366-370

*Chapter 366: When Whales Fight*

Are Anson and Matt friends?

Barely.

A year ago, the two met in New York's Chinatown while learning martial arts. They practiced together for a while, sharing sweat as friends do. But outside of that, they never met up, not even for a meal. So, it's more accurate to say they were colleagues rather than friends.

Now, Matt is entangled in a complicated romantic situation, accused of hurting Winona again, and facing a public image crisis. What should he do?

It's obvious that Matt's PR team is probably working hard to get him out of this mess. You could even speculate that the paparazzi harassing Winona might have been provoked by them—it's not impossible.

And now, with the perfect opportunity presenting itself, would they refuse to take advantage of it?

Edgar doesn’t think so.

In fact, the smartest move wouldn't be to spread rumors about Winona and Anson.

While that might divert attention, the timeline doesn't match up. Unless they can provide evidence that Winona and Anson were secretly involved a year ago, it would only complicate things further. Matt's affair with Penelope would still be hard to explain away, and it could even lead to a worse situation—an even bigger public spectacle.

The savvy move would be to use this rumor as a basis to suggest that Matt and Winona had been drifting apart for some time. Their relationship was already troubled before Anson came into the picture. Matt seeking comfort elsewhere wouldn’t seem so shameful, and it could even be hinted that Winona had already moved on herself.

See, the focus isn't on Anson but rather on the situation that led to Anson's involvement, highlighting that this isn’t the first time something like this has happened.

This way, Matt might gain some sympathy and understanding, even if it doesn't fully excuse his affair.

The situation could quickly turn in Matt's favor.

The only question is, will Matt Damon's PR team think of this?

But Edgar can’t take any chances.

He doesn’t trust the friendship between Matt and Anson, nor does he trust the ruthless nature of Hollywood. Matt can afford to lose; even if he gets labeled as a heartbreaker this time, his connections in Boston will help him brush off the damage. But Anson can’t—his foundation is too shaky.

So, Edgar needs to take control of the situation and turn the tide.

There’s a saying in Hollywood: A crisis is also an opportunity; it all depends on how you handle it.

With that in mind, Edgar sprang into action.

In 2001, you still couldn’t use mobile devices on airplanes. But what if those Wall Street big shots needed to urgently contact the ground?

In-flight phones.

Since the in-flight phone signals and lines are controlled by the cockpit, contacting the ground doesn’t interfere with their communication with ground control, so it’s allowed.

But there are two things to keep in mind: First, it's expensive—very, very expensive. Second, you need to get permission from the flight attendants before making a call.

For Edgar, none of this mattered. The only thing that mattered was contacting Eve.

At the end of the day, Anson was right again—they still needed Eve.

“Mr. Wood, is there anything we can help you with?”

A flight attendant noticed Edgar’s urgency and immediately approached Anson, smiling as she offered assistance.

Compared to Edgar, Anson seemed much more relaxed. He flashed a smile and said, “Of course. Do you happen to have any hot milk?”

The flight attendant paused slightly, quietly looking into Anson’s eyes. Then, she mirrored his smile, “Of course, no problem.”

If Anson panicked every time something urgent happened, he probably would have had a heart attack in a past life.

*During those long and chaotic years, Anson gradually learned that the more urgent and chaotic things became, the more critical it was to stay calm.*

It’s difficult—extremely, extremely difficult—but often, it's the best way to solve problems. So even when it’s tough, staying calm is essential.

Moreover, when names like Winona Ryder, Tom Cruise, Matt Damon, and Penélope Cruz are involved, he’s just a small fish in a big pond. When the whales fight, he can’t control the situation. It’s better to relax and ride the waves as they come.

Turning to look out the window, he saw the clouds gradually drifting below, with the ever-present autumn clouds over Paris spreading out like cotton candy beneath him. The transparent sunlight streamed through the window, landing in his palm, while his tired and aching muscles slowly relaxed in the warmth.

By the time Edgar finished his work and could finally take a breather, he turned to see that Anson had already reclined his seat, put on an eye mask, and fallen into a deep sleep.

His breathing was steady.

Edgar paused, unsure whether to laugh or cry, but upon reflection, he realized that Anson hadn’t been sleeping well during their time in Paris. Now that Anson could rest and recharge for the media onslaught ahead, this was a good thing, right?

Unconsciously, Edgar found himself tiptoeing around, letting out a long sigh as he ordered an espresso. Although he was also too tired to keep his eyes open, now wasn’t the time for sleep. He had to stay alert and continue working.

The flight was uneventful—

For the entire trip, Anson didn’t wake up to eat. He slept soundly for twelve hours, undisturbed by the sunrise and sunset outside the window. Nothing could wake him.

