Chapter 9

Winnie felt truly embarrassed and explained, "He is a playboy, and I thought he was just wearing it for fun, or... maybe in an open relationship."

She didn't understand why Wyatt had to bring up this trivial matter from the past. After all, she had no experience in that area—how could she have casually slept with him?

Wyatt lowered his head and glanced at her: "When I was married, why didn't I see you making a move on me?"

Winnie's heart raced with alarm when she heard the half-smile in Wyatt's voice as he asked the next question, "What, do you think I'm not as handsome as him, or do you have some moral high ground when it comes to me?"

Even a fool would sense Wyatt's unusual jealousy and anger.

Inviting her to be his date without telling her, forcing her to change clothes at the last minute, and the exclusive global premiere of the haute couture dress—all of it had been done to assert his dominance in front of Edison. Winnie suddenly understood, and her heart sank—Wyatt had truly lost his mind. He really thought she was his!

Wyatt liked her intelligence, but he disliked her restlessness and arrogance. He looked coldly at the man standing next to Edison, then smiled bitterly. He hadn't expected that after his small punishment of letting her stand in the rain, she would find an opening and cozy up to another powerful man.

"How did you end up coming in with him?" Wyatt didn't name anyone directly, but they both knew who he meant.

Winnie told the truth, "I know you won't believe me, but you left me alone, and I ran into him. He said he was lost, so I brought him in."

Their chance encounter in the rain, the gesture of offering an umbrella, and the touch of his hand brushing against the delicate scent of her shawl—Winnie said nothing about it.

Wyatt remained silent as they walked, seemingly considering the credibility of Winnie's words.

The closer they got to the host, the more intense Winnie's heartbeat became for some reason. The stem of her champagne glass had become warm to the touch, and her palms and fingers were so sweaty that she almost couldn't hold onto the delicate crystal glass.

When they finally stopped, Van finished his conversation with the person beside him, turned his head, and his gaze met Winnie's briefly, his eyes softly lowering to her.

Wyatt first clinked glasses with Edison and exchanged pleasantries, "Long time no see."

After a brief shoulder bump, he naturally turned to the other side and raised his glass to Van, asking, "And this is...?"

He of course guessed who it was, just waiting for Edison to make the introduction. Edison was about to speak, but Van beat him to it, a casual smile tugging at the corner of his lips: "Ladies first, how about you introduce the only lady here?"

Wyatt paused for a moment, then put his arm around Winnie's shoulders. "This is Miss Winnie Loxley," he said, then jokingly asked, "You two came in together, but it seems you don't even know each other?"

Only then did Van truly address her, calling out, "Hi, Miss Loxley."

How rude he was—he had known her name all along, but he waited for the formal introduction before deigning to address her properly.

Winnie assumed her fame wasn't so significant, which was why the man didn't recognize her. She forced a pretty fake smile, ready to engage in a few words, but before she could speak, she heard a low, deep voice from across the room, coldly but calmly complimenting her, "You look stunning tonight."

Hearing compliments about her appearance was something Winnie could hear a hundred times a day, and there was no reason for her to blush just because of the words "stunning."

But her face did indeed warm up, and she found herself feeling a bit lost, as though it were the first time someone had complimented her.

Wyatt looked down at her with affectionate eyes, and whether he did it on purpose or not, he gently placed his hand on the curve of Winnie's waist, whispering, "Aren't you going to thank him?"

Winnie froze, her breath unsteady, causing the champagne in her glass to tremble.

"Thank you..." she faltered, "...you truly have an eye for detail."

It was the first time Van laughed during the evening. He smiled slightly, lowered his gaze, and reached out his hand. His eyes moved past the others, locking onto hers with a meaningful look. "Pleasure to meet you, I'm Van Marlowe."

Winnie's forced smile vanished in an instant, and she froze in place.

Mr. Marlowe?

There might be many people named Van Marlowe in the world, but there was no other Van Marlowe who could make such an entrance—always the last to arrive, bodyguards clearing the way, and everyone else fawning over him.

It wasn't until Van gave her a subtle chin gesture that she snapped out of her daze, like a fool, and took his hand.

His hand was broad and dry, only making her feel more self-conscious as her palm became slightly damp, as though there were something guilty in her heart.

But what was she guilty of? Spreading rumors that this young master was "plain-looking"? That probably wasn't a crime worth death, right?