Chapter 57

She thought to herself, "If this man with a dysfunction has regrets, he could still cancel the order." "Dealing with paparazzi, preventing stalking, and also guarding against those so-called obsessive fans you mentioned last time," Van said, one hand on his forehead, his look and tone suggestive, "Anything else, Winnie? Please tell me." Expressionless, Winnie said, "Mr. Marlowe should be quite adept at handling paparazzi by now. Wasn't your ex-girlfriend photographed?" Van had just received a message from his sister, Paris, that morning, informing him that the tabloids had made up another story about him, even attaching the only photo ever taken of him and Ada together. The entertainment industry was gradually declining, and with it, the days for entertainment media were tough. They had to resort to fabricating sensational, half-true gossip stories to attract attention. Over time, the media seemed to hold a grudge against Van; if they couldn't get pictures, they'd make up stories about his physiological issues. Even when they did get pictures but couldn't dig up more, they'd still claim he had physiological problems. In short, he has an issue. Such private matters were great for generating buzz and clicks; going after the tabloids for this would only make it seem more credible. Fortunately, the influence of tabloid newspapers was limited, so there was no need to take it too seriously. Van didn't expect that Winnie would read those kinds of newspapers. He gave a half-smile, resting his cheek on his hand, watching Winnie without saying a word. Under his gaze, Winnie felt defeated. She slowly realized that her quick tongue had betrayed that she knew about his dysfunction. This wasn't acceptable. Knowing something privately was one thing, but the person involved knowing that she knew was something else entirely, and much more serious. Winnie, lowering her head, tried to cover up with vague words, "I don't know anything." "Your gaze seems very sympathetic towards me." Van neither confirmed nor denied, his emotions unreadable. The prince was angry again. Winnie snapped her head up, "It can be treated, it can be treated!" In her hunger, she racked her brain, "There's nothing that can't be fixed, Mr. Marlowe. Besides, you're handsome, powerful, and elegant, with a refined demeanor, eloquent, well-educated, and incredibly talented. You've got a great physique, long legs, um..." She forced a smile through gritted teeth, "It's just a tiny little problem, nothing serious, um, your virtues are like stars, countless, while your flaws, your flaws are just a speck of dust." Van finally couldn't help but laugh out loud. He laughed with his head down, the cigarette between his fingers dropping ash. Van's amused laughter slowly faded as he continued to watch Winnie, his gaze darkening. In fact, he had been in meetings all day, speaking, lecturing, listening, and socializing, which was exhausting. Just as tired as he was last night. But last night, he had half-slept in that cigar-scented armchair, waking up with a weight in his arms. It was a comforting weight to hold. Now, feeling the same fatigue, the longing for that warmth and weight crept up silently. He vaguely remembered holding her waist tightly last night. She was such a slender person, yet she had a firm, tactile sensation. Van exhaled the last puff of smoke, extinguishing it in the ashtray. When he looked up again, he had returned to that inscrutable expression. He watched her from a distance not too far, suddenly asking, "Did you sleep well last night?" Just a brief, casual question that plunged Winnie into a soft quagmire. It was a very simple question, in a normal context, just small talk. But under his intense gaze, she felt her feet go hollow. He was telling her, in such an offhand manner, that he also remembered, that he hadn't let go either. They had fought, said hurtful things. They had lost control and kissed. In an instant, that question brought them back to last night. The dark green cigar chair, the thick floral scent on the table, and the lingering sweetness between their lips and teeth. He had sucked on her lips, hard, his tongue pushing past her teeth, and she accepted him without resistance. Winnie didn't dare meet his gaze anymore, her eyelashes fluttering as she tried to change the subject, "You forgot your watch last night." "On purpose." Winnie's heart tightened, her palms and deep within her body feeling as damp as after a rain, itching with the sprouting of spring flowers and moss. "Are you going to return it to me?" Van's gaze lingered on her face, his eyes calm but slightly different from before. Was he asking if she was ready to return the watch or if she was ready to see him again? Winnie didn't know, feeling like she was being pinned down by a beast in the jungle. It was too powerful, mostly composed, only revealing a hint of bloodthirsty, restless ambition in moments like these. It appeared briefly, then vanished again. Winnie stood up from the sofa, remaining silent for a long while, then pulled her hands from the perfectly cut pockets of her jacket. In her right palm, she held out a brown men's tourbillon watch. "Mr. Marlowe," she looked at him, the watch face already warmed by her palm, "I'm always prepared." To see you again.