Chapter 19

She didn't recognize the gravity of the situation and thought Van was going to get angry and leave. Instead, he just exhaled heavily in relief. When he spoke again, his tone was back to its cold, inscrutable nature, "How could it be useless? If you were in danger today, this call would have been useful." Winnie froze, her hands instinctively lowering from above her head to her chest, her eyes never leaving Van's. She looked like a little girl making a wish. Yulia, who was far too naive to sense the tension, escaped the man's aura and innocently asked, "Why not just make another call to confirm? If you had, there wouldn't have been so much drama." Though her question was logical, Winnie just wanted her to stop antagonizing the man. "Sorry, Mr. Marlowe, my assistant—she…" Van's face didn't show a trace of displeasure. He paused for a moment before lowering his gaze to look at Winnie. "I did think about it, but I was afraid it would jeopardize your safety." Yulia suddenly blushed, though secretly, she was blushing for her boss. Winnie was left speechless, her assistant's lack of wit rubbing off on her, but inside, waves of emotion crashed over her, one after another. The two were silent for a while. Van's gaze shifted, and he saw the dark bruise on her elbow. "What happened to your elbow?" Winnie instinctively reached to cover it, but this time she fully understood the meaning of "trying to cover a leak with a sieve." As she covered her left hand, her right hand exposed the bruise, and as her hands switched, her knee betrayed her too. "I got it filming." She gave a carefree smile, raising her lips with ease, showing him the injury. Her smile was bright and unconcerned. "It's normal, just not very pretty. When the movie comes out, I'll invite you to the theater." With just a few words, it was time to say goodbye. Everyone in the company was still waiting, so Van made a departure. Just as he was about to leave, he paused for a moment, as something came to his mind. "You seem to really enjoy answering the door in your pajamas." His tone was mild, but it carried a subtle, intriguing quality. It was hard to tell if it was a question, a statement, or a reminder. Winnie's expression faltered, and instinctively, she looked down. She was wearing underwear, but the green satin slip dress had long straps, revealing two delicate collarbones. The faint curve of her body was visible beneath her porcelain-like skin. It wasn't inappropriate—just too strikingly beautiful. Winnie froze, annoyed at him, but lacking the confidence to argue. So, when she spoke, her voice faltered, quieter than before, "It's Mr. Marlowe who never announces himself when he comes over." In that instant, Eric, who had been waiting silently, thought he might have imagined it. He saw Van curve his lips into a faint smile, one that seemed to say he couldn't really do anything about her. Finally, Van raised his hand and nonchalantly waved two fingers, a casual gesture of goodbye. The elevator was at the end of the hallway, distant. The corridor was dark red with gold trim, and a large vase on a Chinese-style side table held a few orchids. The scene was tacky, but Winnie looked at his retreating figure and thought that for someone like him to be here truly was a rare honor. The elevator doors closed and descended. Winnie rested her bare arm on her side, exhaling with relief before returning to the room. Her phone buzzed, displaying a number with no caller ID. She answered it, feeling her heart inexplicably race a little faster. They had only just said goodbye. The voice on the other end was deep and magnetic, and hearing it again made her picture his eyes in her mind. His tone was gentlemanly and regal, with a British flair, and it came off casually, "Miss Loxley, I think you should save this number." Winnie responded with a soft 'yeah' and paused, her slender body leaning against the white wall. She tilted her head down, feeling the coolness of the wall against her butterfly-shaped shoulder blades. 'What name do you save?' Van asked. She didn't dare to save his name. It felt as distant as the moon—untouchable. Her lips, pale and uncolored, parted slightly, and her tongue brushed against the roof of her mouth, making three soft, enchanting sounds, "Mr. Marlowe." The man in the car had already put on his Bluetooth earpiece and instructed the team at MARS to begin the work report meeting. Yulia crouched by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the car drive away, when she noticed something off-focus. "Mr. Marlowe's license plate only has the number 3. So easy to remember." Hearing this, Winnie also glanced over. The white, clean plate clearly displayed just the number 3 below the word "California." So simple—it must be expensive. But why the number "3"? Could it have something to do with an old lover? Winnie tapped Yulia's head. "Are you dating him? Stop overthinking and come help me pack!" Yulia explained, "I just think polite men are rare, especially wealthy ones. Mr. Marlowe is very polite. He doesn't just randomly go into women's rooms, especially not a female star's room! On the other hand, Mr. Robinson never cares about these things." "You noticed that?" Winnie chuckled, a hint of self-mockery in her tone. "If it had been Mr. Robinson today, we'd probably be in trouble. He doesn't let anyone disrespect him." Yulia folded soft clothes. "But Mr. Marlowe is really polite. He even looks at me when I speak." Yulia paused, and then said what was on her mind, "When he looks at you while you're speaking, you feel like you're important." Winnie's heart tightened, irritated by her chatter, and tossed a pillow at her to make her quiet. Yulia nimbly dodged the pillow and, with the last word, added, "He even came to rescue you. For something this absurd, he came so quickly. He's the type who will come to save you." Winnie could no longer stand it and sat up, exasperated. "What? Are you falling in love with him at first sight or something?" Yulia didn't say anything more. She lowered her head and began packing Winnie's clothes. "Hey." Yulia could tell from her breathing that Winnie hadn't fallen asleep yet. She picked up a silk shawl. "Should I keep this?" Winnie took off her sleep mask. The silk shawl had been cleaned and dried by the hotel, losing its fresh scent. She muttered softly, "Shit." She'd forgotten to return it again.