When the man woke up, she woke up with him, feeling a bit embarrassed about everything that happened the night before. She used the excuse of a slight headache and didn't get up with him.
It wasn't until the bedroom door was pushed open again.
The light sound of high heels clicking on the floor was accompanied by a faint, perfectly timed fragrance—Chanel No. 5. Curious, she opened her eyes, realizing it wasn't her cold and distant assistant.
A woman in her thirties stood there, dressed in a typical black maid's uniform, her figure curvaceous and graceful. Her brown hair was pinned up, revealing a fair neck. From the side, her face was average, but she exuded a calming and obedient aura, the kind of woman that would be very pleasing to men.
Someone must like her a lot.
Angray Davis neatly placed the clothes he was holding on the cabinet by the bed, then turned to notice the woman in bed staring at him. He wasn't surprised and smiled gently. "Good morning, Miss Landy."
"Morning. And you are?"
"You can call me Ann."
Irene Landy nodded, pulling up the covers to conceal her chest, and sat up. She glanced around and noticed the bright sunlight streaming through the curtains. She was startled and quickly asked Angray, "Ann, what time is it?"
"It's 10:30. I thought Miss Landy should be awake by now, so I brought in your clothes."
As he spoke, Angray confirmed with Irene and then walked over to open the curtains. The bright spring sunlight immediately filled the bedroom.
Irene squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light. Suddenly, she felt a bit deflated, realizing it was Monday. She had disappeared without a word the previous night, hadn't gone to the office this morning, and her family was probably looking for her by now.
And…
She looked at Angray again. "Ann, where's Simon?"
"The boss had a 9 a.m. flight. He's already left, but he asked me to apologize on his behalf."
A slight wave of resentment washed over her.
But quickly, she realized she shouldn't feel that way. After all, she had been the one to cling to him last night.
Still…
Hmm.
Why should she be so reasonable?
What a jerk.
Angray waited for a moment. Seeing Irene Landy staying silent, he asked proactively, "Would you like some breakfast, Miss Landy? I can prepare it for you."
Only then did she notice her empty stomach.
She nodded, and after the housekeeper left, she grabbed her purse, turned on her phone, which had been off since the night before, and found a string of missed calls. After thinking for a bit, she called her doting mother, casually made up an excuse, and mentioned that she wasn't feeling well and didn't want to go to work, deciding to take the day off.
After a hot bath, she didn't head downstairs for nearly half an hour.
During her bath, she noticed the marks that the jerk had left on her body. Unable to resist, she dashed out of the bathroom to grab her phone, intending to call him and scold him while soaking in the tub. The call didn't go through, and then she remembered he was probably on a plane.
She recalled it was a Boeing 767, likely equipped with an in-flight communication system, but she didn't know how to reach him and gave up.
She resolved to settle the score with him next time.
Since the man wasn't around, she had no reason to linger in his house. After breakfast, she left.
By the time she returned to Manhattan, it was already past noon, and having decided not to go to work today, she planned to go shopping in the afternoon.
She even planned to deliberately avoid any brands associated with him.
No way she'd give him any more money.
However, when she passed by the Versace store on Fifth Avenue, she couldn't help but go inside—she really liked Versace's designs.
It was just after 1 p.m.
And it was Monday.
The store was at its quietest, with only the sales staff and one other customer browsing. Irene casually glanced over, noting that the other woman had her back to her while picking out clothes. Judging from her posture, she seemed to be a society lady.
But Irene Landy's attention was drawn to the woman beside the lady.
The woman was dressed in a black suit, her hair tied up in a neat ponytail, her figure tall and imposing, her gaze sharp. Sensing Irene's stare, the woman immediately looked over. After confirming that Irene wasn't a threat, she nodded politely and returned to her position.
What attracted Irene was that the woman's outfit and demeanor were unmistakable.
A bodyguard from the Westeros family.
Not half an hour ago, a similarly dressed woman had driven her back to Manhattan. Upon arrival, the woman had even asked if Irene needed anything else. Irene had briefly considered having such a bodyguard to drive her around while she shopped in the afternoon, but in the end, she politely declined since it wasn't her personal servant.
As a VIP at the Versace store, a sales assistant quickly approached her. The woman, short-haired with flawless makeup and alluring red lips, greeted her with an enthusiastic, slightly Italian-accented tone. "Good afternoon, Miss Landy. I didn't expect to see you shopping today."
Many Italian luxury brands employed Italian staff overseas.
Irene Landy shook off her thoughts and smiled. "Elena, I'm just browsing."
Elena gestured for Irene to follow her and said, "What a coincidence! We just received a few new dresses this morning. Would you like to take a look, Miss Landy?"
Irene sat on the sofa and nodded. "Sure."
