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

It hurt—a sharp, instinctive reaction as Van awoke, gripping Winnie's arm so tightly her bones ached. She lost her balance, one knee landing between his legs, her hand braced awkwardly against his chest, barely keeping herself from falling fully into his lap.


"It's you." Van's voice was low as he opened his eyes, his gaze still heavy with the fog of sleep, looking down at her from above. After a moment, he spoke in a deep, husky tone, "What were you trying to do?"


With one hand caught in his grip and her posture awkwardly bent, Winnie straightened her back as best she could. "There's a draft, and I was worried you'd be cold, so I brought you a blanket."


What blanket? The pale ginger cashmere throw had already slipped silently to the floor between them.


Van narrowed his eyes slightly, his cold gaze fixed on her, though something darker and unspoken stirred in their depths.


"Why were you gone so long?" Van asked.


"I had a phone call," Winnie replied calmly, meeting his eyes.


Chapter 50