Chapter 41

"Yeah," Yulia nodded. "I saw you were asleep, so I told Mr. Marlowe you were already asleep. He said he knew, and that you had just fallen asleep." Winnie's eyes widened to the point of being unable to get any bigger. She vaguely caught on to a possibility, her face turned pale, then flushed again. "I—I—I didn't snore, did I?" Yulia finally saved her this time. "No, but you had a lot of red leaves in your hair. I took a picture and posted it on Instagram. Mr. Marlowe saw it." "How do you know he saw it?" Yulia said seriously, "He liked it." Winnie moaned and buried her face in the blanket, not saying a word, just pounding the bed. "I've told you before—your alcohol tolerance isn't great, so it's better to drink less. I didn't expect you'd actually have the nerve to find him after drinking." Yulia didn't comfort her at all, digging a hole for her and burying her in it, and even patted the dirt with a shovel. "You're done. What if he blacklists you?" Winnie sniffled, resigned to the fact that she was ready to face anything, and stretched out her hand. "Give it to me." Yulia placed her phone into her palm. Winnie first opened Instagram and looked at the photo Yulia had taken. Yulia had great taste in photography. Although the composition was unusual, there was an unexpected beauty to it. In the picture, Winnie leaned against the root of a large tree, resting her arm as a pillow, showing only the slightest hint of her profile. Scattered red leaves had fallen in her long, curly hair, with light spots dotting the frame and green leaves splashed with gold. This was Yulia's work account, and since it was a private one, only industry insiders could see it—mainly company artists, business contacts, producers, and agents from various platforms. There were hundreds of likes, but Van's name appeared first. Fortunately, the picture was good. Winnie let out a sigh of relief, took a few deep breaths, mentally preparing herself before dialing Van's number. It was Monday afternoon, and of course, Van was in a meeting. When he glanced at the incoming call, his expression remained unchanged. His long index finger pressed the power button on the side of his phone, hanging up the call. A few seconds later, he finally picked up the phone again and replied via social media: After 5. It was 4:32 p.m. now. Winnie counted the minutes, feeling what it was like for time to drag on endlessly. "The tea's gone cold," Ruby called from the yard. "Still drinking tea?" Winnie paced back and forth, her hands clutched tightly to her chest. "I'm about to throw up." Yulia fanned the flames. "Think about it—what else did you do to annoy him?" "Right, right," Winnie tapped her fingers, then paused. "I haven't checked my messages yet. Let me see what's in the messages..." She suddenly collapsed to her knees by the bed. "I invited him for drinks. I invited him to drink in the middle of the afternoon! And then I blamed him for not adding me, so I could've had a video call with him and made a virtual toast. I even said 'cheers' to him..." Yulia was left speechless. "Does he think I'm crazy?" "He'll think you're idle, unambitious, moody, schizophrenic, reckless, and completely different from the graceful lady you were last night." Winnie collapsed on the bed, heartbroken. "Thanks a lot, Miss. Dictionary." Her phone buzzed. She answered it weakly, barely alive. "Who's this?" "Did you just wake up?" Winnie's heart tightened, and on reflex, she snapped to attention by the bedside. "Hello, Mr. Marlowe." Yulia glanced at the time—eight minutes early. She quietly walked out of the room, giving Winnie some space. Winnie turned to the window. "It's not even 5 yet." Her voice was soft and low as her fingers instinctively traced the wrist of the hand holding the phone. Van, of course, knew it wasn't 5 yet. The meeting ended early, and since there was nothing urgent, he stayed behind in the conference room to make the call he had promised. The building housing Van's company provided a prime view of the river. Inside the spacious conference room, spanning over a hundred square yards, Van stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out at the West River nearby, a cigarette clenched lightly between his teeth. On his side, a white sightseeing cruise floated by, while on Winnie's side, the sound of birds chirping faded, and she heard the sound of a lighter flicking open. Van lit the cigarette, took a drag, and asked Winnie, "Feeling sober now?" "Yes." Winnie followed his lead and explained, "Mr. Marlowe, I'm sorry for disturbing you earlier today." She had regained her composure. Van glanced at the sky, which still had some light, and smiled faintly. "When you say 'earlier today,' are you referring to noon, or now?" Winnie didn't reply. Van tapped the ash from his cigarette, lowered his eyes, and continued, "Neither of them counts as disturbing me." Though his tone was indifferent, Winnie felt her heart tighten. A strange feeling seized her, leaving her with a hollow sensation in the soles of her feet. After not hearing her voice for a while, Van reminded her coolly, "My assistant will be here soon. If you keep silent, I'll assume everything's fine." "I-I have something to say!" Winnie quickly interjected. "I drank too much earlier, and I acted inappropriately in front of you. I'm really sorry. I just didn't know if I offended you, Mr. Marlowe." "You sent me a voice message, made me wait five minutes to approve your friend request, then fell asleep while we were talking on the phone." Winnie squeezed her eyes shut, looking absolutely mortified, as if regretting every moment. Van could roughly guess the expression on her face and asked casually, "Didn't I tell you not to be afraid of me?" "You're so powerful and influential, it's instinctive to fear offending you, and it's also instinctive to respect you," Winnie explained. "Respect," Van repeated the word, lowering his head and exhaling a puff of smoke. "I don't need that from you." "Then what can I give you?" Winnie unconsciously asked. It wasn't until Van chuckled lightly that she realized her mistake. She didn't mean it like that. "Winnie, no man would hear that kind of question from you and not have impure thoughts." The breath on the other end of the phone suddenly lightened, and Winnie instinctively held her breath. Her fingers, gripping the phone, turned pale and stiff. Her wrist tingled with a strange numbness. Even though she was already in this awkward position, she still, inexplicably, and recklessly asked, "What about you?" Van held the cigarette between his fingers, the smoke swirling around and clouding his face. When he spoke again, his tone remained as indifferent as ever, making it hard to discern any emotion. "I'm letting my imagination run wild right now." "I don't believe you." Van chuckled lightly, neither confirming nor denying. "Why don't you believe me?" "Because you're not that kind of person." Just then, there was a knock at the conference room door. His assistant had arrived, as expected. Van casually flicked the half-finished cigarette out, then said, "Winnie, don't think too highly of me." Winnie stayed at home for two nights. To avoid the mother and daughter becoming increasingly resentful of each other and growing distant, she wisely packed up and left early on the third day. As the car drove back up the slope and turned the corner, Yulia let out a surprised sound, "Whose car is blocking the way?" A tall black SUV was parked at the intersection, perfectly blocking the road to Yulia's house. She honked twice, but there was no response, so she got out of the car and politely knocked on the window. The dark window rolled down, and Yulia froze, her voice stiff as she greeted him, "Good morning, Mr. Robinson."