Chapter 131

But the river was winding, and the paths twisted through clusters of flowers and shrubs, diverging with considerable gaps between them. Gradually, the trails branched off in different directions. Van enjoyed rowing in this quiet waterway, a habit formed during his time at Cambridge. Back then, he often retreated to such serene rivers to avoid interruptions. The surrounding woods now concealed the small waterway, flanked by overgrown plants and softening soil under the rain. Winnie's steps were uneven, slipping on the muddy ground. Her shoes were already caked with dirt, her footing unstable. She bit her lip tightly, letting the rain drench her completely, yet refusing to call out his name. She believed that as long as she didn't shout for him, she could keep moving forward. Maybe, just maybe, at the next corner, she'd run right into his arms. It was a gamble she made with herself—stubborn and determined. She had never ventured this far before. The depths of the garden were pitch black. The streetlights hung high, casting their beams down to illuminate the surrounding shadows in an eerie glow. The sounds of the wind, rain, and occasional bird calls interwove, as if the entire forest were whispering a silent story. She had once mistaken the call of hyenas for birdsong, but tonight, she was fearless—diving in like a moth to a flame without hesitation. A yellow fruit fell from the towering banyan tree and landed squarely on Winnie's head with a resounding thud. "Ah!" Winnie let out a low cry of pain, quickly covering her head with both hands as she crouched down. Rain continued to pour on her as she rubbed the sore spot. Van had just stopped rowing and was heading toward the shore when he saw the scene: Winnie crouched among the trees, drenched and disheveled. "Winnie?" Van's voice held a note of hesitation. Winnie straightened, lowering her hands. In the dim light, she was entirely soaked, rainwater streaming down her face. She wiped her face with force, her pale features etched with stubbornness, resolve, and a quiet determination—I know the road ahead is difficult, but I am willing to walk it. Van didn't speak. They stood facing each other, separated by a delicate distance, silently locking eyes. The late-night rain pattered on the surrounding leaves, creating a chaotic symphony of sound. As the rain grew heavier, Winnie ran toward him without hesitation. In just a few steps, he caught her firmly, holding her tightly as if trying to merge her body into his own. Winnie's hands gripped his shoulders as his hand cupped her face. It was impossible to tell who was more desperate, more eager. Their kiss sank deeply into each other's hearts. Winnie's clothes clung tightly to her body, her white shirt nearly transparent in the rain. Van didn't just kiss her lips—he kissed her forehead, her eyes, her chin, even her neck. Each kiss fell faster and more intensely than the raindrops. Winnie began unbuttoning his shirt, gently tugging his black tie loose. It slipped from her fingers and fell into the nearby bushes. She was already disheveled, her pale pink lingerie peeking out from beneath her soaked shirt, adding to her untidy state. "Winnie, tell me you love me," Van murmured, his voice deep and filled with emotion. His face was wet with rain, but his eyes burned with intensity. "Say you love me." "I love you," Winnie choked out, her voice trembling and tearful. "I love you so much, Mr. Marlowe. I loved you before you ever loved me. I want to be with you. I want you to love me, to kiss me, to treasure me. I want to see the Victoria Harbor fireworks you light for me. I love you so much it scares me. If you love me too, what am I supposed to do?" Her voice faltered, tears blending with the rain as her hands weakly gripped his collar. "I'm already losing myself—if you love me too, what am I supposed to do?" Van pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. The intensity of his embrace made her feel as though every inch of her body, right down to her bones, was being consumed by him.