Chapter 73

"If you don't want that, then forget it." Winnie followed the flight attendant off the plane, the heavy snow falling on her long hair. The flight attendant was about to warn her about the slippery ground but then noticed Winnie wasn't even wearing shoes. The next second, the flight attendant's down jacket was suddenly yanked from her hands. Van shook out the coat and wrapped it around Winnie, then effortlessly swept her up in his arms. The black jacket covered her pretty, defiant face. Winnie kept her lips tightly shut, her eyes red as she stared at him. Van held her tightly, walking into the snow against the wind. "I want." He helped her into the backseat of the car, where the heating was strong, but Van still pulled Winnie onto his lap. Through the down jacket, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Winnie trembled intermittently, her face pale except for her brows and eyes. Van brushed aside her messy hair and asked, "Cold?" Winnie chattered her teeth and nodded. Van pulled her closer into his embrace, her bare toes tightly crossed, gripping the seat with enough force to leave fine wrinkles in the leather. The private terminal for the jet wasn't far. The conference's reception staff and accompanying translators had been waiting for a while. When they saw Van carrying a woman into the building, they exchanged uncertain glances. The translator seemed confused but greeted him with a smile, saying, "Glad to see you, Mr. Marlowe." Van carefully placed Winnie on the couch, then adjusted the collar of her down jacket, zipping it up for her before turning to ask, "Has the person I arranged arrived?" It turned out that, in addition to the event staff, he had also arranged for someone else to pick them up, which seemed somewhat unnecessary. The person, blocked by the snow, rushed in five minutes later, holding a bundle of clothes, all covered in dust bags. "Sorry, Van, the snow was just too heavy, and it was kind of last-minute..." It was an employee from Marlowe Group's office in Germany. Van nodded, not reprimanding them for their lack of efficiency. He simply took the dust bag and paper bag, which contained women's clothes and a pair of long leather boots. He bent down and gently rubbed her cold fingertips. "This dress needs to be returned to Cici. I've prepared these for you. Want to go change inside?" The terminal was warm, and Winnie had regained some composure. She nodded, and Van helped her to her feet. "I'll go with you." The cloakroom, which wasn't separated by gender, was nearby. It was a high-end suite, connected to a makeup room and a spacious changing room, filled with a soothing fragrance. Van waited outside, leaning against the vanity, his hands resting on the edge of the table. His head hung low, making it impossible to read his expression. Winnie entered the changing room, shut the door, and automatically twisted the lock. The sound of the lock clicking echoed sharply in the quiet room, ringing in Van's ears. Van froze for a moment. His hand, still pressing against the edge of the table, tightened, his knuckles turning white. The sound of the lock seemed to embed itself in his chest, sending a sharp, inexplicable pain through his heart. But in an instant, the lock was turned back. The door was no longer locked. Winnie held the clothes, her back pressed against the cherry wood door. "Mr. Marlowe," her voice, soft and fragile, barely audible through the crack in the door. Van suddenly straightened, taking a step forward before stopping. He asked, "Do you need any help?" "I'm not trying to guard against you," Winnie tightened her grip on the clothes. "It's just... out of habit." Van curved his lips into a small smile, then half leaned back against the table, looking somewhat relaxed. "It's okay." Winnie opened the dust bags and paper bags, taking out the clothes one by one. There were tights, a cashmere sweater, a light green cashmere coat, knee-high leather boots, a pair of black lambskin gloves, a woolen women's hat, and a scarf. She took off her slip and changed into these warmer clothes. Before leaving, she paused for a moment, balled up the slip, and tossed it into the trash can. As she stepped out, Van looked her over carefully, his gaze finally settling on her face. "Fit well?" Winnie nodded, unsure of what to say. Fortunately, Van didn't let her struggle and simply said, "Let's go." He walked ahead, and Winnie followed closely behind. After a while, she asked, "Mr. Marlowe, are you cold?" Van paused briefly, then answered, "No, I'm not." Winnie drifted into a restless sleep. When she woke up, she found herself lying on the hotel's large bed. She reached for her phone, and the first message was from Van: I'm in a meeting. If you need anything, call room service. Van's message was still as indifferent as ever, and Winnie didn't understand its meaning. She thought to herself that she must be a very annoying mistress—after all, she was just a helpless canary, but with a stubborn streak. She didn't know how to flatter anyone, or even say sweet things to please them. She tried to get out of bed, but her head felt heavy. It was clear she had a fever, so she collapsed back into the covers. Every bone felt as though it had been hammered, her breathing was labored, and the back of her head felt like it had been run over by a truck. Her head was spinning, and all she could think of was reaching out to Yulia. Not paying attention to the time, she sent a voice message: Yulia, I feel terrible. After sending the message, Winnie dropped her phone and drifted into a hazy, half-conscious sleep. Yulia called her, but there was no answer. She went straight to Van, asking boldly, "Mr. Marlowe, what did you do to Winnie?"