A Love Confession from Las Vegas

Los Angeles is famous for its sunshine and beaches, but every fall, when the humidity drops to 20-30%, the golden maple leaves clinging to the branches and the gentle breeze create the illusion of being in a high-latitude region. Yet, this is Los Angeles, the largest city in California, where cloudless blue skies and slightly sweet air are the norm.

Before stepping out, fully made up and ready, Winnie Loxley noticed that the previously azure sky had turned slightly grayish. Her assistant pointed out a 40% chance of rain from afternoon to evening and reminded her to prepare for the drop in temperature. Winnie listened but dismissed the warning, knowing how unreliable Los Angeles rain forecasts usually were.

The Alphard van rounded a corner and picked her up outside a modern concrete apartment-turned-studio. Without pause, it headed straight for California's Highway 1. This iconic coastal highway north of Los Angeles, winding along the Pacific Ocean, is renowned for its breathtaking ocean views. However, Winnie wasn't in the mood to admire the scenery, her thoughts interrupted by a soft female voice.

"Winnie, thank you so much for coming all the way to pick me up," the voice said. It was sweet and pleasant, though the overly cautious tone made its owner seem a bit uneasy.

Winnie shifted her gaze from the ocean to glance at Mia, seated beside her. "It's okay. The company hasn't assigned you a car yet, and it wasn't far for me."

Mia was a newly signed junior artist with a somewhat tongue-twisting stage name. She had explained that, lacking standout looks, she hoped the name would grab attention. At just 22 years old, fresh out of school, Mia had already starred in a couple of Netflix dramas and built up some recognition.

It was Mia's first time riding with Winnie, and she hadn't expected her to be so easygoing, without any diva-like behavior. Relieved, she let down her guard and asked, "It's my first time attending an event like this. Is there anything I should prepare for?"

Winnie smiled gently, as if reminiscing about her own first public appearance years ago. She raised her hand and lightly patted Mia's shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"Don't worry, just stick with me!" Winnie said softly.

Although she was still relatively new to stardom, Mia usually had three or four people surrounding her wherever she went.

Winnie chuckled, "So why didn't you bring them along?"

Mia pouted slightly. "The organizers didn't allow it."

"Exactly," Winnie replied.

"You can't pull any strings to make an exception?" Mia asked, her eyes sparkling with hope.

It was an understandable question.

Winnie was the biggest star in their talent agency. By the age of 27, she had already won two Best Actress awards and one Best Supporting Actress award—practically the pinnacle for a young actress. Yet here she was, attending this event without even being allowed to bring her assistant.

Winnie said, "Even I can't."

"It's just some rich person's banquet…" Mia muttered under her breath. "Do rich people think they're so special?"

"Being rich is very special," Winnie responded simply, raising her eyebrows slightly, her expression becoming a bit livelier than before.

Mia laughed, her tone turning playful, almost childlike. "But you're really rich yourself."

"Money," Winnie said lightly, as if making casual conversation, "the more, the better, of course."

The coastal highway stretched endlessly into the distance. After a long drive, the scenery ahead finally began to change.

It was a marina.

Despite the forecast for rain, the seaside at just past four in the afternoon showed no signs of gloom. The sunlight filtered through the clouds in fine threads, clear and pure. Inside the harbor, hundreds of sailboats and yachts were moored, their sails neatly tied to the masts in preparation for the predicted storm. This was a playground for the wealthy, a sanctuary for the affluent. Yet, two months ago, it had quietly changed ownership. Nobody knew who the new owner of this marina was.

Reaching the marina meant they were nearing the hotel.

Across the bay, perched on the hillside, was a cluster of white buildings. Built into the slope of the mountain, their large glass windows reflected the emerald sea. Inside, dazzling crystal chandeliers had already been lit. From a distance, the scene looked like golden fireworks floating on the ocean.

The car glided smoothly along the asphalt road outside the marina. Mia leaned against the window, her eyes widening in astonishment. She caught sight of a towering, pure white superyacht docked at the marina, so massive she couldn't count how many decks it had at a glance. She wanted to gasp in amazement, but noticing that Winnie seemed entirely unfazed, she swallowed her surprise and sat quietly.

Meanwhile, in the VIP lounge on the top floor, Edison, the host of the banquet, stood by the window, taking a phone call.

The voice on the other end was deep and refined. "It's going to pour. The hotel says there'll be a massive storm. Commercial flights might not be able to take off."

Edison chuckled and shook his head. "Don't tell me you're still in Las Vegas."

From the top floor of the Wynn Hotel in Las Vegas, neon lights painted a kaleidoscope of indulgence below, amplifying the city's hedonistic atmosphere. Few people knew that hidden within the executive office on the top floor was a giant ocean-view window. The man on the call stood before the glass wall, his reflection outlined against the deep blue backdrop of a virtual sea.

"Still at the hotel. Just wrapped up a meeting," he said, exhaling a stream of smoke as he habitually tapped the ash off his slim white cigarette.

"If flights are grounded and the yacht's here at the marina, how do you plan to make it to the banquet on time?" Edison asked.

The voice on the phone carried a faint smile, tinged with unhurried nonchalance. "Since when was punctuality a requirement?"

After hanging up, Edison's assistant, in charge of public relations for the event, asked, "Mr. Marlowe is still in Las Vegas? Coming from there, wouldn't he arrive after midnight?"

Edison wasn't worried. He knew the man was meticulous in everything he did. The suggestion of a delay was likely just a joke.

As expected, moments after the call ended, a helicopter rose into the skies before the storm arrived, climbing steadily to the stratosphere. Against the darkening heavens, it prepared to cut through turbulent weather on its way to Los Angeles.

At the hotel's revolving doors, the sliding door of the Alphard van opened automatically. A leg in stiletto heels emerged from beneath the hem of a sleek black satin gown. The soft click of her heel echoed gently as it met the marble floor.