Chapter 72

Winnie felt uneasy under the man's intense gaze. His questioning seemed almost to directly tell her that he knew that she was in trouble. Winnie paused for a moment, then looked up at him and smiled, her lips curving playfully. "What if I said yes, how would you help me?" "It depends on what you want," he replied. "It has nothing to do with you. Would you even help me?" Winnie lowered her head, unable to meet his piercing gaze. "If you don't ask, how would you know if I would?" "If you wouldn't, what good would it do for me to say it? Would you just want to hear a joke?" Van's impatience flickered across his eyes. "Is it that hard for you to admit you need help from me?" Van stared at Winnie for several seconds, his gaze cold and commanding. "Stand up." Winnie stood up, knowing she had upset him. She smiled awkwardly, trying to lighten the mood. "If I ruined your mood, would you throw me off the plane?" In the next second, the scarf was ripped from her shoulders, clenched in Van's hand, and it fell to the floor. Winnie was caught off guard, instinctively covering her chest with her hands, her long legs pressed tightly together. "What are you doing?" She looked at him in disbelief, but in his eyes, there was no warmth, no subtlety, no desire. His gaze was cold and distant, looking down at her exposed breasts. "Since you insist on being so proud in front of me," Van said indifferently, "then stay like this." She felt a humiliation she had never experienced before. Her head hung low as she looked at her exposed lingerie and skirt, overwhelmed with shame. She recalled the words from earlier—how she couldn't entice him. She had worn something so transparent, and yet he only coldly scrutinized her. From the man's scrutinizing gaze, Winnie felt as though she were wearing nothing at all. The humiliation and embarrassment made her body tremble uncontrollably, and her tears began to fall. With red eyes, she asked, "Mr. Marlowe, you don't have to do this." Van didn't say anything. Leaning against the bar counter, he pulled out a cigarette. Winnie paused for a moment, then let her hands fall from her chest, letting them rest by her sides. Gradually, her posture visibly straightened. Her shoulders relaxed, and from her heels to her calves to her spine, her body tensed into a defiant, upright line. She understood—he was trying to break her pride before him in such a thorough way. But she refused. Instead, she stood tall and proud, unashamed, her chin lifted slightly. Her eyes were clear and composed, her lips pressed firmly together in silence, a smile on her face as she boldly presented her body, unconcerned. Van never looked at her. She didn't dare breathe too heavily, her movements slow and careful. It was unclear what those two had been confronting each other about, nor was it known who the winner or loser was. As the flight attendant hesitated and stepped closer, she finally mustered the courage to ask, "Miss Loxley, would you like something to eat?" Winnie knew Van hadn't eaten, but perhaps she was hungry. She just couldn't bring herself to eat, needing someone to coax her gently, offering an escape. Van rarely lost his temper with his subordinates. He had his back to them. After a second, the flight attendant didn't wait for Winnie to answer but heard his cold voice command, "Leave." Winnie's heart sank completely. She looked out the window, the plane had already landed, and winter had arrived in England, with snow and wind swirling around the window. The private jet had a dedicated parking area and transport vehicles. A black luxury car quietly slid to a stop in the heavy snowfall, but no one got out for a while. Winnie kept her head down, motionless, staring out the window. "Do you really have to be like this?" This time, it was Van's turn to ask. Winnie turned her head and said, "I upset you, I'm not a good mistress. Whatever you want to do to humiliate me, I deserve it." "You're still stubborn." Winnie smiled. The smile wasn't as defiant; in fact, it was soft. Calmly, she said, "Don't be fooled by how I seem. I'm not used to spreading my legs for something in return." "Winnie." The flight attendant had opened the cabin door, and the wind rushed in, bringing snow that swirled around Van's tie and Winnie's slip. Van calmly said, "I never asked you to spread your legs." "You don't want that?" Winnie looked at him, asking directly. It seemed like she was asking about spreading her legs, but it also felt like she was asking something else. Van raised his eyes, meeting her gaze.