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

After a long pause, he finally spoke, "The nerve you mentioned, what nerve are you talking about?"


Winnie looked up at him, feeling a bit confused. "I'm not sure what you mean."


Van's eyes deepened even further. "Tell me."


Her face was bathed in moonlight, with Van's shadow weaving into it, creating a blurred image. She lowered her voice. "Mr. Marlowe, I shouldn't let your past affect me." She lifted her gaze slightly, avoiding his eyes. Her voice dropped a little. "I shouldn't compare myself to your former women."


A barely noticeable shift passed through Van's gaze. He was silent for a moment before continuing, "You're so understanding; you'd be well-suited to be a mistress." His tone was cold, almost mocking, but his eyes lingered on the red mole near her ear, his words halting as though he wanted to say more.


Winnie was puzzled, watching him nervously. "Mr. Marlowe, I don't understand what you mean."


Chapter 126