Chapter 34

The scene in front of him wasn't his own, but the image of Wyatt leading her to toast at the banquet. The crystal chandelier gleamed magnificently, casting a bright light that made her golden dress sparkle. Wyatt's hand was placed against her waist, tracing the curve from her waist to her hip, a gentle rise and fall like the dunes of a desert. Van's breath caught, and instinctively, he felt the constriction of the tie. It wasn't until he raised his hand that he remembered the tie was still over her eyes. He reached for the Perrier water on the center console, twisting open the bottle. The fizzing sound of the bubbles escaping was followed by a subtle feeling of irritation that was hard to describe. "You seduced me," he said, taking a sip of the cold, crisp water, his tone returning to indifference. "Did you push me away because you thought I belonged to Wyatt, or because you just wanted to push me away?" Winnie asked. Van's tone was colder than before. "What do you think?" After he spoke, Winnie only heard the sound of a car door slamming shut—he had left the car. "Hello," Eric picked up Van's call halfway through the drive, immediately sensing his impatience. "Send the driver over," Van said tersely. Before hanging up, he remembered something. "And bring a pack of cigarettes." The driver arrived in just a few minutes. When he saw Van, he respectfully offered the cigarettes. Van took the cigarette box, lowered his eyes, and stared at the black paper wrapping for a few seconds. The temptation was so close, but with immense self-control, he put it back. He changed his mind. "Don't need it." The driver, understanding Van's unspoken wish, didn't ask any questions. He took the pack back without a word, as was the way things were with him—if Van wanted it, it was given; if not, it was simply returned. Not far behind them, the window of a Benz lowered slightly. The sound of the ocean waves instantly grew clearer, mingling with the hum of the engine and faint voices in the distance. Winnie had an inkling that the driver had arrived. He would continue on to the next destination, while a new driver would take her home. The sound of the car window being tapped broke her distracted thoughts. She had just felt uncomfortable with the tie around her neck and had taken it off while Van was away. The bow she had tied had been left lazily undone. Hearing the sound, she instinctively lifted her face. Outside the dark window, against the dim glow of the streetlights, the man's white shirt was tousled by the sea breeze. Van's hand rested on the half-lowered window, and the first thing he saw was his tie, now loosely draped around the woman's neck like an untied scarf, tightly wrapped around her neck. Had anyone's hands ever held her neck, caressing and lingering, forcing her to tilt her head back, like playing with a jade-colored doll? "Are you leaving?" Winnie asked tactfully. Van's gaze shifted back to her face. The next moment, he raised an amused smile, and both his expression and voice carried an air of casual, playful interest. "Winnie, all exposed." Winnie's eyes widened in shock, and with a sharp scream, she swiftly turned her face away, like a celebrity trying to avoid paparazzi. Winnie couldn't for the life of her figure out where he was taking her. She was being dragged by the wrist, her high heels stumbling along the carpet as she followed him step by step. The lights in front of her flickered vaguely, and all she could see was his back—his dark hair and white shirt. At the porch, the attendant and the driver were waiting. When they saw the two of them walking hand in hand, there was no outward sign of surprise, only a sense of quiet amazement in their hearts, as they watched with unspoken curiosity. "Get in the car," Van said, opening the door for her himself. Winnie stared at him, reminding him, "You have another appointment. You're going to be late." "You don't want to?" Van's gaze was deep as he looked at her. The question was so direct, and the word "want" added a layer of meaning to it that made it hard to answer. "You still haven't told me where we're going," Winnie gave him a compromise of an answer. "Get in the car first," Van replied. Winnie understood that it was unwise to defy a man three times in a row—that was something she'd learned as a survival skill in this industry. Moreover, with this particular man, she had never truly considered refusing him. She stopped asking further questions and obediently got into the car. Her pearl-white satin gown gently lifted around her calves before sliding back down. Van placed one hand on the car door and the other on the seat back, leaning over her to look at her for a few seconds. His upper body tilted slightly forward. In that moment, the air seemed to vanish. Winnie froze, not daring to move. Then, in a swift motion, Van removed the soft jade hairpin from her updo. It had been freshly styled after she washed her face earlier. As soon as the pin came loose, her hair cascaded down like a waterfall, releasing a faint fruity fragrance that filled the space between them. Van handed the hairpin back to her. "You won't be recognized in public like this. It's less obvious." Winnie took it, and their hands briefly overlapped as she grabbed the pin. The cool breeze that had been swirling around the pin was now warmed by the touch of their hands. Van didn't immediately release his grip, and the moment of exchange stretched on unnecessarily. Instinctively, Winnie lifted her chin to meet his gaze, a hint of confusion in her eyes. The confusion lasted only a few seconds, but then something stirred inside her. Under his scrutinizing, superior gaze, her eyes involuntarily dropped. Her palm, gripping the hairpin, had grown damp. For some reason, the wind tonight was unusually strong, whipping up the waves and making her breath feel as though it were being pulled by the tide. Behind her, the driver's voice broke the moment. "Should we depart now?" Van released his hand from hers with his usual calm expression, and, still facing away from her, he answered, "Let's go now." Before the door closed, he didn't glance at Winnie again. He walked around the car and took his seat on the other side. Instead of giving a destination, he instructed the driver, "Eric will call you. Follow his instructions." Before the car even left the estate, Eric's call came through. It wasn't a complicated destination, and the driver didn't hesitate, simply replying, "Got it." After that, silence filled the car. The driver occasionally glanced at them through the rearview mirror, noticing how they sat on opposite sides, with the center console seeming to act as an invisible barrier between them, as if they both silently agreed not to encroach upon that space. Winnie absentmindedly fiddled with the cuff of her suit jacket, a repetitive gesture that had become a habit due to her bipolar disorder. Although her condition had been well-controlled for a long time and she no longer needed regular checkups at the hospital, in moments of inner turmoil, she still found herself clinging to such childish gestures.