NewEraCulture

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

Van re-fastened her seatbelt, then glanced at her. The dim moonlight made his gaze seem deep and obscure, and Winnie couldn't understand the hidden aggression in his eyes.


When he spoke again, the depth in his gaze faded. He lowered his eyes, his tone becoming plain, but somehow still making her feel reliable. "I was lying. I'll take you home."


Winnie wanted to believe it was that comforting scent at play, and her inner voice told her that it was.


The Benz started and stopped, and each time it did, Eric's Maybach behind them would follow suit.


Yulia confidently guessed, "Mr. Marlowe must have not driven for a long time, that's why he's so unfamiliar with it."


Eric smiled. "The young master indeed hasn't driven for a while, especially not for a lady."


Winnie kept her eyes on the rearview mirror on the passenger side. The lights of the Maybach followed them, but always stayed at a distance.


"Don't worry about your assistant; Eric will take care of her."


Chapter 30