Chapter 47

Winnie stayed silent, but Van, who clearly understood, pretended to have an epiphany. He lowered his voice and slowly unveiled the mystery, asking, "Girlfriend?" Winnie quickly retorted, "I didn't mean that. What does 'Niñita' mean again?" Van chuckled lightly on the other end of the line. Hearing the slight nasal sound in her voice, he asked, "You cried earlier, didn't you?" "I didn't." Winnie's face burned, her eyes dry but her face feeling feverish from the tears. "I was practicing for an audition. It was a tragic scene. I... I got too into it. I hope you're not laughing at me." "So," Van paused for a moment, "the reason you haven't gotten drunk these past few days is because 'Winnie, working from now on?'" Winnie felt as though a thunderclap had struck her. The tension in her body suddenly broke, and she went weak all over, her legs unsteady. She held her phone to her ear, aimlessly pacing the room in a daze. "Although that sentence was childish, it was straightforward and easy to understand." Van's smile widened, and he couldn't help but laugh, a rare and genuine laugh. "It really is pretty straightforward." After hanging up, Winnie hit her forehead with her fist. "Letting you get into character, letting you... letting you get into character." She was beyond frustrated, but deep down, a spark of hope flickered again: Mr. Marlowe wasn't that kind of person. Why was she even listening to Wyatt's nonsense? What she didn't know was that someone back home had unwittingly become a little spy, casually asking Van, "Winnie and her assistant saw your blind date photo. Should I drop a subtle hint to them not to share it?" According to the original plan, after finishing afternoon tea, the next logical step would be to have dinner—this was the eager expectation of Van's mother, Gina Marlowe. However, after seeing this message, Van put his phone away and made a decision in an instant. When he returned to the table, he politely and regretfully apologized, "Miss Landy, I'm terribly sorry, but something has come up, and I must excuse myself. Thank you for your valuable time this afternoon." It was so distant, it almost felt like a rejection notice after an unsuccessful interview. Miss Landy's heart sank, but she still asked, "We haven't had the chance to add each other on SnapChat yet." "I don't use SnapChat," he replied. "If you need anything, you can contact Eric. He's usually with me and can promptly relay any messages." With that, he took the napkin, asked the waiter for a pen, and wrote down Eric's number. He then bowed slightly and said, "Please keep it. Goodbye." Miss Landy: "..." Earlier in the afternoon, Van had been quite patient. Eric unexpectedly arrived earlier and sighed heavily, already teasing, "After drinking tea for so long, I thought you might like her, but now you're leaving. Looks like it's not the case." As soon as Van got in the car, he removed his watch and let out a heavy breath. "Give me a break." Eric, who knew him well, replied, "But with your usual style, once you're there, no matter how unbearable it gets, you wouldn't leave early. Was it something at the company?" The Maybach had already exited the hotel's underground garage and was driving onto the street. In November, it was barely 5 in the evening, but the nightfall had already begun to descend. The city lights came on, their shadows merging with the deep blue sky of late autumn, creating a moving interplay of lights in the man's eyes in the backseat. His eyes were unmistakably clear, yet they held a depth as dense and elusive as mountain mist. After a long silence, Eric heard him instruct, "Go to Winnie's house." Eric didn't ask any more questions. He checked the navigation history in the system, and the voice prompt indicated a total distance of 15 miles. Since it was the evening rush hour on a weekday, it would take over an hour to get there. Eric thought about reminding Van that it was around dinner time, and for two people who weren't very familiar with each other, showing up unannounced might feel a little intrusive. It could lead to an awkward situation, with the other person wondering whether they should offer dinner or not. But then he reconsidered. Van was always methodical, composed, and thoughtful in his actions, so he likely didn't need Eric, the old-timer, worrying about him. The car changed direction and drove onto a congested bridge. The red taillights stretched out in a continuous line, mirroring the small red ember at the tip of Van's cigarette. Van took a couple of puffs before realizing something, looking down at the cigarette in his hand. His gaze was calm but had a hint of surprise. He had exceeded his limit. When he saw the cigarette in the center console earlier, he hadn't given it much thought and had lit it up. The traffic moved slowly. Eric was focused on the road, but he heard the man in the backseat ask, "Why don't you ask me what I'm going there for?" Eric, who had lived a long life, was quick to see through things. He knew that Van never needed anyone to ask where he was going or what he was doing. But at this moment, he decided to follow his lead and asked, "What are you going there for?" Van snuffed the long cigarette out in the car's ashtray and answered, "I'm going to ask her for a signature." Eric nodded, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "Next time, don't leave cigarettes in the car. I'm fine if I don't see them, but if I do, I can't help myself." Van's face remained expressionless as he closed his eyes. Eric's gaze lingered on him through the rearview mirror. He seemed to be trying to contain some sort of agitation. Maybe it was just fate, but after they crossed the bridge, the traffic split, and the conditions suddenly improved. The road was clear, and by the time they arrived, it was just past six. Although he had only been here once before, Van was already familiar with the uphill turn. The marble-paved incline, the towering Indonesian rosewood tree, its canopy spreading over half the sky like an umbrella. When the wind blew, the leaves rustled softly, making a gentle sound, as if caressing the air. The villa's yard was surrounded by a white wall, and the electric iron gate was closed. Standing outside, one couldn't see what was inside, but the bright lights of outdoor camping lanterns flickered between the trees, and faint laughter and conversation drifted from within. Eric stepped forward and rang the doorbell. While waiting for the door to open, he glanced back and saw Van casually rolling up his white sleeves and slowly reattaching his watch. His posture was relaxed, almost languid. He wore a simple white cotton-linen t-shirt on top and hand-tailored casual trousers on the bottom. The hem of his shirt was loosely tucked into his narrow waist, accentuating his broad shoulders and long legs. Even in the simplest of clothes, he seemed to shine, radiating an effortless charm and ease, as though it was all done with nonchalance. After a brief pause of about half a minute, the sound of footsteps came from behind the iron gate. "Who's there?" Before Eric could answer, Yulia, having clearly recognized the face outside the black iron fence, was taken by surprise. "Mr. Marlowe?" Van nodded at her. "I came unexpectedly. Apologies for the intrusion." Yulia quickly opened the gate, not even thinking to ask about Winnie. After all, there was no way her boss would have left Mr. Marlowe waiting outside. Yulia, in her own naive way, still holding a silver long spoon in her hand, gave him a puzzled look. Van smiled. "Are you eating?" "Yeah." Yulia stepped aside, watching him bathe in the soft light under the lamps, and without further hesitation, he walked toward the sound of voices.