Chapter 36

Winnie nodded. "I think Spanish sounds beautiful, but I can't learn it. Actually, Spanish is the second most spoken language in LA, after English, but everyone around me speaks English." Van noticed she was talking more, but didn't show any signs of irritation. Instead, he asked, "What do you want to learn?" Winnie paused for a moment, then laughed. "I can only say 'Te amo,' 'Te echo de menos,' 'Te vi,' and '¿Qué estás haciendo?' The rest, I want to learn." Van chuckled softly at her words. She said "Te Amo" in a cute, almost childlike way. He noticed the slight furrow of her brow and, after thinking for a moment, smiled lightly before asking, "How about I teach you one more phrase?" Winnie's eyes sparkled with a smile, and the light in them unexpectedly struck Van's heart. Suddenly, Van found himself caught off guard by her beauty. "Quiero verte." The beautiful Spanish words came from Van's lips, so effortlessly, like they belonged there. Winnie's face flushed, suddenly feeling embarrassed. She didn't want to repeat after Van like a parrot, so she quickly changed the subject. "Where are you taking me? Another thing—does it really not matter being late like this?" Van finally told her the truth, his tone flat and nonchalant. "I already told them I'm not going." Winnie froze, then began fiddling with the cuff of her suit jacket. "If you're in a bad mood, you don't have to force yourself to be gracious," Van added. Winnie didn't know how he could see through her so easily, but her eyes suddenly felt hot. Her tear ducts had a habit of reacting, and after crying earlier that night, it made her even more prone to tears now. But she held it in, her eyes only slightly moist, her head lowered as she smiled quietly. The place they were going wasn't far. They left the estate, took the coastal highway back toward the city, and stopped in an upscale shopping district. This was the most opulent part of L.A., akin to New York's Fifth Avenue or Paris's Champs-Élysées. Luxury brands lined the streets, neon signs glittered, and every window display glowed with allure. The mannequins in the windows stood tall and elegant, draped in expensive clothes and sparkling jewelry. Everything was flawless, always smiling, and made people wish they could take their place in the window, forever frozen in a moment of beauty and wealth. It was already 10 p.m., and the streets were mostly empty. Most of the stores had already closed and were doing their nightly tally. In front of one jewelry store, a black-and-white police cordon was set up, with a triangular sign reading "closed." Four male attendants stood guard on either side of the door, politely stopping any customers who tried to enter. The Benz came to a slow stop. Winnie pulled her gaze from the street and heard Van say, "Put on your mask." She reached into her pocket and took out the black mask, obediently putting it on. She was no fool and had a good guess about why Van had brought her here. Her heart was already racing, but it wasn't excitement—more like a heavy, anxious feeling that made her breath feel tight and sluggish. The driver got out first to open the door for Van. After Van stepped out, he personally waited for her. "Don't be nervous," he said. On the gray marble floor, the sound of delicate high heels echoed as they walked. As they neared the door, the attendants automatically stepped aside. The store manager and all the sales staff were waiting in the lobby, bowing slightly and saying, "Welcome." Behind them, a customer, confused, protested, "Didn't you say you were closed? How can they go in?" The attendant responded, still polite, almost mechanically, "Sir, we have indeed passed our business hours." The two of them entered, and the barricade was removed. The glass doors closed, leaving only the "closed" sign behind. "Mr. Marlowe, it is an honor to serve you. Please, this way to our VIP room on the second floor," the manager bowed and gestured for them to follow. "You stay," Van said. "Understood." A line of people behind them stopped, all speculating about who the woman entering with Mr. Marlowe could be. "Hey, who is Mr. Marlowe? I checked the directory, but I didn't find anything." Some of the salespeople were confused. "Shh, he's the special reception directly assigned by headquarters. There's no way she's a regular customer of our store." "Don't you know? Ross almost came in person, but the client insisted on keeping it low-key. Otherwise, the VIP room would have been filled with two hundred pounds of roses." A few of the salespeople laughed, and after a while, the deputy manager came in to notify them they could go home as usual, no need to stand around. "Ross asked me to send his regards. He really wanted to come, but he was afraid of interrupting your enjoyment," the store manager said, with a polite smile. Entering the VIP room, although it was supposed to be simple, the staff had still arranged the space with what little time they had. The room was filled with the fragrance of fresh flowers, mixed with a subtle, delicate scent. "We have limited time, and it's a bit modest, but I hope you understand," the store manager said with a smile, hands clasped together. "The series you wanted to see is all set up. Shall we start now, or would you like some tea first?" Winnie took a step closer to Van, slightly pulling down her mask. Turning her face toward him, she whispered in broken Spanish, "¿Qué estás haciendo?" Van couldn't help but smile. "If you don't know how to speak, then don't try." He turned to the manager. "Just take Miss Loxley to see it." "Feel free to take off your mask," Van gently reminded her. Winnie glanced at the store manager, hesitating. But before she could decide, the manager was already smiling. "Miss Loxley, rest assured. If a word of tonight's events leaves this room, unless I'm quitting this industry, it will never come from us." She decided to take the mask off. Beneath her lazy curls was a clean, bare face with no makeup. Van handed the watch, which gleamed with a metallic sheen, to the store manager. "Check it out." The store manager was experienced. Although she couldn't tell the exact year of the pocket watch just by looking at it like she could with jewelry, she could still roughly estimate its value. She gave a subtle look to one of her subordinates, signaling them to investigate. After the investigation, the manager reported to Van, "This pocket watch is from LV's handcrafted collection. It's a vintage piece from the early 1900s. While it may not rival the luxury of the royal collection, it's an excellent item that today's gentlemen and social elites are eager to own." She could tell that today, Winnie was in charge. With a sincere and passionate gaze, she looked into Winnie's eyes. "We don't publicly display the royal collection. Each piece is designed for a queen or princess. Even VIPs can only see it in a lookbook. You're the first customer allowed to wear one." Not bothering with the usual social formalities, Winnie discreetly tugged at Van's sleeve. Van glanced at her but said nothing. Winnie blinked, and the manager, understanding, quickly found an excuse to step away. "What do you mean by that?" she asked. Winnie didn't care about the royal collection or the princess. Just listening to the introduction made her heart race, and she felt as though her mind was running a price calculator, ticking rapidly into the tens of millions. "I want this pocket watch," Van said casually, as if he were asking for a glass candy from Winnie. "In exchange, you don't need to worry." Winnie was stunned. "But this belongs to Wyatt." "If you can throw it onto my balcony like a stone, you must have already decided you won't want it back." "But…" Winnie hesitated, lifting her chin to look up at him. "I couldn't possibly return such an expensive gift." "It's not expensive. The only thing that makes it valuable is that you are willing to accept it." Winnie didn't know that the next day, that 1900s pocket watch would be placed carefully in a jewelry box by Eric and sent to Wyatt's house, following all the proper formalities. Van wasn't an invited guest, but Wyatt couldn't afford to be disrespectful. Not only did he not dare to neglect him, but he was also flattered by the visit. However, when Wyatt saw the pocket watch, his smile froze on his face. He could recognize it immediately. This was the watch that Winnie had lost. He could be understanding and generous with her, telling her not to worry, and indeed, he truly meant it. But that didn't mean he could accept seeing it in Van's hands. "Mr. Marlowe asked me to give you a message," Eric didn't sip his tea. He slightly bowed and said. "The pocket watch should be returned to its owner. As for the woman, he will protect her."