Chapter 49

Winnie maintained her composure, smiling calmly as she looked at Van, waiting for his response. Van's expression gave nothing away as he replied evenly, "How did you know I went on a blind date?" Wendy seized the opportunity to step in and confess with a playful tone, "It's my fault, Mr. Marlowe. Your blind date was someone I've worked with before during an event. She took a picture." After speaking, she flashed him a discreet "OK" gesture, her face brimming with mischief and triumph. Van nodded slightly, his lips curving faintly. "Blind dates are about mutual choices. It doesn't matter if I like someone; it has to go both ways." "She likes you," Wendy said, "She's even posting on Instagram, asking for everyone's encouragement." Yulia chimed in, as if adding fuel to the fire, "So it's mutual, then." Winnie shrugged, her lips curling into a wide grin. Tilting her head, she said with exaggerated cheer, "Congratulations, Mr. Marlowe." Van set down his cup, his gaze lowering along with his lashes. After a brief pause, he finally said, "It's too early for congratulations. She's too young—doesn't quite suit me." Wendy thought she might be imagining things, but she distinctly felt a heavy, cold pressure in the air. It was deep and chilling, and there was only one person at the table capable of emitting such an atmosphere. Eric, sitting beside her, gave her a light nudge under the table with his foot. Wendy immediately straightened up in her seat, her mind racing. "Oh, well..." She glanced nervously at Eric's expression, stumbling over her words as she half-guessed, half-speculated, "Mr. Marlowe, are you going on blind dates because you've been single for too long or because your family is pressuring you?" Eric sipped his tea and gave Wendy a thumbs-up. Wendy smiled and winked back, but in her mind, she cursed: Damn it. Their subtle exchange of microexpressions was promptly interrupted when Van glanced at them with a blank expression, and they both immediately dropped the act. Van then replied coolly, "It's because my family is pressuring me." Winnie continued sipping her clam chowder without looking up, the silver spoon clinking lightly against the glass bowl. The meal couldn't exactly be called unpleasant, but by the time it was over, everyone inexplicably felt drained—except for Yulia, who simply remarked, "I'm so full." There was no polite way to leave immediately after a meal, nor was it appropriate to rush guests out, so they all went upstairs for tea. By this point, Wendy had recovered her composure after an evening of chaos and quickly found an excuse to lead Yulia and Eric to the home theater to watch a movie. Everyone except Yulia knew Van wasn't one for movies. Yulia extended an invitation, "Mr. Marlowe, won't you join us?" Eric took the initiative to explain, "He rarely watches movies. Don't worry about him." It didn't seem right to leave Van alone, so Winnie spoke up, "I'll stay with Mr. Marlowe. You all go ahead." As Wendy walked away, she exchanged an intense look with Eric, her expression practically screaming: I have no idea why I'm doing this, even though it seems like the right thing to do. Eric responded with a suave shrug, as if to say: Don't ask me. The home theater had been a costly investment during renovations, with top-tier soundproofing. Once the door was shut, it was as though they were sealed off in an entirely different world. The two stood in the living room as a draft swept through, the stillness so complete that the sound of birds chirping could be heard. Winnie adjusted her cardigan and invited Van to rest in the study. "I'll brew you a fresh pot of tea. How about some Chinese Dragon Well?" Van nodded. Winnie went to the first floor to boil mountain spring water. As she waited for the water to boil, she leaned against the bar, silently wishing the water would take its time. She truly had no idea what purpose or meaning Van's visit held tonight. All she knew was that after five days of not seeing him, his face, his voice, and his very presence made her feel an overwhelming sense of danger. White steam rose from the spout, filling the small tea bar with a hazy mist. Looking at her reflection, Winnie suddenly thought of her mother's face. Ruby had also been stunningly beautiful, but now time had carved its marks into her features. Ruby always hoped Winnie could settle down with someone ordinary but wealthy, someone like Wyatt. Yet Ruby's eyes betrayed her complex, worldly nature—calculating, flattering, sharp, yearning, envious. Every wrinkle on her face spoke of the barren struggles of the past. Perhaps she feared that if Winnie ever lost her career, she too would be tainted by the dust of society. But she didn't understand—her daughter, Winnie, wasn't like her. Winnie didn't share her obsession with materialism. Winnie chuckled softly, unsure if it was at the irony of life or the absurdity of the truth. The water had been boiling for quite a while when a call from David came in. David tried to persuade her to take on a new project, one that would give Mia some exposure. Winnie didn't act in TV dramas and could have refused outright, but instead, she feigned hesitation, making David to keep talking and work hard to convince her, anything to stop her from hanging up. In the end, the conversation dragged on for twenty minutes. Perhaps Van had grown bored and reluctantly gone to watch the movie, or maybe he had come downstairs looking for her but chose not to interrupt upon seeing her on the phone. What Winnie didn't expect was that Van had fallen asleep. The air was faintly fragrant with flowers, and the brass floor lamp emitted only the softest, dimmest glow. He sat in the dark green cigar chair, his figure sinking into its wide frame. One hand rested loosely on the armrest, while the other propped up his temple with an elbow. Winnie carefully set the teapot down on the thick carpet by the doorway, instinctively softening her steps. As she approached, she could hear his slow, steady breathing. His eyes were naturally closed, and his brows knit slightly as if he had carried some troubling thoughts into his sleep. The faint dark circles beneath his eyes hinted at restless nights. In the light's flickering shadows, his face was half-illuminated, half-obscured, the interplay of deep shadows and dim highlights forming a striking silhouette. A draft occasionally swept in, prompting Winnie to pick up a blanket. Gently, she unfolded it, intending to drape it over him. She hadn't expected how alert he was, even in sleep. The moment the blanket touched his legs, he grabbed her arm with surprising speed.