Chapter 32

Van sat relaxed, relaxed but elegant, his body facing the passenger side, one hand resting on the back of the seat, the other casually gripping the steering wheel. His head was slightly lowered, eyes veiled, with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Perhaps it was because his eyes were closed, but the oppressive air that usually came with his high position had faded somewhat, and a more refined and gentle aura emerged. "You usually make it hard for people to look at you," Winnie said suddenly. "I'm ugly." "No, of course not," Winnie denied, smiling. "It's just that you're so high-ranking. Even when standing face-to-face, you still seem to be looking down from a high place, making it hard to look at you directly." Her pause in that moment felt strangely long. "Now that your eyes are closed, I can finally look at you," she added. Van understood what she meant, his Adam's apple subtly moving as he swallowed. His voice, however, turned colder. "Have you finished looking?" "If you don't want me to look, then forget it." Winnie, having gotten the advantage, feigned modesty, lowering her lashes as she pulled out a few tissues. She carefully wiped away the smudged makeup, then adjusted the passenger mirror to check if she had cleaned up properly. She didn't normally have many idol burdens, but at this moment, in the quiet car cabin, a sense of inappropriate and unnecessary shame suddenly arose within her. She took two deep breaths, gripping the tissue tightly. "Mr. Marlowe, I'm afraid I'm going to offend you again." Van furrowed his brow slightly, about to ask what she meant when the scent of the mountain fruit from after the rain drifted toward him. She moved closer, her soft, delicate fingers resting on his tie. Van stiffened, lowering his voice as he asked, "What are you doing?" "Just borrowing your tie for a moment." "You—" His reflex was to open his eyes, but Winnie quickly covered them. "Don't speak." Her palm was warm against Van's nose, covering his eyes, the faint scent of her perfume lingering on her wrist like rain-soaked dew, directly filling Van's nostrils. He seemed truly angry now. "Absurd." But Winnie thought, rather than have him see her in this pathetic state, it was better to offend him, to make him unhappy. It wasn't the first time anyway. Van, being magnanimous, might tolerate an impolite woman, but that didn't mean he would remember an ugly, disheveled one. Offenses from beautiful women were interesting, but those from unattractive women were disrespectful and detestable. Men were just that realistic. She wanted him to remember her. "I made a wish to God," she said lightly, making up a story. "My ideal man is a blind man who will never see me with my makeup smeared. On the other hand, if anyone does see me like that, I'll first blind him with a sword, then force him to marry me." "You are like a snow-covered mountain, so you can't marry me. You are busy with work, so you can't be blind, so you can't look at me," she continued. Van took a deep breath, nodded, looking utterly speechless. Then, with slow precision, he said, "Winnie, it seems you've truly cried enough now." Winnie silently pursed her lips and smiled. "How could that be? I beg you to show mercy and be a man of his word right here in front of me." Her tone lowered, and after the joke, her request turned earnest as she gently said, "Don't look." The hand hesitated, then cautiously moved away from his eyes. Seeing that he was truly keeping his promise and had closed his eyes, it returned to his tie. The interior of the Benz was spacious, with the central console wide like a chasm, so Winnie had to sit up straight, kneel on the console, and lean toward the driver's seat, her body softening as she moved. Her movements as she untied his tie were surprisingly nimble. "I know twelve ways to tie a tie," she said proudly. "Because I've always wanted to marry a rich man. On TV, the wives of rich men are always good at tying ties." It was unclear what she was so pleased about. Van's patience had limits. He spoke slowly, each word laced with an unmistakable threat, "I warn you, don't even think about covering my face with that thing." "I wouldn't dare," Winnie replied, knowing where to draw the line. Van worked hard to suppress the growing irritation throughout his body, waiting until she finally loosened his tie and gently pulled it off his neck. The sound of the satin fabric brushing against itself was faint in his ear, a soft, rustling sound, like rain falling in a forest. His Adam's apple bobbed uncontrollably, yet he restrained it so much that it was almost unnoticeable. He couldn't tell what she was doing this time.