Chapter 39

The meal was served, sumptuous and delicate, but the atmosphere was heavy. The housekeeper didn't dare say much and quickly retreated to the kitchen to eat her own meal. "After all this time, I've waited five months for you to finish filming, and now that you're back, you're giving me the cold shoulder?" Ruby pulled out a chair, softened her tone, and gently guided Winnie to sit down. At this point, Yulia, sensing the mood, spoke up, "Ruby, let's have some wine. She's been avoiding it because of the swelling, but it's been a while since she had any." While Yulia went to get the wine, Ruby took Winnie's hand, her fingers brushing over the bones of her hand, and lowered her head to look for her expression. "Not mad at your mom anymore?" Winnie turned her face away. "If you love Wyatt so much, why don't you just marry him?" Ruby clicked her tongue, drawing out her words with a weighty tone. "Alright, he didn't inform me before showing up. Am I supposed to kick him out? If I end up offending him, you'll be the one to suffer, Winnie. You might be in the spotlight now, but remember, it's all tied to the fickle whims of fate. Fans and followers lift you, but let's be honest—it's all about Wyatt's favor. When you were at your peak, your X was full of criticism. You can't afford to upset anyone. What happens when your fame fades? You will fade. If you can come down gracefully, that's true skill." Yulia returned with two small jars of wine and bumped into Winnie, who was storming off. "Hey, Winnie!" The jars nearly shattered, but Yulia hurriedly caught one. The other ended up in Winnie's hands. Without a word, Winnie turned away. Yulia didn't see her reddened eyes. When Van saw the message Winnie had sent him, he frowned and confused. Winnie asked: Do you want to drink? Who drinks at lunchtime? Today was Monday, which meant it was the company's "Employee Cafeteria Day," a tradition where Van and all the executives would dine together in the cafeteria. As employees holding trays passed by the end of the line, each one greeted him with a "Hello, Van," and he nodded back, quickly typing a reply to Winnie: I don't usually drink at lunch. A while later, Winnie sent a picture—an opened jar of liquor. She added: Finished it. Although it was a small, delicate jar, it likely contained at least half a pound of alcohol. Van wasn't sure how much she could drink, so he directly asked: Are you drunk? Winnie responded more directly: Yep! The use of an exclamation mark indicated she was definitely drunk. Van found it hard to imagine what she'd be like in that state. He switched to SnapChat to handle some work matters, then when he came back, he saw a new message from her. Winnie: You added my assistant on SnapChat, but not me. It seemed like she was upset with him again. She complained so naturally, as if she had every right to, though the tone was light, not genuinely blaming him but more like a playful accusation, as if accusing him of making her feel wronged. Van didn't think there was much difference between SnapChat and text messages—they were both instant communication tools. However, after a brief moment of silence, he still typed in Winnie's phone number in the account search. Her account popped up, and he saw that she wasn't working today. Her profile picture was of a hand with a peace sign. For some reason, Van instantly recognized it as her own hand. To be honest, Van usually had Eric handle his business card exchanges, and adding people as friends was something he never had to do—people always waited for him to accept them, never the other way around. Kim, noticing the change in atmosphere, tried to lighten the mood, and Van snapped back to reality, giving him a gracious nod and a smile. Yet, his smile was fabricated; his gaze was deep and heavy, which only seemed to intensify the pressure in the room. Someone else muttered, "Let's not smile." In the lush garden, on the stone steps, Winnie sat with the jar of alcohol in her arms. The early winter sun made her drowsy, and she almost dozed off. She jerked awake as her body swayed slightly. The text message screen remained the same as before—Van hadn't replied. There was really no reason for her to feel wronged, but after receiving so much criticism and advice throughout the morning, her emotions had already overwhelmed her. With the alcohol mixing in, it became a sharp, sour sensation that hit her nose and made her eyes well up with tears. The tears fell onto the screen, and the sunlight filtering through the frangipani tree cast a dappled glow, blinding her eyes with its brilliance. "Mr. Marlowe, you're busy"—No, that was not right. "Forget about SnapChat, After all, I didn't want to add you anyway"—Too rude. She typed and deleted, typed and deleted, and after a while, a new message appeared on the screen covered in tears: Are you asleep, that's why you haven't accepted my friend request yet. Winnie wiped her tears, and she let out a confused, nasal "Hmm." The wind blew, causing the red flowers of the sumac tree to fall all around her, but she didn't even notice. The line to get food was so long, and Kim, along with the other high-ranking executives, were mentally bracing themselves, worried that this unexpressive young master's patience would run out. If his mood was off during lunch, the afternoon's report would likely suffer for it. "There are a lot of people today, probably because they know you are coming," Kim explained. Van didn't even look up. "It's fine." Kim tried hard to resist the urge to glance at Van's screen. Talking about work for too long wasn't Van's style. If the conversation exceeded ten sentences or a hundred words, he would simply pick up the phone. But now, talking about something personal, why was his brow furrowed, like he was being put on the spot? Van was indeed troubled, because after Winnie accepted his friend request, she sent him a voice message. No one had ever dared send him a voice message before. After a moment of silence, he sighed and, in an almost reluctant gesture, decided to waste ten precious seconds of his life listening to it. The phone was pressed to his ear, and Winnie's voice sounded softly in his ear, "Good afternoon, Mr. Marlowe." Her voice was clear and melodic, but there was a faint undercurrent of sadness in it, making it both pleasant and easy to listen to. However, at this moment, Van focused on something else entirely. After a brief pause, he dialed her number and asked, "Why are you crying?" He didn't try to hide it, and both Kim and the other executives glanced over at him, curious and confused. They couldn't figure it out. Asking a woman seemed too cold. Asking family felt too distant. Asking a friend would have seemed too formal. Winnie answered the phone, but as she did, she instinctively zipped her jacket all the way up. Her fingers gripped the silver zipper pull so tightly that the bones of her fingers turned blue.