Chapter 84

Becca, a supermodel born in Mexico, had just announced her retirement last year. She had worn the sky-high wings of Victoria's Secret and had left her name on prestigious fashion runways worldwide. She was one of the fashion legends of her generation. When Becca saw Winnie, she immediately smiled even brighter, her voice filled with surprise, "Oh my gosh! It's you! I've seen your movie, The Love Letter, right?" She was so excited that she almost covered her mouth. Winnie paused for a moment before realizing—Becca was talking about her debut movie, The Love Letter, which had been her first entry into international film festivals. "You're completely different from back then. But of course, you were just a little girl back then," she said this with a touch of nostalgia and teasing, her smile warm and friendly. Indeed, when she first entered the film industry at 17, she still had baby fat on her face, looking both youthful and innocent. The group walked along the deck toward the cabin, and the conversation gradually shifted to a more relaxed tone. The cabin was spacious and luxurious, with a soft carpet by the spiral staircase that felt like walking on clouds. A few chandeliers hung down, casting a warm light. Although it was already late at night, the music had not stopped, and the party atmosphere was still vibrant. In the center of the living room was a black Steinway grand piano, with several guests quietly conversing near the performance area. The second floor was the entertainment zone, featuring a cinema, spa, gym, as well as a card room and study. The yacht's third floor housed the luxurious private quarters, with five master suites in total. Winnie and Van were assigned to one of them. Winnie followed Van into the room, and upon seeing the extravagant décor, she was momentarily speechless. She couldn't hide her surprise and turned to Van, her tone tinged with dissatisfaction: "This yacht is so big, doesn't it have—" "No." Van interrupted her briefly and directly. Only yachts over 300 ft in length can be called "superyachts," and this vessel was precisely one of them. Its massive structure accommodated a helipad, a swimming pool, speedboats, jet skis, and even space for 150 crew members, yet it had no sixth guest suite. For these wealthy owners, private yachts didn't need too many guests. Van walked into the living room, casually taking off his suit jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He approached the sink, turned on the gilded faucet, and let the clear water flow gently over his long fingers. 'There will be other guests boarding later tonight. The five suites are already assigned," he explained. Winnie frowned. 'I don't have to stay in a suite." Van glanced at her, a faint smile appearing at his lips. 'What are you thinking? If not a suite, you could stay in the inner cabin with Eric and the crew." Winnie pursed her lips tightly, clearly unhappy. But Van didn't seem to care. He chuckled lightly and continued, 'Or, I could stay there?" Winnie was instantly at a loss for words, though she thought to herself that even with all the courage in the world, she wouldn't dare suggest he move into that tiny inner cabin. "What are you afraid of? I told you, it's not like I can do anything," Van said with an air of nonchalance, a faint smile on his face as he dried his fingers and slowly loosened his tie. "A man could use other tools," Winnie retorted, a smirk curling at her lips. Van couldn't help but glance down at her remark. His hands—usually reserved for writing, turning pages, or steering a sailboat—were now lightly resting on a white towel. The long, slender fingers carried a certain allure. Winnie straightened up instantly, her cheeks flushed. 'W-why are you staring at your own hands?" 'Can't I look at my hands?" Van raised his eyebrows slightly, smiling as he slowly began loosening his black tie. 'What's wrong with my hands?" 'H-hands…" Winnie stammered, her heart racing, her face fully reddened. Van nodded elegantly. 'Noted. Thanks for the reminder." His tone remained teasing, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Suddenly, the loud slam of a door broke the tension. Winnie, frustrated, lightly slapped her own mouth. 'Why can't I keep my mouth shut?!" The last time she slammed a car door in anger, her resolve had barely lasted a second before she softened. But this time, it seemed Van had no intention of letting her off so easily. A moment later, he stood outside the door, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement as a small smile curved at his lips. Lighting a cigarette with a soft click, he knocked gently on the bedroom door. 'You know, I might have a solution." From inside, Winnie's voice carried a hint of nasal irritation. 'What solution?" Van took a slow drag from his cigarette, his smile fading into something calmer. 'At night, you could tie me up." 'Van!" Winnie yelled, pounding the door in fury. Van chuckled, exhaling a puff of smoke softly. 'Alright, no more jokes. I'm really tired. Let me in, okay?"