Chapter 17

As the phone screen went black, the faint light that had been reflected in Winnie's eyes also faded. She closed her eyes and handed the phone to Yulia. "Disconnect the internet for three days." The hotel where the crew was staying wasn't far, and after returning to her room, Winnie filled the bathtub with water and submerged her bruised and battered body. Her knees, shoulder blades, and elbows were all scraped, with varying depths of bloodstains. The pain from the hot water was so intense that she drew in a sharp breath, her body tensing at the sensation. It seemed someone had let it slip, and the director found out about her injuries. After a few more scenes of emotional acting, he generously gave her two days off. She slept for two days in her room. What she didn't know was that during her time offline, there were daily calls coming in from an unknown number, one in the morning and another in the evening. But Yulia followed her instructions strictly and didn't answer a single one. It wasn't until the third day, when the media storm about her haute couture and departure from the set had calmed down, that Yulia returned her phone and reported, "Someone kept calling, but it was an unknown number. I think it's a fan trying to teach your stalkers a lesson." It wasn't the first time she'd dealt with this kind of thing. Stalkers could be relentless, clever, and invasive. But this one was especially smart—using a virtual card with no phone number attached. Winnie was uninterested. "And then?" "I gave them a piece of my mind," Yulia said with indignation. "Your number is only known to close contacts, and you haven't registered it anywhere, so how could someone you don't know be calling? Even scammers aren't this persistent. So this morning, I sent them a text, cursed them out, and blocked the number." Winnie let out a laugh, amused by the little assistant's fiery spirit. But then, as the laughter died down, a vague unease crept in. Wait a second— Could it be— Her expression shifted instantly, and she hurriedly unlocked her phone. Her eyes widened as she read each word of the furious message Yulia had sent. Perfect! She had called him a perverted stalker, said his twisted love was something no one could tolerate, and that he was a cockroach living in the gutter. Winnie couldn't have imagined, even in her wildest thoughts, what a man who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth—someone who spent his life sitting in a Maybach—would think when he saw such a text. His brows would furrow, and he would begin to doubt everything he knew. Today was supposed to be the day the young master of Marlowe Group officially moved into the MARS headquarters to start working. Now, the young master was really coming to L.A. to work—and he would be staying long-term. Everyone quickly mastered the art of masking their emotions, first meticulously donning their suits and pencil skirts, and then finding ways to stretch their workday until 7 PM. After a month of anticipation, they finally received the official notification. Van, along with the entire board of directors, would be arriving today to officially settle into the office, conduct work inspections, and listen to the Q3 leadership reports. The autumn sky in L.A. was still clear and cloudless, but every floor of the MARS headquarters was shrouded in a sense of unease. Just as everyone held their breath in anticipation of Van's arrival, the Maybach carrying him slowly pulled up to the street and signaled with its hazard lights. Eric, sitting at the wheel, was waiting for the next instruction after Van suddenly called for a stop. Van, however, was still absorbed in thought over the text message. This woman had disappeared for three days, and then sent a cryptic, rambling, and concerning message, her mental state clearly unstable. As someone who grew up hearing about kidnapping, extortion, and ransom cases, and having experienced the luxury of bulletproof cars since kindergarten, with a younger brother who had been kidnapped, and always having four bodyguards accompany him to public events as part of a top family—Van immediately thought of one possibility: She had been kidnapped. Was this text message… a cry for help? Realizing this, his expression changed. Without hesitation, he quickly pressed three numbers on the screen: 911— Eric noticed the change in Van's expression and, still holding the steering wheel, turned to ask, "What happened?" Van didn't have time to answer. Just as he was about to make the call, a phone call came in. "Winnie" appeared on the screen. His face darkened, eyes clouded with uncertainty, and after a brief breath, he swiped to answer. "Hello, is this Mr. Marlowe? ? Please listen, I need to explain…" Winnie's voice was frantic, disjointed, and she was desperately hoping that the man would hear her out before passing judgment. Van's briefly calmed heart sank once again. He instinctively tightened his grip on the phone. It was her voice. He knew he hadn't mistaken it. But she sounded anxious, panicked, and clearly… not in a good mental state. Van guessed that this was the opportunity Winnie had been waiting for, and in her panic, she couldn't even get to the point. He cut her off, asking directly, "Where are you? I'll come get you."