Chapter 63

Winnie quickly moved to the other side and got into the car. Eric didn't lower the partition, but the atmosphere in the backseat between the two was completely different from before. The air felt as if it had frozen. Winnie didn't know where Van was taking her or how far the journey would be. The window on her side wasn't covered by a curtain, and the street scenes shifted and changed. The late autumn afternoon sunlight filtered through the blue glass buildings, sometimes disappearing, sometimes glaring. Her emotions from last night and today had been like a rollercoaster, going up and down. After half an hour of pretending at the event, she was now blinded by the sunlight, and all she could feel was drowsiness. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she quickly fell asleep. Everything in the Maybach was silent—driving quietly, lowering the partition quietly, cutting off the sea breeze quietly. In her peaceful sleep, Winnie faintly heard voices. "Miss Loxley is quite adorable," a slightly older voice said. Someone chuckled and said something in Spanish, "Niñita." It seemed like they were helpless toward her, but the words also carried an unmistakable fondness. When she opened her eyes again, the view outside the window was nothing but the coastline. The endless coastline, the blue coastline, with sailing boats and yachts floating in the water. "You're awake," Van said, not even looking up, as if he had somehow sensed it. He was wearing glasses and quietly reading a book. The title was unfamiliar, but Winnie recognized the author—Hegel. He really is a philosophy student. "Where are we going?" Winnie asked. "Home." "Home?" Winnie hesitated for a moment. "Whose home?" Van's gaze lingered on the last few lines, and after casually flipping to the next page, he said, "My home." He spoke nonchalantly, adding, "After you sign the contract, you can think of it as your home too." Winnie didn't feel the need to correct him on his definition of "home" versus "house"—she wasn't that picky. Her gaze turned to the window, watching the sea for a while. The weather was beautiful today. A mother was pushing a stroller along the beach, and the evening sun stretched their shadows long, outlining their figures with a golden halo. Winnie was moved by the warm scene and pressed the window down. The salty sea breeze, tinged with a hint of sweetness, poured in. She suddenly remembered that Van was reading, and quickly turned her head, her eyes showing a hint of alarm. Her long hair was blown askew by the wind, fluttering behind her neck, and she had to use one hand to brush it aside. A rustling sound of paper turning followed—Van's book had indeed been disturbed by the wind. "Sorry," she said, about to raise the window again. "It's fine, leave it open," he replied. With a snap, Van closed the thick book with one hand and then tucked it into the backseat storage compartment. Winnie's gaze lingered for a moment. When he wasn't wearing glasses, Van gave off an air of mystery—deep, inscrutable, cold, distinguished, and unreachable, making anyone who got close feel almost honored. Now that he wore glasses, a gentler, more refined aura surrounded him. Gone was the image of a chairman or businessman; instead, he resembled a university professor—always in a white shirt and black pants, his legs seeming to stretch beyond the podium. Before class, he would absentmindedly snap a piece of chalk, one hand in his suit pocket, while he leaned slightly to check the lesson plan. His posture as he wrote on the board was casual, his strong, defined muscles subtly visible beneath his shirt sleeves. Van curled his lips into a smile. "Didn't you say you were too scared to look at me? Now it's been more than five seconds." Winnie snapped out of her daze and hurriedly looked away, diverting the conversation. "Mr. Marlowe, are you farsighted? I've never seen you wear glasses before." "A little astigmatism. I wear them occasionally for meetings or when reading." "You wore them yesterday at the blind date," Winnie quickly pointed out, not thinking twice, as if commenting on his deliberate appearance. Van glanced at her and took off his silver glasses. He adjusted the arm of his glasses and said casually, "I heard that the girl didn't like men who wear glasses." Winnie paused, then said, "Okay," without adding anything else. She turned back to the sea, the corners of her lips curling upward just slightly. After passing the renowned yacht harbor, the car veered around a corner along the coastline and onto a tranquil, secluded asphalt road.