Cline ignored him and walked straight past, heading into the villa.
The servant waiting at the entrance bowed and greeted, "Mr. Moriarty."
Cline removed his suit jacket and tie, handing them to the servant before walking over to the liquor cabinet.
He casually picked up two high-end wine glasses, poured some decanted wine into them, and turned to hand one to Gehrmann who had followed him.
"Anything?" Cline rarely saw Gehrmann at his private villa, and especially not this late. It was clear he had something to discuss.
Gehrmann accepted the wine and observed Cline, noting his expression was less gloomy than before. He mustered the courage to speak.
"Cline, has Luana offended you in the past?" The always gentlemanly Cline pouring wine over a woman's head was something Gehrmann had never witnessed.
Cline gave him a cold glance. "Don't ask questions you shouldn't."
Undeterred and even smiling, Gehrmann continued, "Is she the one you've been keeping outside?"
He was aware Cline had a mistress but had never met her.
If it weren't for Cline's unusual behavior tonight, he might never have discovered the identity of this woman.
Cline's eyes turned dark and piercing as he looked at Gehrmann. "What's your point?"
Gehrmann, seeing Cline's directness, dropped the pleasantries.
His smile faded, and his expression turned serious. "Cline, have you fallen for Luana?"
Seeing Cline target Luana so specifically at Nightfall, Gehrmann had guessed she was the woman Cline had kept for five years.
Initially, he thought Cline merely used Luana as a substitute for Runa due to their similar appearances.
But then, Cline's loss of control over Luana indicated jealousy, which was not a good sign, especially for someone like Cline.
Cline's usually indifferent face grew colder, and a bone-chilling coldness enveloped his eyes and brows.
He put down his wine glass and looked at Gehrmann with icy eyes. "What do you think?"
Gehrmann ventured a guess, emboldened by Cline's reaction. "I think you do like her, at least a little. Otherwise, why would you be so angry at Travis for sleeping with her that you poured wine on her?"
Cline scoffed, "She slept with Travis right after leaving me. I had a hard time accepting it and taught her a lesson. That's all."
As he spoke, the chill in his eyes dissipated, leaving only indifference, as if he cared nothing for the person he had disciplined.
Seeing this, Gehrmann felt a slight relief.
He believed Cline's mental cleanliness complex made it hard for him to accept that a woman he had been with would so quickly be with someone else. It was normal.
Moreover, the fact that Cline ended things with Luana as soon as Runa returned was enough to show that Luana, as a substitute, was not important in Cline's heart.
Without further comment, Gehrmann drained his wine and stood up. "I'll be leaving then, Cline."
Cline did not respond, merely nodding.
Gehrmann, accustomed to his cold nature from childhood, did not take offense and left after grabbing his coat.
Outside, a storm raged. Gehrmann's assistant held an umbrella, shielding him as he got into the car, instructing the driver to head downtown.
At a traffic light, he saw Luana, in her evening gown, trying to hail a taxi in the heavy rain.
Her petite figure, with little meat on her bones, appeared even more fragile with the wet dress clinging to her body.
Her wavy hair, like seaweed, was pasted messily on her small face, yet it did not detract from her broken beauty.
Gehrmann watched as taxi after taxi sped past her without stopping.
After a moment's hesitation, he had his assistant pull over to her.
Luana raised her hand to shield her eyes from the rain and saw a man approaching with an umbrella.
When the umbrella was held above her, she paused, then lifted her gaze to him...
In a daze, she seemed to see Cline from five years ago.
She remembered that it was also a stormy day like this when she knelt at the entrance of a nightclub, begging passersby to buy her for a night.
Many men who entered and left the club touched her, teased her, and ridiculed her, but none wanted to buy her.
Only one man, dressed in a black coat and exuding a cold and noble aura, came to her with an umbrella.
When he shielded her from the storm with his umbrella, she felt as if a Prince had descended.
She crawled to his feet in the dim light, clutching his pant leg, and tearfully begged him to buy her for the night.
The man looked down at her without contempt or ridicule, only asking, "Are you clean?"
She nodded, blushing, and the man extended his slender hand to her.
The moment she placed her hand in his broad palm, she was doomed to be irrevocably entangled...