A high-society romance where pretense turned into reality.
 
Van, the heir to a top-tier fortune and a regular on the front page of the Wall Street Journal, had been mocked for being perpetually single, with even rumors swirling about his "dysfunction."
 
Winnie, a Hollywood superstar desperate to escape her constant barrage of scandals, encountered this billionaire worth tens of billions. To her surprise, Van presented her with an unexpected proposal:
 
"Pretend to date me for a year. You won't have to do anything else. I'll pay you $100 million after taxes."
 
She planned to laugh it off but couldn't ignore the man's chiseled features—the way his shadowed face was lit up as he casually raised an eyebrow and lit a cigarette in the glow of firelight, his voice steady and laced with danger.
 
She remembered their first meeting in a torrential downpour—the man reclining in a silver Maybach, eyes half-closed, exuding charm yet utterly unattainable. She also remembered later, when everyone had believed him to be unshakable and untouchable, he had appeared alone, worn and weary, at her remote desert film set, quietly asking:
 
"Do you really have to shoot this kiss scene?"
 
Behind this contract lay something far deeper than money—a fixation, a love that had turned real, or perhaps an irresistible force neither of them had recognized.
 
$100 million had set the stage for a high-stakes battle of love and hate that would ultimately unravel.

A Love Confession from Las Vegas

"I've never met her," Wendy shook her head and replied. That was the truth. "Mr. Marlowe's last girlfriend was very mysterious, and they broke up under unpleasant circumstances."


"Doesn't that mean he's still thinking about her?" Yulia was great at making conversation.


Winnie set down her fork, her face expressionless.


"Are you done eating?" Yulia asked. "This is the last time you'll have lasagna. From now on, you're cutting out sugar and carbs."


Winnie paused for a second, then picked up her fork again, eating her favorite lasagna as though bearing the weight of some unseen burden.


Wendy smiled but didn't answer Yulia's intrusive question.


"Hey, what about Mr. Marlowe?" Yulia cupped her hands around her mouth, speaking slowly and quietly, then quickly added, "Would he keep a mistress? A female star? Or even a guy?"


After the quick clarification, she sat up straight, her hands flat on the table, eagerly waiting.


Chapter 45