Love in the Limelight: Millionaire Meets Supermodel

The plane soared over London. The city's winter days were always gloomy, and this day was no different. Outside, a slight drizzle fell, the London Eye lazily spinning beneath grey clouds. Big Ben was still being refurbished, the sapphire tint of the Tower Bridge looked dull in this weather, and even the tall, sharp-edged Shard seemed lifeless. The twisting Thames River flowed quietly through this ancient city. Nicholas Lawrence drew his gaze away from the view, his green eyes now absorbed in his dark green crocodile socks. The black threads on the crocodile skin part of the socks were intentionally raised, imitating scales, creating a lifelike appearance. Nicholas found his feet resembling two little crocodiles, and chuckled at the thought. As always, he had slept well during the flight.

Nicholas had a problem: poor sleep. He only slept soundly when on his private jet. His therapist, Brad Jackson, had explained many technical terms to him, but Nicholas found them meaningless. He had taken psychology courses at Yale, albeit for the pursuit of a certain beautiful girl. Nonetheless, he understood basic psychology. Brad’s only role in Nicholas's schedule was to listen to him complain. Nicholas was a billionaire and naturally had many worries. Of course, Nicholas believed that the other seven billion people on this planet would be more than pleased to have such problems if they could be him.

"Would you like some bourbon before we land?" Wendy McGuire asked gently.

Nicholas pulled back his smile and turned his head.

Wendy McGuire was Nicholas's assistant who had just celebrated her 34th birthday a few months ago. She sat in another seat, reading a fashion magazine. Her clean, slender fingers flipped through the magazine, her maroon nails drawing a half-hearted arc. Despite the seven-hour flight, her golden hair was still meticulously tied up, her makeup still exquisite. She always made sure to look perfect, even after twenty-hour long-haul flights, always setting aside at least an hour to make herself look impeccable before getting off the plane.

"Nicholas?" Wendy slowly turned her head, calling her boss's name, her stunning blue eyes full of inquiry.

"A glass of champagne is fine, thank you," Nicholas replied. Then he saw Wendy stand up. He knew that this wasn't really Wendy's job, and she never really liked pouring him a drink. Nicholas was somewhat puzzled why she suddenly became so attentive. He only knew that when a woman suddenly becomes attentive, there must be a reason.

A minute later, Nicholas took the champagne handed to him by his assistant. He took a sip of the champagne, deciding not to waste his assistant's sudden attentiveness, and seriously ordered, "Oh yes, Wendy, I need a dozen pairs of these crocodile socks."

The blonde woman returned to her seat, swiftly glanced at her boss's feet, the confusion in her eyes was fleeting, she agreed readily, "No problem."

*

When Nicholas, dressed in a light grey high-end tailored suit, appeared at London Fashion Week, he undoubtedly caused quite a stir. He was more eye-catching than the male models, even if his name wasn't Lawrence. He was as tall as them, perhaps even taller, and his physique was better than theirs, some of them were clearly too skinny. As for his looks, Nicholas believed he must be the most handsome billionaire in history - he wasn't the one who said that, many famous media outlets had given him that assessment. As to whether it's entirely complimentary, Nicholas remained cautiously optimistic.

Everything happened so suddenly, like many of the unexpected things in Nicholas's life over the past thirty years. God didn't give him any time to prepare.

That girl who had appeared and disappeared so quickly two years ago, like a fallen angel, emerged from behind the runway. She was bald on one side of her head, her hair on the other side reaching down to her chest, below her collarbone was a small Chinese dragon tattoo. She wore only a dramatic transparent designer dress, her body completely exposed, a stark contrast to the conservative girl from two years ago.

Her expression was cold enough, and the intense sense of distance that burst from her unforgettable brown deer-like eyes made Nicholas feel that even though her light wheat-colored s*xy body was almost completely exposed to him, he still detected a strong aura of abstinence. He took a deep, slow breath.

The tall and slender Asian girl walked professionally towards Nicholas, he wasn't sure if she saw him or recognized him, but he smiled at her, albeit very subtly. Many women had said that when he smiled like that, he was like a devil tempting women to fall into hell. He couldn't capture her gaze, but his eyes never left her until that stunning figure disappeared on the runway.

Wendy's face was adorned with a suitable smile, her light blue eyes were still fixed on the runway, only her chin tilted towards her boss, she covered her mouth and said softly, "I could run an errand for you, Nicholas. I also think that girl is attractive." Wendy continued with her attentiveness.

"No, thank you," Nicholas declined, his voice tinged with inexplicable obscurity. Wendy looked at him strangely, didn't say anything, and resumed watching the show.

The music on the fashion show was soothing, underneath the piano sound an old bass voice was chanting. Beautiful girls dressed in the designer's inspiration and talent one by one flitted across Nicholas's vision. He suddenly felt a bit short of breath. He stood up, his tall, robust, half-blood bodyguard immediately followed suit. He turned back, covered his mouth, and said softly to Chance Woodward, "Don't stand too close, I need some space." Chance mechanically nodded.

February, the air in London was damp and cold, accompanied by gusts of wind, but New York wasn't any better. Nicholas thought with displeasure. But, in fact, he liked this kind of winter, meaning, if the winter was as warm as Hawaii, he would curse even more. How would he celebrate Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year in that kind of weather? Although, in reality, he didn't like these holidays. So he didn't blame his late father for saying he was a contradictory son of a gun.

Nicholas lit a cigarette in the drizzling rain, he took a puff, and slowly exhaled. That stifling feeling seemed to have lessened somewhat, he wasn't sure.

"Excuse me..."

