Chapter 74

Ten minutes later, Van appeared at her bedside. The room was dimly lit, filled with the heavy, sickly scent of alcohol. Winnie, in a dazed state, saw the person in front of her pull her into his arms. His hand pressed against her forehead, and he decisively said, "You have a fever. I'm taking you to the hospital." "No," Winnie murmured weakly, her silk camisole tangled at her legs. "Be good, you'll feel better soon." Van attempted to lift her. Winnie clung to the bed, tears streaming down her face for no clear reason. "I don't want to." She refused to get up, her body heavy and limp as she struggled weakly in Van's arms. Van sighed, moved to the side, and pressed the speakerphone button on the bedside phone, dialing the exclusive concierge line. "I need a doctor, fever, yes, it's serious." Winnie, not answering his question, sniffed Van's gray wool coat. "Mr. Marlowe, have you been drinking?" "Yes." Van, hearing her disjointed words, worried that her mind might be affected by the fever. Winnie pressed her lips together, tasting her tears. Only then did she realize she had been crying, so she wiped her eyes, changing the subject abruptly, "I'm not crying, my eyes just hurt." "I know." "Why?" Van paused for a moment. "You won't cry in front of me." "Why?" Winnie asked again. "You're proud in front of all men, including me." He had fully accepted her pride and reality back on the plane. Winnie turned her face, eyes closed, as if she were asleep. But her nose ached terribly, and a hot stream of tears slid down from the corner of her eye. Luckily, she had been crying the whole time, so Van couldn't tell when she was really crying. Van waited for a moment, then got up to pour her some water when he heard Winnie ask, "Do you hate it? My pride." "Not really." "Do you like it?" "Hard to like." Winnie felt a sharp, piercing pain spread through her limbs like blades, and she shuddered, curling up under the blanket in a fetal position. She gritted her teeth, unable to control her tears, which flowed freely from her tightly closed eyes. Van took a while to notice something was wrong. Perhaps it was because when someone is sobbing, it's hard to stop the body from shaking. His hand rested on Winnie's shoulder, as gentle as when they got off the plane in the daytime. "Winnie?" he simply called her name, his tone questioning, without saying anything else. Winnie didn't turn around, and Van applied more pressure, trying to turn her toward him. She resisted, her body tightly curled, a faint sob escaping from her nose. The doctor was too slow, and Van grew frustrated, though his irritation didn't stem from Winnie's crying. He eventually kneeled on the bed, lowered his shoulders, and with force, pulled her into his arms, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She cried until she was sweaty, her neck warm and damp, her cheeks an unhealthy red, her hair sticking to her pale face and neck. At a moment like this, the urge to kiss her until she couldn't breathe felt like an animal's desire. And besides, he had no right. He had actually thought that, in some small way, he meant something different to her. Repeated acts of help, high-end jewelry, sky-high contracts, taking her back to his home, suddenly visiting her home, and being invited to sit down for a warm, cheerful dinner. He still remembered that day, with the warm lights in the yard. He had thought that, in her heart, he was somewhat different from Wyatt. She was afraid of those high-ranking, powerful men, too scared to ask for help, enduring with pride, gritting her teeth. Now, that same pride had been given to him intact, and only then did he realize he wasn't different at all. Van stroked her forehead, wiping the sweat from her face, his words of comfort not very skilled, "It's all my fault, but you've been proud for so long. Now, because you're sick, you're crying in front of me—doesn't it feel like all your efforts have been in vain?" He spoke to her like a child, trying to make a deal, "How about just crying until the doctor comes?" "Can't you really like my pride?" Winnie buried her face in his arm, wiping her tears with his sleeve, which still carried the scent of a state banquet and the chill of winter. "Do you only like me if I obey you completely..." Her words were broken, halting, mixed with sobs. But pride was the most precious thing Ruby had given her. Ruby had taught her many lessons on understanding her place and knowing what to do, but pride was the knowledge outside of textbooks.