Instead of rushing to grab the dresses, Elena first prepared coffee for her customer.
Irene leaned back on the sofa, her eyes casually glancing once more in the direction of the other woman, before quickly looking away. She vaguely heard the lady's voice, filled with a tone of condescension.
Honestly.
It felt like a scene from the past.
After their first intimate encounter, she had enthusiastically gone to Los Angeles for Melisandre's party.
Then, she realized it seemed like the world was full of his women, and for a long time, she gave up on him.
Yet here she was again.
Manhattan was so big, yet she managed to run into this.
Jerk.
She took a deep breath, searching for various reasons to comfort herself, then shifted her focus to Elena, who was making coffee. After preparing it, Elena swapped out the record on the player nearby as some light music ended, before bringing the cup to Irene's side.
After thanking her, Irene picked up the coffee. Just as she was about to ask Elena to bring her some clothes to try, she was distracted by the song that started playing on the record player.
"...Having seen it all, experienced it all, weary of heart and spirit..."
For some reason, perhaps because the song's glamorous yet melancholic vibe matched her own recent weekend of confusion and struggles, she instantly fell in love with the tune.
Seeing her customer engrossed, Elena tactfully waited in silence.
Once the song finished, just as Irene was about to ask about it, a female voice came from nearby: "Miss, my lady would like to know more about this song."
Irene looked up to see the Westeros bodyguard.
Since the woman's question matched her own curiosity, she remained silent.
The other woman clearly also had VIP status, and Elena dared not be negligent. She quickly explained, "This is a new song released by Simon Westeros yesterday evening on the Egret platform. It's called Young and Beautiful. I thought it was lovely, so I made it into a record and brought it here to play."
Perhaps the name "Simon Westeros" elicited a subtle shift in the bodyguard's expression. She nodded and walked away.
Irene, however, was even more surprised. After the woman left, she looked at Elena, her tone uncertain. "This is Simon Westeros' new song?"
Elena, much more talkative with Irene, gossiped a bit. "Yes, Miss Landy. It's actually part of a music video, featuring clips of many famous Hollywood actresses' iconic scenes. However, the opening is still dedicated to 'Jenny.' I saw on a forum last night that it was a birthday gift from Mr. Westeros to his wife. That was a month ago, but now it's finally out for us to enjoy. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it and listened to it all night long. Oh, by the way, there are actually three songs. The other two are just as mesmerizing, and I highly recommend them. They'll definitely make it to the top three on the Billboard charts next week—Mr. Westeros is truly a genius, so admirable."
Irene listened to the salesgirl gush, watching her clasp her hands to her chest like a fangirl.
Suddenly, she understood.
And then—
She resigned herself to the truth.
She wasn't any different.
Ever since she gave her first time to that man, even after deciding to distance herself from him and cut off her fantasies, she still couldn't help but follow all his news. Watching his wealth grow on the rankings, hearing about his private military intervening in Africa to stop a massacre, reading about his scandals with various actresses, and seeing how a casual idea of his could lead to a movie grossing over $200 million domestically. Even when she heard about his involvement in taking down a mafia family in Italy, she couldn't resist investigating further.
Such a radiant man, just like the lyrics in the song playing now.
Like the sun.
And she was just one
of the many women caught in his glow, unable to break free.
She remembered last night well, even though she'd had a lot to drink.
The two of them had been tangled up in bed, and she'd stubbornly declared that she wouldn't fall in love with him. He, too, had 'seriously' discussed it, saying it wasn't love, just genetic instinct. Females are naturally drawn to males who make them feel handsome, powerful, knowledgeable, mysterious, gentle, or any other quality that suggests their genes would be well-passed down.
Love at first sight was just a trick of the brain.
She had agreed with him then, playing the role of the cynical woman.
It was all fake.
Yet now, listening to the song and the deep connection it conveyed, she suddenly realized: when a man attracts a woman so strongly, for the woman, isn't that... love?
Of course, she knew the truth.
It was just her one-sided love.
But so what?
She wasn't like the girls in love stories who thought love was life itself, who believed they had lost everything when love was gone.
Love was just love.
Life was still life, and everything else remained the same.
And that was perfectly fine.
Having figured this out, Irene Landy felt much lighter. She looked up at Elena, who was standing respectfully nearby, about to speak when the Westeros bodyguard returned and said to Elena, "Miss, my lady wants that record."
Irene raised an eyebrow.
She wanted it, too.
This wasn't a record store, but the store would surely accommodate a VIP's special request. Elena knew her record was considered personal property, but she'd likely receive a nice tip in return. After all, she could always make another copy later.
The sales assistant was about to agree when another voice chimed in: "That record is already mine, Elena. Please wrap it up for me. I'll take it with me."
