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 lowered her head, burying her face in his chest. Her slender arms reached behind him as she silently tried to fasten the clasp.


It wouldn't fasten. She was on the verge of tears. She thought to herself, "What kind of person is this!"


Van stayed quiet for a moment before saying, 'Do you want me to help?"


'No," she replied, her voice thick with frustration. Biting her lip and holding back tears, she fumbled for what felt like an eternity before finally managing to fasten it.


She stayed nestled against his chest for a while longer. When she finally lifted her face, her eyes were brimming with tears.


Van paused, then gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing the soft, damp corners of her eyes. 'Why are you crying?"


Winnie held it in as best as she could, but the grievance was hard to express. Her lips, swollen from his rough kisses, quivered stubbornly, pouting downward as if she were about to cry again.


Chapter 67