Chapter 87

Globally, there are fewer than 160 superyachts, which means that the number of billionaires who truly own such luxurious vessels barely exceeds 100. Among them, over 80% choose to remain low-key, deliberately concealing their identities. Nearly all media outlets struggle to trace their whereabouts, and their names are nowhere to be found on Forbes' billionaire lists. Typically, these yachts are registered under inconspicuous names—perhaps a little-known restaurant owner or an obscure small-time vendor. The price of a superyacht usually starts at around $200 million, with astronomical costs for docking fees and daily maintenance. The routine expenses alone amount to hundreds of thousands of dollars, making this lifestyle an unattainable dream for most. These yachts are no longer merely symbols of wealth; they transcend worldly possessions, representing an almost mythical level of luxury and exclusivity. A few days ago, Becca, a renowned supermodel with significant influence in the fashion world and a reputation for impeccable taste, posted a photo on Instagram from her time at sea. In the photo, Winnie is dressed in a bright vacation dress, wearing oversized sunglasses and flashing a radiant smile. Her usual seriousness and reserve seemed to vanish in that moment. She stood alongside a group of business figures and models with whom she wouldn't typically mingle, her warm smile a stark contrast to the cold and aloof image often associated with her. The yacht featured in the photo was none other than the private yacht of Watson, heir to the Vibe Holding Group—one of the rare superyachts that frequently appears on social media and serves as a focal point of public attention. Becca's Instagram update drew widespread attention and was quickly reposted by Winnie's fan account. Almost instantly, the hashtag #BeccaWinnie# shot up the trending charts. Meanwhile, Elva had quietly made her way into Anne's studio and launched her 'campaign." When Anne's call came through, her voice was fraught with urgency and exasperation: 'Elva's lost it! It's 3 a.m., and she's still refusing to leave my studio!" Elva had turned Anne's studio into complete chaos. Soon after, waves of fashion PR managers arrived, each carrying new haute couture pieces. The sheer number of people Elva mobilized made it clear she had powerful backing. There was no need to guess—the attention and resources were all thanks to the people in that group photo and the yacht in the background. Winnie's days in Europe had been relatively quiet, with little time spent on social media. Although Becca had always treated her well, these social settings often made her feel as though she was under a spotlight, leaving her slightly uneasy. She had to appear poised and gracious while staying cautious and keeping a low profile, avoiding becoming the center of gossip. Night had fully fallen. The private jet's staircase extended slowly, and a flight attendant stood at the cabin door, waiting. Winnie continued her call with Anne, her phone buzzing incessantly with one message after another. Just then, David's name flashed on her screen, indicating another incoming call. This sense of urgency was something she had grown used to, but a twinge of unease lingered in her heart. 'Anne," Winnie said in a more serious tone, 'handle Elva first. It's urgent. I'll be in touch with you soon. If there's an issue, reach out to Wendy directly." She hung up the phone, and immediately David's call came through. His voice was nearly deafening, 'Don't hang up! Winnie! What's going on with you? Who brought you onto that yacht!?" David sounded furious, almost beside himself. Then he sighed in frustration. 'If I'd known you had access to so many resources, why didn't you tell me? You almost gave me a heart attack!" Winnie felt a wave of discomfort and guilt. Worried that Van might hear, she quickly covered her phone, whispering, 'Calm down. Don't get so worked up." 'Tell me, who exactly brought you onto that yacht?" David's voice was now filled with questioning and anxiety. Winnie glanced at Van, who was leisurely smoking a cigarette. She lowered her voice, almost to a whisper: 'My... um... non-celebrity boyfriend?" David was completely stunned by her response. After a pause, he spoke again, his tone filled with helplessness, 'The ‘non-celebrity' you're talking about and the ‘non-celebrity' I'm thinking of aren't even on the same level, okay?"