Elena was surprised to hear Irene Landy's sudden claim, but knowing Irene was also a regular VIP, she understood where her loyalty lay. She politely told the bodyguard, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you heard her."
The bodyguard noticed Elena's expression and seemed to understand the situation but didn't argue, simply turning and walking away again.
A moment later, a voice could be heard in the distance.
Irene Landy, feeling a sudden curiosity, turned around and leaned over the back of the sofa to look. The store manager, Karen, was now standing next to the lady, patiently explaining something, while the lady's voice grew more imperious. "I want that record, and I don't care what anyone else thinks. If I don't get it today, I'll file a complaint. Not with Gianni Versace, not with Sofia Fendi, but directly with Simon Westeros."
A mischievous idea formed in Irene's mind. She noticed a southern accent in the woman's speech and couldn't help herself. She raised her voice just slightly. "How tedious. It's been hundreds of years, and southern women are still so crude. If you're not picking cotton, what are you doing pretending to be a lady in New York?"
"Who said that? Who are you?"
At Irene's words, the woman quickly appeared from behind the racks where she had been seated. Her face was far from crude; it was exquisitely refined. Her voluminous wavy hair and light pink Chanel outfit, paired with a Hermès scarf around her neck, made it hard to tell if she was in her twenties or thirties.
She wore an expression of indignation, and with her styled hair and outfit, Irene couldn't help but think she resembled a glamorous Vivien Leigh from Gone with the Wind.
That awful man.
How many stunning beauties has he secretly collected?
As she thought this, Irene, knowing she was no match for the woman in terms of looks, didn't back down. She didn't answer the woman's question, instead saying, "Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is that you know who you are. This is New York, madam, not your cotton plantation where you can act however you like."
The woman, incensed by Irene's taunt, grew even angrier. "Me? A cotton plantation? Ha! And what does your family have? A textile mill? Without our southern cotton plantations, what would you northern folks use to run your mills? You're nothing but a bunch of bloodsucking capitalists, thinking you're noble, but really just a bunch of poor losers kicked out of England, sending your daughters back to Europe for some desperate noble marriage. In the end, still losers. Let me guess, do you have some British noble fiancé, too? How grand."
Irene hadn't expected the woman to be so sharp-tongued and immediately escalate to personal attacks. She was momentarily at a loss and instinctively retorted, "You're the British loser."
Sensing the younger woman's feeble defense, the southern lady gave her a disdainful glance before turning to the manager and saying, "I want that record, or I'll make sure you're fired. If you don't believe me, just try. I'll have Westeros fire you directly."
Irene immediately seized upon her words. "Karen, don't listen to her. I just saw Simon at a party on Saturday. He's a very reasonable person, not the kind to do such irrational things. I think you should call security."
The manager knew Irene's status, so she didn't doubt her. She was about to tell the lady something when the woman sneered. "Security? There's one right here," she said, pointing to the Westeros bodyguard beside her. But she wasn't finished. The woman then untied the Hermès scarf from her neck, revealing a few telltale love bites, and said, with a tone tinged with anger, "And, little girl, so what if you saw Simon Westeros at a party? I was in his bed last night. See? This is what that bastard left. If he hadn't run off on an early flight, I'd be giving him a piece of my mind right now."
KO!
For some reason, Irene felt the urge to cover her face.
That bastard.
Last night...
Even though she could never imagine showing off her own hickeys in public like that.
Realizing the argument was teetering on becoming a public spectacle, Irene decided to retreat. She didn't want this to turn into a farce that might end up involving her in gossip.
After the woman left, laden with bags and the record she had won, everyone in the boutique exchanged glances.
Fortunately, it was Monday, a slow time with no other customers around during those few minutes.
After courteously seeing the southern woman out, the manager, Karen, returned to Irene's side, enthusiastically offering to help her pick out some clothes. However, she also subtly requested that Irene keep today's events to herself. If word got out, the entire store's staff could be in trouble.
Irene, of course, understood.
It wasn't about their argument but rather the southern woman showing off her "strawberries."
If the story of Simon Westeros' lover flaunting her marks at a boutique made the rounds, the first to suffer would be the staff. It was clear that after Irene left, the manager would gather her staff for a quick meeting to impose a gag order.
Since she often shopped there and knew the staff well, and since it involved her too, Irene assured them she wouldn't spread the story.
After picking out her clothes and some accessories, Irene didn't leave with bags like the other woman. Instead, she paid and asked the store to deliver everything to her home. Shopping alone, she didn't have the energy to carry things around. For a moment, she regretted letting the Westeros family's driver who had brought her back to Manhattan leave.
If only... things might have gotten interesting.
But on second thought, she was glad she hadn't. Otherwise, some secrets might have been exposed, and she wasn't as carefree as the southern woman, preferring to keep her private matters discreet.
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