Chapter 25

Winnie lived in a secluded villa community in the suburbs. Each home was surrounded by gardens, offering excellent privacy. Several well-known actors and directors also resided in the area, but none had ever seen Winnie or known that she was hiding out there. Most people assumed she lived in the large apartment downtown. The next afternoon, at exactly 4:30pm as agreed, Van's car arrived. The Maybach glided past a dark green corner lined with fiddle-leaf fig trees, its quiet hum producing a low, pleasant sound on the brick road, before coming to a smooth stop at the front door. The sun was blazing that day. Eric stepped out of the car, opened a black straight-handle umbrella, and then bowed slightly as he opened the back door to assist the man inside. Van stepped out and looked up at the house—a three-story white villa with half-arched flower windows and an orange roof, a classic South Asian style. Not large, but certainly cozy. After waiting barely half a minute, Winnie appeared, descending the stairs with her assistant trailing closely behind. She wore an off-the-shoulder pearl-white maxi dress, topped with a tailored black blazer. Her long hair was pinned low in a neat bun with a jade hairpin, giving her an elegant yet refined look. The only flaw was the oversized black mask covering most of her face, which clashed somewhat with her otherwise graceful appearance. Van's expression hinted at a subtle amusement, perhaps finding it curious that she would still conceal herself so conspicuously at her own doorstep. Winnie quickly lowered her mask halfway and said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Marlowe," in a flash. Although the car had more than enough room for four passengers, it was fair to say this Maybach had probably never been this full before. Yulia climbed into the front passenger seat, trying hard to contain herself, but her wide eyes gave her away— What kind of luxurious interior was this? Even the control knobs looked more expensive than her entire wardrobe. Could she really afford the same shawl as someone who rides in a car like this? Once everyone was seated, Van, ever the gentleman, asked, "Since it's inconvenient for public figures to frequent open spaces, I've arranged for us to meet at a private club today. Miss Loxley, does that work for you?" Winnie nodded, slipping her mask into the pocket of her blazer. She smiled and replied, "Whatever you have arranged is fine with me." The car left the street and entered the coastal highway before pulling into a private estate. To call it an estate was a bit of a stretch—Winnie had never seen an estate with a golf course before. After entering through the main gate, they transferred to a golf cart, which drove them across the grounds for a full fifteen minutes before arriving at a white glasshouse. The doorman and Eric, clearly prepped in advance, were already waiting at the entrance. "Mr. Marlowe, Miss Loxley, welcome," they greeted politely. From the restaurant's entrance, the view stretched out over undulating green fields, smooth and rich like the spine of a crouching beast. The grass was so meticulously groomed and lush it looked like a divine carpet laid out by God Himself. "This is Edison's private club," Van explained thoughtfully. "Your boss has been here before, so you don't need to worry about any issues." He hadn't invited Winnie to his own home because, in his upbringing, inviting a lady to one's residence on a first meeting—no matter how proper or innocent the intentions—was simply not in line with the manners he had been taught. "Miss Loxley, don't worry," he said, closing his eyes briefly as he looked at her. His calm demeanor, however, gave the impression that he saw through everything. "This is my first time here, too." Entering the restaurant, Van removed his blazer, which was promptly taken by an attentive waiter and carefully hung in the wardrobe. His attire today wasn't as formal as it would be for an evening gala, yet it remained understated and meticulously chosen. His white dress shirt was neatly tucked into the waistband of his tailored trousers, complemented by a light-colored honeysuckle-patterned tie. The French cuffs of his shirt were fastened with gemstone cufflinks that matched the tie's palette, and a brown leather strap watch on his wrist added a refined touch. A well-fitted shirt often highlights a man's physique better than a suit, especially when the shirt is custom-tailored each year on Savile Row, hand-stitched to perfection. It accentuated his broad, straight shoulders and hinted at the subtle contours of his muscles beneath the fabric. "Do you work out every day?" Winnie asked, her thoughts spilling out before she realized it. The moment the words left her mouth, she noticed how they revealed her focus. Van, ever perceptive, curved his lips into a smile. "Thank you for the compliment." Winnie felt a wave of heat rise to her cheeks. She gave a light, awkward cough in an attempt to mask her embarrassment.