Chapter 13

Wendy was quick to ask, "Would you like seafood tacos or grilled cheese sandwiches? The thick-cut salmon is also a good choice." The three of them placed their orders, and Wendy left with Eric to get the food. Winnie turned on all the lights in the suite. "Let's get this over with quickly—I'll get my makeup done, and you guys can start setting up the lights. Sound good?" The photographer gave her an "OK" sign, then led his assistant to find a good spot for the lighting setup. By the time Wendy returned with the food, Winnie's makeup was almost done. She instructed them to eat their late-night snacks before they continued working. The three of them ate quietly in the dining area, awed by the lavishness of the suite. Winnie sat in a chair by the balcony, the balcony door cracked open just a little. The cool night air rushed in, carrying the distant sounds of voices fading after the party, and the hum of engines as cars drove away. Wendy, noticing the chilly air, looked for something to cover Winnie with and found a shawl. She shook it out, then paused with a "Hmm…the scent..." Winnie snapped out of her thoughts. "Do you know what scent that is?" Wendy smiled and shook her head. "No, but I've smelled it on Mr. Marlowe before." "Mr. Marlowe?" "Yeah," Wendy explained. "We usually just refer to him as Mr. Marlowe, but technically, we're talking about Van's father." "You know him quite well," Winnie remarked. Wendy's expression changed slightly, but she quickly denied it. "No, I just heard about it." Given that she could identify the scent of the perfume, it seemed like their connection wasn't trivial. Winnie guessed that Wendy was hiding something, but didn't press the issue. Instead, she asked, "How much does Edison pay you each month?" Wendy gave a figure—it wasn't a high one, just a typical salary for an office worker. Winnie nodded, just as the photographer finished his meal, and the conversation ended there. The relationship between celebrities and luxury brands is always one of supply and demand, especially for haute couture houses that focus solely on high-end fashion. Official announcement photos only require four shots, but at least a dozen or so need to be taken for selection. Winnie moved from the guest room to the hallway, then downstairs. The restaurant was already set up to create that chill vibe, as if you were having a meal before heading out. As she passed the window, the glass was fogged with dew-like rain. Winnie had a thought and turned to the photographer. "How about we take some shots in the courtyard?" "But it's drizzling outside," the photographer hesitated. Winnie, however, had already pushed open the white glass door leading to the plant-filled courtyard. "Let's give it a try." A fresh burst of oxygen from the plants met her, and the invisible moisture settled on her skin. The pleasant temperature made her feel at ease. As she breathed in, the face of that man once again flashed in her mind. She was startled and quickly shook her head, trying to rid herself of him. Her skirt's trailing hem was fluttered by her assistant, creating cascading waves, and she glanced back, giving the photographer a knowing look. The camera shot from below, the flash illuminating both the melancholy and the faint smile in her eyes. The photographer knew that this young actress's performance was always impeccable, but today, the stubborn yet broken sadness she conveyed was nearly too real. The shoot went even more smoothly than expected, and in just over half an hour, they were done. Winnie had Wendy and Eric escort the staff to their cars. "You're wet again," Wendy remarked, eyeing her rain-drenched hair. "Do you want me to bring you a glass of ginger beer?" "I'll take care of it," Winnie replied, taking off her necklace and lowering her gaze. The necklace was heavy, with two full diamond-encrusted bands, holding a pair of emerald stones—one above, one below. She held it in her hand, staring at it for a moment, contemplating whether Wyatt would be furious if she lost it. She couldn't afford to. She knew better than that. The rain drifted in the wind, and the wet cobblestone path glistened, like it had been dusted with gold. Behind the lush greenery of the peninsula, a low male voice was heard. "I don't have time to see her." The voice was so pleasant that there was no chance of being mistaken. The sound of high heels clicking to a stop echoed. Winnie hesitated, unsure whether to keep walking or stay still, when she heard the man speak again, after a brief silence, "Winnie." Reluctantly, she walked toward him. Under the streetlight, Van was holding a black umbrella in one hand and a phone in the other, clearly still on a call. In the few steps it took to reach her, Van told the person on the other end of the line, "Please hold on," before walking up to Winnie. The edge of the umbrella shielded her head, and Van looked down at her dirty skirt trailing on the ground and her thin high heels. "Why do you always look so disheveled?" His tone was calm and soft, as if the two of them had known each other for a long time. There was no extra emotion in his voice. Perhaps he was even warmer when caring for his subordinates, but Winnie still felt a tightness in her chest from his question. But Van didn't seem to notice her brief vulnerability. He returned to his phone conversation. Whatever was said on the other end made Van smile faintly. "Is that so? She's getting married? Please pass on my best wishes for her to get what she wants." Such a strange blessing—he didn't wish her happiness, only that she would get what she wanted. Winnie was puzzled, and when she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, she saw that, although he was smiling, there was no warmth in his eyes. The private matters of a business heir weren't something she should be privy to. Sensing this, she subtly tried to step away, but Van placed a hand lightly on her back. His fingertips brushed against her, not quite touching her skin. He was stopping her.