Chapter 27

On the elegantly set dining table adorned with delicate bouquets of fresh flowers, the plates had been cleared away, replaced by fresh, short-stemmed wine glasses. These now held freshly brewed mulled wine, its rich aroma blending cinnamon, cloves, and sweet orange into an intoxicating symphony. The night was deep, and the wine, smooth and intoxicating. At some point, Eric knocked softly on the door before entering. He leaned down to whisper a few words to Van, his voice too low for Winnie to catch. Van nodded slightly and responded briefly, "Understood. Have the car wait at the entrance." Winnie glanced down at her watch. It was only about 8 p.m., yet the evening felt unusually long. Though it felt long, it hadn't been entirely satisfying. And while it wasn't fully satisfying, it still had to end. Through the glass, she noticed the night outside was a rich, deep blue, and the breeze carried with it the faint, sweet fragrance of vanilla groves. As their brief exchange concluded, Winnie withdrew her gaze and tactfully asked, "Mr. Marlowe, do you have something else to attend to?" Van stood, nodding politely, his demeanor as refined as ever. "I do. It's been an honor, Miss Loxley, to have your company at dinner. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I'll have someone take you and your assistant back." Forgoing a call to the waiting staff, he personally retrieved Winnie's coat from the rack and draped it over her shoulders. "The seaside breeze is strong—be careful not to catch a chill." The lingering scent of her perfume on his suit was subtle yet enduring. He adjusted the collar of her coat, his gaze falling softly upon her for a few seconds. "'Rain falls on mountain fruits; beneath the lamp, insects chirp.' The fragrance suits you perfectly, much like the first line of this poem." Was that all? A voice echoed in Winnie's mind. Just as Van turned to leave, her heart tightened, and she suddenly called out, "Mr. Marlowe!" Van paused mid-step and turned back around. "Yes?" Winnie steadied herself, as though tossing a coin high into the air, waiting to see which side it would land on. "Don't you think you've forgotten something?" she asked, her lips curving into a warm, graceful smile. Beneath her poised and composed demeanor was a charm she had yet to reveal in his presence. She bent slightly to pick up a kraft paper bag resting at the base of the coat rack. Opening it, she retrieved a silk scarf. "I should return this to you." It was, after all, just a scarf—hardly something requiring such ceremony or the need to hold his gaze as she spoke. Van didn't take it. Winnie's lips curved slightly, her eyes unwavering as she met his gaze head-on. Her smile carried a blend of elegance and playfulness that hinted at countless untold stories. "You don't want it? As I mentioned, the kindness you showed on that rainy night and the help you gave me at the hotel—while it may have seemed like a small thing to you, I feel deeply indebted to you, both emotionally and morally, and I truly owe you my gratitude." Van remained silent for a moment before finally speaking. "Miss Loxley, how would you like to thank me?" His tone was steady, devoid of emotion, though his deep, resonant voice carried an undeniable allure. Winnie tilted her head back, a smile playing on her lips, but inside, a quiet yet unmistakable voice echoed: "Your hope is about to fade away, silly girl." "A beautiful woman... What could she possibly give in return to a man of such high rank and power?" She responded with a question, lifting her foot in its high heel, gently pressing her unadorned hand against his arm. Through the fabric, her fingers tightened, wrinkling his shirt in her palm." With her eyes closed, she could smell his breath mingling with hers—clean, carrying the scent of tropical sandalwood tobacco. She couldn't really do this, pretending to be so skilled for him. Because she was so nervous, she didn't notice that Van had stopped breathing, for reasons she couldn't understand or pinpoint. Just as her lips were about to press against his chin, as Van had said, "Rain falls on mountain fruits"—in that instant, she almost felt as if she truly heard a mountain fruit softly fall from the rain. But she didn't succeed. Suddenly, her waist was pulled tightly, constricted with such force. Winnie staggered, instinctively falling into his arms, her hands gripping his shoulders. Van's voice was low and hoarse, "Miss Loxley." He spoke heavily, his expression unreadable, as if caught between conflicting emotions, "If you already have a boyfriend, you shouldn't be forcing yourself to do this. Or perhaps…" Winnie hadn't fully processed his words when she saw him pause, then speak again, his tone tinged with rare sarcasm, "Or is this kind of thing just a form of entertainment for people like you?" His hand was broad, holding her waist, his scorching palm pressed against her lower back and spine, making her body heat up from his touch. "What?" Winnie's gaze shifted from confusion to clarity, then deeper into further bewilderment. "What boyfriend are you talking about?" Van furrowed his brows, still looking down at her as if he were studying just how shameless she truly was. "Wyatt Song, is that the name?" Her surprise was genuine. Winnie parted her red lips, her eyes clear under the chandelier, with a look of astonishment. "He's not—" Her defense was left incomplete. The answer, "yes" or "no," no longer mattered, did it? Winnie smiled, letting go of the tension, her attitude casual. A fleeting moment of distaste and irritation crossed Van's eyes, faint but noticeable. "You can deny it," he said. "I can deny it, but Mr. Marlowe…" Winnie's face gradually reddened, her voice softening, "Do you really need me to deny it in this position?"