The cold winter wind was biting.
As the night grew deeper, the sky suddenly started to snow, large flurrying flakes.
The overpass was closed, a film crew was shooting, and a crowd was packed in the snowy night, indistinct and blurry.
At the bridgehead, there were few people. Nora Scott sat on a bench, wrapped in a heavy, rustic military coat, bored and waiting for the scene to finish.
She occasionally heard whispers.
"Isn't Nora Scott the star famous for her looks? How did she end up as Turner's assistant?"
"No acting skills, no popularity, couldn't make it."
"Such a pity, she's so pretty. Even without makeup, she looks even more vibrant than Turner."
...
It was too cold.
She tightened the military coat around her body and finished the last bite of her popsicle, then lifted her eyelids and saw the snow fluttering across the sky, like feathers.
The snow was huge.
Her expression was lazy and lethargic.
*
A black Maybach drove up and stopped at the roadblock.
The driver parked, investigated, and returned within minutes, respectfully asking the man in the back seat: "Master Pedro, the bridge ahead is closed, with a film crew shooting. Shall we go and announce ourselves and cross straight through, or take a detour?"
After speaking, he waited for a reply but none came.
The window slid down, and the wind brought in snow, sweeping into the car with piercing coldness.
The man inside had a stern face, with brows seemingly covered in frost, his eyes gloomy as his gaze went through flurries of snow, the quiet Long Street, and landed on the woman at the bridgehead.
Even in a tacky, puffy military coat, her prominent demeanor couldn't be hidden.
Snowflakes descended swiftly, whitening her hair, shoulders, and brows freeze over with frost, a thin layer of white mist.
She was gnawing on a popsicle stick, exhaling white breath, rubbing her hands for warmth. Her fingers were elegant yet reddened from cold.
Her hair was blown into disarray by the wind, head slightly lowered, against the light, her expression indiscernible, yet with a clear stance of impatience.
"Master Pedro, that's... Miss Scott."
In the passenger seat, Butler Loxley glanced outside and was somewhat surprised, hesitantly speaking upon recognizing the woman sitting at the bridgehead.
Nora Scott was a star, but had never really been hot despite having debuted for years.
A few years back, one could still see her occasionally on screen and keep up with her updates. But in the past two years, she has nearly vanished in front of the public, impossible to find any news of hers.
Unexpectedly, here she was, coincidentally running into her.
Nora Scott, this young girl... so many years, and still doesn't know how to take care of herself.
It's freezing cold, eating a popsicle, not something reassuring.
"Go buy a cup of milk tea," the man spoke, his voice low, slightly hoarse.
A pause, and then he added, "Hot."
"Yes."
The driver promptly responded, yet wondered: Why did Master Pedro suddenly want milk tea? He never touched it before.
"I'll go."
Butler Loxley was over sixty, with an old face but a kind demeanor.
The driver nodded, sat back inside.
The car window remained open, cold winds blowing in, very cold, ice hitting the face and neck.
However, the handsome man in the back seat seemed unfazed, his gaze fell on the distant figure, the dim lights of Long Street reflecting in his eyes, his eyes flickered.
Two parts indifference, seven parts heaviness, leaving one part hard to decipher.
*
A phone call came through, Nora Scott was too lazy to move, matching the caller's patience. However, the calls were incessant, relentless. Nora Scott finally gave in, slowly and helplessly inserting a Bluetooth headset in her ear to answer.
"Nora Scott, when can you get to the hospital, your grandfather is quite worried about you." A clear male voice came through the phone.
Removing the popsicle stick, Nora Scott said, "I'm working, I'll go see him tomorrow."
The voice on the other end grew anxious, "Working? Don't tell me you're doing those dangerous things again! I'm telling you, if you get hurt and come to see your grandfather with injuries, making him worry, I—I damn well won't let this slide—"
"Celebrity assistant." Nora Scott furrowed her brow, quickly interrupting him.
"..."
Silence fell.
