"

"N-No! I'm hot!" She quickly grabbed pajamas and rushed into the bathroom, closing both doors before leaning against it, catching her breath. She’d felt like she’d been caught red-handed.

Later, she saw the red underwear draped over the sink and widened her eyes. "He isn't asking me to wash this, is he?"