Chapter 6

Mia stepped out and ran into Wyatt, accidentally colliding with him. Her hair got caught on his chest pin, and the man, holding a whiskey glass in one hand, clearly hadn't reacted to the sudden "embrace."

Mia hissed in pain: "Mr. Robinson, could you lower your body a little?"

Wyatt nodded: "Is it better now?"

Mia pulled her hair over her head, trying to untangle the strands caught in the pin.

Her mind quickly raced. "I really can't see clearly... could you help me untangle it? I'm so sorry."

Only then did Wyatt glance down at her properly. "You..."

He saw that the girl was nervous, her eyes slightly misted with tears, which made him feel a little sorry for her. Without thinking, he started carefully untangling her hair.

Just then, the door to the lounge opened again, and the PR manager led Winnie in, chatting: "Mr. Robinson has been waiting here... What!?"

What they saw was Mia leaning limply against Wyatt, his fingers still tangled in her hair. Mia tried to sit up when she saw everyone, but because of her hair caught in his fingers, she once again fell into his arms.

Wyatt felt his anger flare when he saw Winnie quietly sigh with relief. He instinctively pulled Mia back into his arms and turned to walk away, saying, "Come with me."

The words seemed directed at Mia, but Winnie understood that Wyatt was mad at her. As for what he was angry about, she didn't want to think about it, nor did she have the energy to.

"Do you need me to contact him for you?" The PR manager had already pulled up a colleague's number. In a situation like this, if she was left alone, it would create an awkward scene. Not to mention, their entire team had already assumed she was Wyatt's companion, especially since her invitation was given personally by Wyatt.

"No need." Winnie stopped her. "I can handle it alone."

The PR manager had other work to do, and after a perfunctory refusal, she quickly left.

Winnie's sweet smile vanished with the PR manager's departure. She leaned against the wall, bored, and kicked the long skirt hem. She then reached behind her and pulled out the low bun, letting her long hair cascade down. She played with a small black hair tie like a young girl for a moment.

Great, she had gone out in the rain, felt refreshed, but in the process, she had provoked Wyatt and now had to go to the banquet alone.

The scene was going to be awkward—one of those classic, ugly situations that people would gossip about and criticize over and over.

Her expression of frustration was more vivid than the sweetness from before, at least it looked more like a real person.

Van, who had been watching from across the room, couldn't help but smile in silent amusement.

"Who's there?" Winnie said sharply, lifting her gaze toward the corner where a chandelier hung.

The long, silent corridor was covered in a dark red carpet, with classical oil paintings hanging on the dark green, gold-spattered wallpaper. A wisp of smoke floated gently beneath the chandelier.

Van glanced down at the half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, a hint of helplessness in his eyes.

Should he say the cigarette betrayed him, or was this woman just too sharp?

Winnie waited stubbornly for a while, and finally, a stranger stepped out from the shadow of the corner.

She froze for a moment, and her first impression was that he looked wealthy. He wore a full black suit—black shirt, black jacket, black trousers—but the fabric was so refined that under the light, it revealed a deep, layered texture. He looked cold, as if he had come from the black sand beaches of Iceland, moving through cold mist and blue ice.

Winnie didn't immediately recognize him. She was struck by the Windsor knot of his tie, which looked so familiar. Above the Windsor knot, his neck was erect, and his Adam's apple pronounced.

In front of this stranger, Winnie smoothly shifted into her expression management mode. She pressed her lips together and gave a slight nod, her demeanor a blend of celebrity-like pride and restraint, acknowledging him with a greeting.

Van wasn't far from her, and he slightly extended the hand holding the cigarette, palm up. "Wait a moment."

He had an excellent voice, even more impressive than his looks—low and rich, but not too heavy, like a glass of red wine with light tannins, aged to perfection from the finest vintage.

Winnie was confused until the man in front of her walked toward her with a calm stride, then bent down to adjust the hem of her champagne-colored dress just a bit.

His actions were smooth, effortlessly gentlemanly and relaxed. In contrast, Winnie, standing above him, stiffened, every nerve in her body tightening.

Once done, Van straightened up, taking a slight step back. His gaze traveled from below to above, admiring her, finally resting on her face. He spoke with politeness, "It suits you well."

His gaze, much like him, was gentle and restrained, a blend of gentlemanliness and aloofness. It was clearly appreciative, but somehow, it gave the impression that he was only being polite, as if his interest had waned.

They stood not far apart, and the scent in the air was subtle, almost imperceptible.

It was that kind of clean, reassuring fragrance.

So unique. Without thinking, Winnie blurted out, "It's you."