The smoke was still floating in the cold air, behind Nicholas, suddenly came the voice of a young girl, sweet with a bit of hesitation. Nicholas thought the voice and the accent sounded familiar, a strange familiarity, he saw Chance was about to come over, he turned his head back and immediately waved him off.

"May I borrow your lighter?"

It was her. She had already changed into another outfit, a black close-fitting party dress covered by a camel-colored cloak. The dress was very short, whether out of nervousness or subconsciously, she pulled it down with her left hand while her right index and middle fingers held a cigarette. Her nails were painted green, the same color as his eyes, a bit mysterious, a bit charming.

The girl's makeup was still heavy, but her hairstyle was no longer as dramatic as it was on the runway. When her hair was let down, the bald side didn't seem out of place. The most surprising thing was, the sense of distance in her eyes was gone, a childish smile adorned her beautiful face. She obviously knew he was looking at her, she had obviously been looked at like this by many people. Nicholas remained silent, he just handed over the lighter. He watched her light that white cigarette, a bit longer than the normal size, her slender fingers were a little shaky. It was indeed very cold, and she was wearing so little.

"Thank you."

Her accent was nothing like Christina's, it was a standard British accent. Nicholas wasn't surprised, he knew her brother Vincent was a lad from Surrey, maybe not noble, but certainly had a comfortable upbringing. She was the sister of a player on his team. This relationship was a bit tricky.

She handed the lighter back. Her wrist was alarmingly slender.

Nicholas didn't take it. He took a puff, then exhaled. It was nearly evening, the gloom deepening, the cold becoming even more biting. "Did you see me just now?" His voice was husky, the pace moderate, a classic New York accent.

The young Asian girl was taken aback, she took back her hand, holding the lighter in it. Her other hand flicked off the ash, quite proficiently. Many models smoked, Nicholas thought, it seemed like all the ones he knew did, but this one was a bit surprising.

"Um..." this sound came from her throat, as though she was thinking. Her brown pupils were wandering over the American man's face, but they did not meet his gaze. She slightly averted her eyes, uncertainly asked, "You smiled at me just now, right?"

Nicholas tilted the corners of his mouth, subtly nodding his head.

London's winter evenings, in the drizzling rain, the lights of two cigarettes alternately lighting up and extinguishing.

"Do you still remember me?" The man with the New York accent asked a second question.

"I see you in the newspapers or magazines every week." The girl replied, bringing the cigarette to her lips. Her lip color was orange, with a touch of innocence. When she took the cigarette from her lips, a glamorous trace was left on the butt. The hand holding the cigarette was still trembling.

She was very honest, but her answer was somewhat ambiguous. Nicholas was expressionless. She should feel honored that he still remembered her after two years. A gust of wind blew and her entire body shivered. He stubbed out his cigarette, took a few steps, blocking the wind for her, and also getting a bit closer. She softly thanked him, he grunted in acknowledgement, he smelled a complex mix of scents on her - fruity perfume, the smell of cosmetics, mousse, and the chemically softened smell, and the smell of smoke.

Nicholas glanced down, she was wearing black knee-high boots with thin high-heels. The top of her head was at the level of his eyes. He was six feet three inches (191 cm), so she was probably about five feet nine inches (175 cm). However, at this moment, this girl who appeared only a little shorter than him seemed somewhat weak and helpless.

He had already seen most of her body earlier, she was skinny, but with alluring curves. And just looking at her face..."Sweetheart, you look like a minor," Nicholas heard himself saying.

"If I look like a minor, and you still come over to flirt with me, do you have some kind of problem?" Her voice and tone were very age-appropriate, wild and frivolous, even if they weren't loud. And there was a hint of mockery in her deer-like eyes.

Nicholas stared at the girl's eyes, getting even closer. She didn't step back, her chest heaving, she seemed to be forcing herself to meet his gaze. He raised his right arm, as he had anticipated, she didn't dodge, only slightly lowered her eyes, immediately raising her head again to look at him defiantly. His fingers touched the hairless edge of her ear on one side, she turned her head a bit to avoid him. He caught a glimpse of a blush on the root of her ear, a faint smile appeared on his lips, a New York accent could also be very s*xy. He said in a low, polite tone, "I may have many issues, but please believe me, pedophilia is definitely not one of them. I know you're an adult, Yvonne."

He called her name, three syllables. The last two syllables touched against the roof of his mouth, falling lightly like a feather. Her pupils flickered. She trembled as she took a puff, her red lips slightly parted, the exhaled smoke sprayed on the handsome man's face, then continued upward, drifting over his flaxen hair.

Yvonne's brown right eye fluttered like a butterfly's wings, she said with a soft, delicate, twisty turn, "I don't have any Americans on my list yet, maybe you can fill that slot, so I can put a check mark next to 'American'. Also, does your tongue really match your accent?" After she finished speaking, she tossed the nearly exhausted cigarette butt. Her whole body trembled even more, her face was very pale in the north wind, but her nose was red, and so were her ears.

Nicholas's throat moved, his voice was husky and dangerous, "You can try it, babe."

London, like New York, has a population of over eight million. The probability of encountering the same person twice is quite low. The only question is, was it really just a coincidence?

Two years had passed since Yvonne first met Nicholas.

In May 2017, Yvonne was eighteen years and two months old. That day, she went to Loftus Road Stadium to watch her brother Vincent's soccer match, the only time she had ever attended one of his games. She couldn't remember the score or the details of the game, or how her brother played. If it wasn't for her brother later telling her, she wouldn't have even known that it was the farewell match for the century-old stadium. In any case, she had no interest in soccer and only went there that day.

After the game, she encountered the team's owner, the famous Nicholas-Lawrence. After a brief eye contact, he approached and asked her a question. That day, he was wearing a light blue summer suit with a white shirt,