Chapter 11

The banquet downstairs lasted late into the night.

Mia, still having a conscience, came up to check on Winnie. Winnie was taking a bath, and from the answering machine by the bathtub, she realized it was Mia. Reluctantly, she got up, wrapped herself in a bathrobe, and went to open the door.

Mia entered, her face flushed, and immediately checked on Winnie, "Are you catching a cold?"

Winnie, feeling guilty, cleared her throat. "My tonsils hurt a little."

The scent of essential oils filled the bathroom, and Mia sniffed the air. Noticing water droplets on Winnie's neck, she asked, "Are you taking a bath?"

Winnie, not wanting to be distant, removed her bathrobe and submerged herself back into the tub. The executive suite of this luxury hotel was impressive; just the bath area alone was over 200 square feet. A floor-to-ceiling window faced the ocean, with no curtains or blinds, so one could imagine how amazing the view must be on a clear day.

But it was night now, and the rain had just stopped. Under the lights, the glass window was streaked with wet marks.

Mia sat down at the edge of the bathtub, holding her skirt, and couldn't hide her excitement. "Winnie, I just danced at the party and realized these kinds of banquets are so much fun!"

Winnie took a sip of cinnamon hot wine. The bathtub was filled with a thick layer of rose petals, covering her body. Her face was warm, and her eyes slightly lifted as she asked her, "What did you find fun about it?"

"There were so many performances," Mia said, counting on her fingers. "I thought everyone would be so formal, just drinking and chatting. I didn't expect there'd be so many shows and live music! I just danced several times!"

Winnie couldn't help but laugh. "Of course there are performances. Rich people are still people, aren't they? If they're always acting all formal, they'd be exhausted!"

She took a sip of the cinnamon red tea by the bathtub, raising an eyebrow slightly in confusion as she asked, "Dancing?"

"Yes! But unfortunately, I've never learned how to dance," Mia said awkwardly. "David hired a teacher for me, but I haven't had the chance to learn yet."

David was their agent, also the head of the talent agency, Raven Entertainment. His full name was David Penrose, one of the top agents in the industry. Though Mia was a celebrity, she had to obey David's every word—she didn't have the right to say "no."

"Then who taught you?"

Mia paused for a moment. Her hesitation didn't escape Winnie's notice. She smiled and asked, "Wyatt?"

"Yeah…" Mia quickly corrected herself. "But Mr. Marlowe also taught me a dance."

Winnie gave a casual "Oh."

Mia thought Winnie might be upset about Wyatt and quickly swore, "Mr. Robinson is a gentleman. He told me he gave me special attention tonight because of you, and he said I wasn't quick-witted enough."

Winnie sipped her hot wine, lightly tapping her long fingers on the porcelain bathtub edge as she reminded Mia, "Wyatt isn't as great as you think. Don't be fooled."

Her words were sincere, but Mia just grinned, "Got it, I won't steal your Mr. Robinson from you."

After chatting for a while, Mia hurriedly left to enjoy the party a bit longer, saying her goodbyes. A short time later, the doorbell rang again. Winnie pressed the answering machine, and Mia's rushed voice came through, "I forgot my purse!"

Winnie sighed and opened the door again, leaning against the bar as Mia grabbed her purse and touched up her lipstick in the mirror. "Let's go, let's go."

"You won't forget anything else this time?" Winnie teased the younger girl.

"I won't!" Mia swore, raising her hand to the sky.

After seeing Mia off, Winnie untied her bathrobe. Barely two minutes into the bath, the doorbell rang again.

It seemed this little girl wasn't the type to remember things. In and out of the room, and by now the water had gone cold. Winnie couldn't be bothered to get back in. She put on her robe, tied the belt, and walked barefoot toward the door, impatiently muttering, "What did you forget agai—"

Standing in the doorway was Van.

He wasn't wearing a coat, just a black shirt. His tie, unlike earlier, wasn't tightly knotted; the Windsor knot was looser, adding a casual touch to his otherwise refined and elegant appearance.

The man had one hand resting on the doorframe, his gaze slowly scanning Winnie from head to toe.

It was deliberate.

The white bathrobe, worn and tossed around a few times, no longer fit properly, loosely covering her body. Fortunately, the collar wasn't open too wide, but Van could still clearly see droplets of water sliding down her long, graceful neck, wetting her collarbones and chest.

Her face was flushed, the porcelain skin tinted with a faint pink. The air conditioning was on, but the scent of rose essential oil seemed to have a warmth to it.

Van narrowed his eyes, his look lingering, full of meaning. "It seems like you've already recovered."

Winnie's mind went blank. Instinctively, she slammed the door shut with a loud bang—

What the hell is he doing here? Is he trying to—trying to take advantage of her? Didn't he say he wasn't like that?!

She tightened the messy bun she had hastily made with her wet hair, brushing her face to move the stray strands from her forehead and behind her ears. Taking a deep breath, she reopened the door, her breathing steady as she calmly asked, "Mr. Marlowe, is there something you need?"

She didn't notice that Van had stepped back slightly, keeping a gentlemanly distance from the door. "You were caught in such a heavy rain, I came to check on you."

Winnie pressed the back of her hand to her face and played along, "Thank you for your concern. I think it's just a slight fever."

Van nodded, not lingering. "Get some rest."

Winnie had just slammed the door on him without warning, but now, calming down, she became polite and composed. With proper decorum, she said to Van in a dignified manner, "Well then, Mr. Marlowe, good night."

She watched Van walk down the hallway.

Just as the elevator doors opened, Eric, in his hotel uniform, stepped out, holding a golden tray in both hands.

The moment they crossed paths, Van's otherwise neutral gaze flickered toward the tray.

On it, neatly folded, were two pieces of clothing: the black dress on top, and underneath, clearly his light-colored silk shawl.