Winnie walked to the nightstand and opened the food box with slightly clumsy movements.
Inside was an exquisite French breakfast and a cup of steaming, rich black coffee.
She placed the coffee cup on the small table in front of Anthony.
"I wasn't sure whether you had family with you, so I brought some breakfast."
Anthony shrugged. "The anesthesia in my upper body hasn't worn off yet, and my hands are inconvenient, so I won't eat for now."
A trace of coldness flashed through Winnie's eyes before being quickly concealed by a faint smile.
She took a deep breath, as if making a decision, picked up a bowl of soup, and brought a spoonful to Anthony's lips.
"Anthony, last night before the police arrived," she looked into his eyes with scrutiny and an unspeakable hint of anxiety, "in that room, besides our argument and my… possibly stabbing you, what else do you remember?"
Her voice was very low, cautiously probing, her gaze locked onto Anthony's face without missing any subtle change in his expression.
Last night—the powerful bronze body, the scratches and hickeys, and most terrifying of all, the burning, tearing pain in her lower body when she woke up…
These fragments were lodged in her memory like needles, making it impossible to ignore what had happened.
Yet that horrifying memory had been reduced to a blank by the smurf drug.
At this moment, she desperately hoped that the Anthony before her had also been drugged and remembered nothing from last night.
She saw Anthony frown, as if trying hard to recall.
"Do you have any impression? I mean… before that."
She pressed further, a rare vulnerability and apprehension appearing in her eyes.
She needed an answer, even if it was the worst one.
Anthony looked at the tension and unease leaking through her forced composure.
Those beautiful eyes were filled with fear of the missing parts of her memory and dread of what might have occurred.
He remained silent for a few seconds, meeting her gaze calmly with confusion and slight daze.
"Before?" His frown gradually relaxed, and he shook his head apologetically.
"I had some drinks with a few people last night. I don't even know how I ended up there. Then I was woken up by your voice, and I saw you holding… well, stabbing me."
Winnie stared into his eyes, trying to detect any trace of deception.
But she saw only Anthony's candid gaze.
"Miss Pritzker, I didn't have much strength last night until the police arrived," Anthony looked at her nervously. "Was I drugged by someone yesterday?"
Hearing this, the tension in Winnie's heart loosened slightly, though her expression remained complicated.
"Regardless, you helped me once. I'll remember this favor." After feeding him a few more sips of soup, her tone softened with a faint, almost imperceptible concern.
Anthony spoke slowly, his voice clearer now. "Winnie, do we really have to be so formal?"
Winnie, who was about to pour herself a cup of coffee, froze abruptly, her chestnut-gold hair sliding over her shoulder with the movement.
"We're both players in someone else's game. Yes, you can call me Winnie." She managed a slight smile.
Anthony's gaze drifted, and a faint nostalgic smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
"I remember it's been about six years. You're still as beautiful as ever, no different from when you used to pull my ear and lecture me back at Scarsdale High School."
It felt as if something exploded in Winnie's mind.
She suddenly stepped back, bumping into the chair behind her with a harsh scraping sound, the coffee pot nearly slipping from her hand.
Her eyes widened as if seeing this face clearly for the first time.
The bronze complexion concealed the paleness of his youth, and broad shoulders and a sturdy build had replaced his once thin frame.
Those eyes, with a hint of wildness and playfulness, indeed resembled that boy from the past.
The floodgates of memory burst open.
Before her appeared the tall, thin boy who used to flip through Gun World magazine under his desk, whose grades were at the bottom of the class but whose eyes always carried a rebellious spark.
The stubborn troublemaker she would pull by the ear and scold, "Anthony Tarasov, don't you dare lead the students in the next class astray again!"
The boy who had clumsily invited her to dance at the graduation prom, whose eyes dimmed after she rejected him with, "I don't want to get involved with a future big idiot."
"Anthony… Are you really Anthony Tarasov?"
Her voice rose with shock, trembling noticeably.
She examined him without composure, eyes wide.
"That… that Anthony who was always being reprimanded by the Dean of Students?"
"It seems you're not completely without an impression." Anthony grinned, revealing white teeth. "Anthony Tarasov, just back from Afghanistan. Surprised?"
"I didn't expect that the person I met in that kind of place last night would be my high school Honor Council Chair."
"But at least the outcome isn't too bad."
A strong sense of absurdity overwhelmed the shocked and faintly delighted Winnie, leaving her momentarily speechless.
She looked at Anthony's frank, slightly teasing gaze.
Thinking of the scar on his chest that might have been caused by her, and those ambiguous memories of last night—
Heat rushed to her cheeks. Her ears burned, and panic flickered in her eyes.
She avoided his gaze and hurriedly placed the coffee pot back into the food box as if it were scalding hot.
"Sorry… I… I still have things to handle… the company… right, the company has an emergency meeting!"
She was incoherent now, her eyes darting around, not daring to look at him again.
Winnie almost fled, turning without looking back, forgetting her usual elegant composure as she hurried toward the door.
"Winnie."
Anthony's voice came from behind.
She halted abruptly at the door, her hand already on the handle, but she did not turn around.
"Let's get reacquainted," Anthony said with a faint smile in his voice. "I'm Anthony Tarasov. I'm glad… to meet you again."
Her back stiffened slightly.
She neither turned nor replied. She pulled the ward door open abruptly, like a startled white swan.
Just as she was about to leave, his voice sounded again.
"Winnie, can you help me buy a dog about six months old? A female Beagle."
Without turning back, she replied, "I can."
"Better give it to me tomorrow."
"I'll have someone arrange it immediately."
Then, under her assistant's astonished gaze, Winnie hurried away.
The crisp sound of high heels faded down the corridor.
Only the lingering scent of woody sandalwood mixed with the sweetness of autumn pear remained in the ward.
Anthony picked up the cup of coffee that Winnie had nearly knocked over and brought it to his lips.
The bitter liquid slid down his throat. The smile on his lips slowly faded, replaced by cold resolve.
"Black. Yusuf. Viggo."
He silently repeated the names, each one like tempered ice.
"The game has just begun."