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Chapter 608 The Black Swan Arrives

"Whoosh—"

The warm water flow was abruptly cut off, and the remaining steam in the bathroom, like disturbed clouds, condensed into fine water droplets on the glass-like shower wall, slowly sliding down the smooth curves and forming meandering water stains on the floor.

Ernst reached down and took the soft cotton bath towel from the bar, dried himself off, and then put on a bathrobe as he walked out of the bathroom.

Upon entering the living room, Monica Bellucci was reclining on the sofa, her long hair casually draped over her shoulders, with a few strands occasionally falling onto her chest.

She was also wrapped in a bathrobe and was leaning lazily against the sofa armrest, her beautiful eyes focused intently on the television in front of her, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"How old are you? You're still watching cartoons."

On the television screen, a special edition of "Tom and Jerry" produced by MGM was playing.

The dubbing was done in English, specifically British English.

The United States doesn't have that many dialects, and it doesn't even have an official language; English is just the common language.

Generally speaking, the Midwest has the widest English-speaking population and is considered by many to be the most authentic American English.

Aside from the languages ​​of the Midwest, the greater Los Angeles metropolitan area, New York State, and the South all have their own English pronunciations, but only a few words are pronounced differently; they are largely the same. British English, however, is a different story. The British often ridicule American English pronunciation as "country bumpkin-like."

Similarly, Americans see British English as a joke.

That air of superiority always made Americans burst into laughter, leading to all sorts of belittling and mockery.

MGM's British English version of "Tom and Jerry" unexpectedly received high ratings.

Perhaps it is the unique pronunciation of British English that adds a special comedic effect to this classic animation. The already humorous plots, when interpreted in British English, make Americans feel even more amused.

"Aren't you Italian?" Ernst asked curiously as he sat down on the sofa.

Monica Bellucci nestled into his arms, her eyes practically sparkling with affection. "Because of you, I am an American now."

Ernst frowned, somewhat puzzled.

Saying sweet words is fine, but you should pay attention to the time and place. The other person's behavior today is a bit strange.

He didn't reply, but turned to get the remote control, and then he noticed his personal assistant, Daphne Barnes, sitting not far away.

Yesterday was Christmas, and Ernst gave her a day off.

Early this morning, she rushed to Monica Bellucci's mansion, awaiting orders. Ernst, lost in thought, reached out and lifted the collar of the woman's wide-open dress, revealing a completely white body underneath, utterly unmasked.

Seeing him, even the big white rabbit hidden in his chest seems to have a restless urge to jump out.

"Isn't that a bit much? Don't you have confidence in your charm?"

What is this?

Do women declare their territory?

No wonder she got up early, washed up, and even put on some light makeup.

"After all, she's old and faded, how can she compete with a young girl?" Monica's voice wasn't loud, but it was enough for Daphne, who was not far away, to hear.

"She's too inexperienced. How can she compare to your charm in bed?" Ernst lowered his head, their noses almost touching.

"Last night and this morning, isn't that proof enough?"

Monica Bellucci's fair face instantly flushed red. She bit her lower lip lightly, her beautiful eyes widened slightly, showing a mixture of shyness, allure, smugness, and a touch of embarrassment and anger.

Ernst's second half of his sentence, in particular, was spoken in a noticeably louder voice, which startled her so much that she quickly reached out to cover his mouth, lest he go into more detail and reveal her unsatisfied state that morning.

Seeing the man's mischievous grin, she blushed and scoffed, "You're so unserious." Then she got up from Ernst's embrace, her bare feet stepping onto the soft carpet. "I'll go make you some food."

The two of them only had a simple cup of coffee in the morning, and it's already past 11 o'clock, and they haven't eaten anything yet.

Monica went into the kitchen, and Daphne took the opportunity to come over and report to Ernst some email briefings sent to him by various companies.

Lunch was quick and simple: a plate of spaghetti bolognese, a plate of grilled steak, a plate of salad, and some other random things.

To be honest, Ernst doesn't like pasta, except for authentic Italian pasta.

He had eaten at many high-end Italian restaurants in the United States, but there was a reason why Monica's authentic Italian pasta, made by a true Italian, had become a national dish.

He never imagined that pasta would taste so good.

At one o'clock in the afternoon, Daphne received a phone call and then switched the TV to the news channel.

Ernst, who had been lounging lazily on the sofa, sat up straight the moment he saw the TV screen switch to the news channel, his eyes becoming sharp and focused.

Russia's Christmas gift to the West, though late, has arrived.

On the television screen, live footage of a Russian press conference was being broadcast.

Russian Press Secretary Andrei stood solemnly in the press conference room, reading a statement from the Russian Federation government. "To safeguard national economic security and maintain domestic financial stability, the Russian Federation government has decided, effective immediately, to suspend payments on 281 billion rubles of K-1 government bonds and to grant a 90-day deferral of payments on foreign debt."

"Breach of contract! This is a breach of contract!" someone shouted, and the venue instantly descended into chaos.

"Mr. Andrei, this is clearly a debt default! How do you explain this to ordinary citizens who hold K-brand bonds? How do you explain this to international investors?"

Andrei did not answer the question directly. His gaze swept over the frenzied reporters, as if bidding farewell to something: "The government made this decision out of necessity."

"The plunge in oil prices has led to a sharp decline in fiscal revenue, and six consecutive years of economic recession have already overwhelmed the country. We have no choice but to either default now or let the entire country go bankrupt."

"Do you know what kind of impact a default would have on ordinary Russians?" a reporter from TASS asked. "I know an old professor who teaches at Moscow State University. He invested his entire life savings in K-1 bonds, firmly believing in the government's promised 100% return."

"What does the government intend to do with them? Let them starve to death on the streets?"

"The government is taking measures and will do its utmost to alleviate the people's plight," Andrei's answer seemed weak and unconvincing.

He knew these measures were just a drop in the ocean; what Russia's 7900 million people living in poverty needed was not declarations, but bread and heating.

Faced with reporters' persistent questioning, he was bombarded with a barrage of pointed questions.

Andrei swayed slightly and said into the microphone, "This concludes today's press conference."

It's not that he doesn't want to explain, but that he can't. At this moment, any action taken by the Russian government is simply covering up lies with lies.

From his perspective, there's nothing wrong with taking this approach; compared to national bankruptcy, credit default is the lesser of two evils.

Even now, those people are not thinking about the Russian people; they are still pursuing development with the intention of a desperate struggle for power.