The Return of the Cannon Fodder Trillion Heiress - Chapter 820

Chapter 820: Chapter 820 Arriving In France
By the time they landed at the airport in France, it was already the next day. Hera felt a slight soreness in her neck from having slept through most of the flight. Meanwhile, Athena had spent the entire time giggling to herself while binge-reading novels on her phone.

Liz was absorbed in a jewelry magazine, and Minerva was happily watching the Korean drama ‘Descendants of the Sun’ on her tablet, munching on chips provided by the flight attendant.

One of the perks of first-class seating—aside from the steep price—was the generous amenities. Meals, travel essentials, and even snacks were included. Minerva had been given a bottle of premium carbonated water to pair with her chips, making her drama binge even more enjoyable. Athena had also received chips and a Coke to keep her company while she read.

This time, however, whenever Athena encountered something irritating in the story, she refrained from leaving snarky or furious comments to the author. She’d already learned her lesson after being banned from several reading platforms. Instead, she’d pause her reading, mutter curses under her breath, and punch a pillow in frustration.

Once Athena managed to calm her temper, she’d return to reading, though she still left comments—just more restrained and constructive this time. No more unfiltered rants or name-calling.

After all, she had no desire to return to reading from pirated sites, only to discover that crucial parts were missing. That alone had traumatized her enough. Besides, she was now a little superstitious—what if she transmigrated into another novel again? At least this time, she’d be better prepared, with more experience and a sharper mind.

After landing and making their way to the exit, they ran into Alice again. This time, she wore a pitiful expression, trying to appear vulnerable. Standing beside her was one of the event organizers ‘ staff, looking a bit worried, but it was clear they weren’t understanding each other well.

The person sent to pick them up was a native Frenchman, tasked solely with escorting them, not conversing. Unfortunately for Alice, her subtle act of playing the victim didn’t land the way she intended.

She had hoped to quietly vent her frustrations and cast Liz in a negative light as petty revenge for being humiliated on the plane. But who would’ve thought the staff wouldn’t understand a word she was saying—or perhaps, he simply didn’t want to and pretended not to speak English at all.

Now, it was Alice who was starting to panic. She didn’t speak a word of French and had no idea how long she’d have to stand there feeling like a fool. When Hera and the others approached, they spotted the small banner the man was holding—it had “Andarta Aria and Alice Quinn” written on it, confirming he was assigned to pick up both Alice and their group.

Alice must have arrived first. The man, though clearly concerned, was speaking in rapid French, seemingly trying to ask Alice what was wrong. But when Hera got close enough to hear what he was actually saying, she nearly burst into laughter.

He said in French, “Ugh, this woman’s whining like a dog. I just got here and she’s already crying. What if people think I’m harassing her or doing something shady? Shit, just my luck.” He muttered it loud enough as if trying to justify himself to the nearby passersby who were beginning to glance in their direction, all while appearing to be gently consoling Alice.

It’s often said that French people are blunt, with a unique sense of humor. Some might even call them mean, but this directness is part of how they interact. They’re not always the charming, poetic speakers many imagine—though they do have a way with words.

Still, they rarely sugarcoat things or beat around the bush, just like now. And more often than not, they have a sharp instinct about people. This guy, for instance, was handling the situation brilliantly—and Hera found the whole thing genuinely amusing.

Hera and the others finally stepped closer, stopping in front of the Frenchman. The moment he lifted his head and met Hera’s clear, striking gaze, he froze—as if his entire future had just flashed before his eyes.

In an instant, his demeanor shifted into that of the classic charming Frenchman, the kind who wore romance like a second skin.

“Mon amour…” he murmured, reaching for Hera’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, all while maintaining intense eye contact.

To be fair, the man wasn’t bad-looking at all. He was tall, with tousled, noodle-like curls styled in a way that made him look both carefree and charming. He wore a long brown trench coat with a scarf draped casually around his neck, and underneath, a crisp white shirt tucked into tailored dress pants. His light blue eyes were mesmerizing, and his sharp features certainly fit the definition of handsome.

But Hera, having spent so much time around Leo and the others, had long since become immune to good looks. Her heart didn’t flutter so easily anymore. So, she accepted the gesture without flinching, cool and unbothered.

Hera offered him a polite, curt smile before gently retracting her hand. Then, she turned her gaze to Alice, who looked utterly stunned. Of course, she was; she hadn’t received anything close to the warm welcome Hera just got.

But really, how could she? The moment Alice arrived, she had already started shedding tears, and while she was certainly attractive in her own right, her appeal paled in comparison to Hera’s hourglass figure and breathtaking beauty.

“And you are?” the man asked suddenly—in perfect English.

For a moment, everyone paused. So, he did know how to speak English. Apparently, he had forgotten his earlier act, too lost in his lovestruck daze. Alice’s face turned red from humiliation, and she stomped her foot in frustration.

Realizing his slip up, the man awkwardly cleared his throat, then hastily reverted back to French, as if “And you are?” were the only English words he’d ever known.

Hera nearly burst out laughing again as he resumed muttering under his breath in French—his tone light but clearly mocking.

“Mon Dieu! This woman—why is she ruining my moment?” he muttered under his breath in French. “Don’t tell me she’s jealous just because someone stunning is stealing her thunder? Please, I don’t chase after kids. Is she even an adult? Look at that flat chest. Ugh. I want to talk to mon amour.”

He stole a glance at Hera, assuming she, like Alice, wouldn’t understand a word. But the flicker of amusement in Hera’s eyes made him freeze, as if he’d just been electrocuted. Did she understand him?

Or was she simply entertained by the situation? He couldn’t tell. In the end, he convinced himself that she was probably just charmed by the sound of French, like most foreigners.

So, with a satisfied grin, he pointed at the small banner he was holding and tapped the word ‘Andarta’, then motioned toward Hera. She gave a small nod in confirmation, and his face lit up with delight. Without hesitation, he gently took Hera by the arm and began to lead her forward, gesturing cheerfully for the others to follow.