Chapter 85

Winnie felt a tension rise within her as her mind wandered to Van's grueling schedule over the past few days. She realized he had probably been getting less than four hours of sleep a night. She opened the door and caught a faint glimmer of weariness in his dark, deep eyes. His expression was silent, as if sheer willpower and the cigarette between his fingers were the only things keeping him upright. 'I'm sorry," he said quietly. 'I should've acted like a gentleman and told you I'd sleep on the couch, but…" He raised his hand slightly, the one holding the cigarette, and his fingers gently brushed against Winnie's cheek. 'I'm just too tired. Can you forgive me for tonight?" Winnie nodded without a word. Van paused for a moment, then leaned in and kissed her gently. It was a soft, quiet kiss, one that seemed to freeze time. Though it wasn't passionate, it was deeply immersive, drawing them both in. When the kiss ended, neither of them was out of breath. It was as if the world around them had slowed down. Winnie smiled faintly, a trace of triumph curving her lips. 'So, I can make you behave after all." Van swallowed lightly, a flicker of something complex crossing his eyes. The kiss in the car earlier hadn't stirred much in him, but now, he felt his restraint slipping. He gently pushed her away, his voice deep, 'I'm going to take a shower." Soon after, the sound of running water filled the room as Van stepped into the bathroom. As Winnie passed the foot of the bed, she stopped, her eyes drawn to the bench. The leather material was unique—a dark gray that seemed almost otherworldly. Its craftsmanship was flawless, with no visible seams or imperfections, as if it had been born that way. She realized this was an extreme form of luxury, where even the simplest object carried the weight of meticulous artistry. Standing on the deck of the superyacht, she was struck by the hollowness and surreal quality that seemed to linger behind its lavish splendor. It brought to mind the stories she'd heard—tales of people surrendering their identity for wealth or prestige, of women choosing to become mistresses to men twice their age, exchanging themselves for a fleeting taste of luxury. Everywhere she looked, the same message seemed to echo: money and status were no promises of fulfillment; instead, they could be the weight that crushed the soul. In the distance, a speedboat cut through the calm sea, its lights carving a bright line through the darkness. Winnie glanced back at the replaced bench, feeling a pang of something unnameable. Turning toward the sofa, she murmured softly to herself, 'All of this—was it ever really worth it?" As Winnie entered the bathroom, the gentle sound of water cascading from the showerhead filled the air. Suddenly, a knock at the door broke the calm. She turned to look toward the entrance. The door opened slowly, and a servant stepped in carrying a tray. On it sat a low-stemmed glass of mulled wine, steam rising from the rich red liquid. The aromatic blend of cinnamon, cloves, and orange peel wafted toward her. Winnie paused in mild surprise. The servant said something in a language she didn't understand, prompting her to take the glass with a simple 'Thank you." She had a particular fondness for mulled wine. During winter, whenever she had downtime after a shoot, she would brew herself a cup to savor a moment of peace. Not long after, Van emerged from the bathroom. He spotted her sitting on the sofa, one hand holding the wine glass, the other scrolling through her phone. 'Night service on the yacht?" she asked as she stood up. 'Oh, wait—did they forget to bring one to you? Or—" She hesitated, realization dawning. 'Was this meant for you? Sorry, sorry, I didn't think—" Van, still toweling his damp hair, gave her a faint smile. 'It's yours. But if it were mine and you wanted it, just drink it. No need to hold back." His upper body was bare, with a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. Usually, in formal settings,his appearance was meticulously polished—his suits tailored perfectly, his shirt collars buttoned to the top, and his ties precisely knotted. He exuded restraint and elegance, his long fingers and prominent Adam's apple often sparking quiet admiration.