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

He made an effort to keep his composure, but when her voice reached his ears, his expression shifted. His gaze, once steady, grew darker with every passing second. His grip on her chin tightened, drawing her closer. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as their eyes locked, the air thick with tension. Then, without warning, he kissed her—fierce and hungry, as though he couldn't wait any longer. The kiss was urgent, his emotions finally breaking free, pouring into the contact between them.


Every time they kissed, he felt her body soften, and her breath grew more rapid. It was then that Winnie softly asked, "Mr. Marlowe... do you feel tortured?"


Van replied with a question, his breath heavy, "How do you feel?"


"Aren't you... that kind of person?" She hesitated, realizing she had asked something inappropriate, her tone becoming uncertain.


Van furrowed his brows, a trace of strange amusement flashing in his eyes. "So what?"


Chapter 106