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

Winnie was both embarrassed and angry, but on second thought, there are many types of dysfunction—perhaps he wasn't impotent but suffered from premature. However, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't associate this man's sexually charged aura with the word "premature."


She complied, no longer making rash moves, carefully maintaining a subtle distance from him.


After two minutes of silence, she heard a cold, deep voice from above her, "Okay now."


Winnie, with her head down and her body stiff, withdrew from his embrace, "I-I'll move over there."


Even though the back seat of the Maybach was a continuous piece with a central console, she could only half-step over, which might not have looked very elegant. But she couldn't stay near this man for another second.


"Sit just like this." Van pulled her waist back, embracing her shoulders.


Van looked down at her with a hint of helplessness, "Let me hold you for a while."


Chapter 62