After quite a while, the voice sluggishly said, "Nora Scott, if you need money, just tell me, okay? We used to be stars at least, even if blacklisted and can't get roles, don't lower yourself doing such things—"
"Yeah, I'll quit in a couple of days." Nora Scott swiftly interrupted him.
"..."
He found it difficult to respond to this.
At the same time—
"Miss Scott."
The aged and deep voice, carrying a hint of familiarity, drew Nora Scott's attention.
Looking up and seeing who it was, she was slightly taken aback.
"Just a moment."
She softly said, and took off her Bluetooth earpiece.
Standing up, Nora greeted the elderly man coming toward her, "Loxley."
After a few years apart, the old man remained kind and amiable, though time had added much white hair to him, making him look older than before.
Butler Loxley eyed her with some delight, some concern, and a bit of longing, but he concealed his emotions well and did not show too much.
"Miss Scott, what brings you here?" Butler Loxley asked kindly.
Looking back, Nora said, "Work."
Slightly surprised, Butler Loxley curiously asked, "Filming?"
"No."
"Then..."
Butler Loxley was about to ask further, but seeing Nora raise her eyebrows and smile, he understood she didn't want to say more, so he thoughtfully refrained from asking, and handed her something.
"This is milk tea and hand warmers. Drink something warm to warm your stomach. Remember to use the hand warmers, don't catch a chill."
"Whose idea was this?"
Nora's gaze fell behind Butler Loxley. Through the veil of snow, across the vast Long Street, she saw a car parked by the roadside, black and discreetly luxurious.
A window was rolled down, and a faint silhouette could be seen, but not clearly.
Suddenly, a sense of familiarity washed over her, and a restlessness flickered in Nora's heart.
The memories hidden for years seemed to have been stirred, uncontrollably surfacing like a flood, overwhelming her and causing some discomfort.
Butler Loxley just smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening, and said, "As long as you accept them, it doesn't matter whose idea it was."
"Thank you."
Nora expressed her gratitude, accepting the hot milk tea and hand warmers.
"Good child, take good care of yourself in this cold weather." Butler Loxley beamed, looking at Nora as if she were his granddaughter. After a light sigh, he added, "No matter about others, we have some connection too. If you ever need anything, feel free to look for me. If I can help, just say the word."
With that, he forced a piece of paper with his number into Nora's hand.
His hand was aged and rough, and when placing the paper in her hand, Nora paused for a moment but then decided not to refuse.
"Alright."
Nodding slightly, Nora gave him a small smile.
Butler Loxley gave a few more instructions before finally saying goodbye and leaving.
The sudden encounter and warmth left Nora a bit stunned, finding it hard to regain her composure.
She stood in place, watching Butler Loxley walk through the wind and snow, only looking away after he got into the car.
The car drove away, taking a detour.
Nora put the Bluetooth earpiece back on, softly saying, "Hello?"
"What happened?" A male voice asked urgently, "You weren't bullied on set, were you? Damn, the thought of you being bossed around on set just, pisses me off! Really pisses me off!"
Nora couldn't help but laugh softly, the smile in her eyes melting the ice and snow, "No, I just ran into my ex-boyfriend's butler."
"Butler, what?!" The person on the other end instinctively complained, then paused in disbelief, "Hey—wait, with your lifelong bad temper, you managed to have an ex?"
Nora gently furrowed her brows, sipping the milk tea with a straw. The mildly warm milk tea flowed down her throat and into her stomach, leaving a lingering warmth.
She said, "Come on, who doesn't have one or two exes?"
"Alright, alright."
The person on the other end was very curious, and after a few agreeing words, couldn't help gossiping, "When was this with your ex?"
At this question, Nora paused slightly, her eyes lifting towards the direction the car had driven away.
In her vision, only the vast white snow and a lonely, barren street remained.
After a moment, she said, "…Forgot."
How long ago?
About four or five years now...
When she met Pedro Langley, she was only nineteen.