Even Edgar began to worry a bit, and the flight attendants frequently checked in, concerned about whether Anson needed any help. But Edgar remained calm, assuring them that Anson was fine and letting him sleep.

Finally, thirty minutes before landing, Edgar gently woke Anson.

“Whew…”

Anson sat up, his cheeks pink, eyes still tightly shut, silently protesting as if he hadn’t gotten enough sleep.

The flight attendants came over—again.

It wasn’t just Edgar who noticed; even the other first-class passengers could tell that the flight attendants were paying extra attention to these two passengers.

“Is there anything you need?” The flight attendant asked Edgar quietly.

Before Edgar could respond, Anson’s slightly hoarse voice came from beside him, “Water.”

Anson forced his eyes open and offered the flight attendant a polite smile. “Also, could I get some bread or something? I know the plane is preparing to land and meal service is over, but I just need a snack. Thanks.”

The Anson before her was far from his usual polished self. His hair was tousled like a bird's nest, and his rosy cheeks gave him a slightly childish look, but this innocent appearance had a charm all its own.

The flight attendant returned a warm smile, “Of course, no problem.”

Meanwhile, the other passengers were left puzzled: "Wait, why was I denied whiskey earlier? Is this fair?"

Edgar turned to Anson, “Did you sleep well?”

“No,” Anson replied bluntly. “Honestly, I’m in a dangerous mood right now—I’ve got a lot of morning grumpiness to vent. But I’m ready. L.A. is probably waiting with its jaws wide open for me to land, right?”

“They think this is a trap with no escape. Well, let’s see who’s the hunter and who’s the prey, shall we?”

*Chapter 367: A Trap with No Escape*

After spending a full year with Anson, Edgar thought he knew him well enough. But even now, looking at Anson, he occasionally felt a sense of unfamiliarity:

There was a cold and ruthless decisiveness that emerged effortlessly.

It wasn’t just a facade; it was a resilience and sharpness forged through adversity.

Edgar couldn’t help but wonder what Anson had experienced in his short life to develop such a hardened soul. At times like this, it felt like there was an old, weathered soul inside that young, handsome exterior.

“Mr. Wood.” The flight attendant’s return interrupted Edgar’s thoughts.

Heh, impossible.

Edgar dismissed the notion with a deep breath. No matter what, he would stand by Anson—that was the only thing that mattered.

Anson offered a smile, “Thank you very much.”

The flight attendant returned the smile, then glanced around before crouching down in front of Anson. In a lowered voice, she politely asked, “Mr. Wood, we all really like you. Your designs at Fashion Week were absolutely stunning. May we have the honor of taking a photo with you after the plane lands?”

Anson raised an eyebrow, “We?”

The flight attendant, a beautiful woman with an oval face, delicate eyebrows, and a gentle gaze, blushed slightly. “Me and my colleagues.”

She quickly bit her lip nervously. “I’m sorry, please forgive our unprofessional behavior.”

Anson’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “No need to apologize. It’s the first time anyone outside of North America has called my name, and the first time someone’s asked for a photo. I’m finally feeling like it’s real. I should be the one thanking you.”

The flight attendant was slightly surprised. “The first time?” But then she quickly corrected herself, “There will be many more firsts in the future.”

Anson smiled, “I’ll look forward to them.”

They exchanged a look and both chuckled softly.

As the flight attendant turned away, Edgar allowed himself a small smile:

Building recognition is crucial. It marked an important step for Anson in the international market—and perhaps more than that.

It was only then that Edgar noticed the flight attendant hadn’t just brought Anson bread and butter but had served him a full meal. He couldn’t help but be a little surprised.

“Shh.” Anson put a finger to his lips. “Let’s keep it low-key. I’ll finish my meal as quickly as possible without compromising safety.”

Edgar caught the humor in Anson’s words and chuckled as well.

The plane landed smoothly, and there were no surprises for Anson and Edgar.

Once the plane was securely docked at the gate, the first-class passengers disembarked first. However, Anson stayed behind to take photos and shake hands with the crew.

After the fan service was done, the crew reluctantly dispersed, their admiring gazes lingering around Anson.

Just as Anson was about to leave, he paused and turned back to the flight attendant with the oval face. “Thank you for your sincere service. I had a wonderful flight, and I hope we meet again next time, Sophie.”

The air seemed to freeze for a moment—

French.

Anson had spoken entirely in fluent, elegant French, infused with a romantic charm.

In that instant, all eyes fell on Sophie, filled with excitement and envy. Even without words, the air buzzed with energy. Anson didn’t linger any longer and turned to leave.

The cabin crew could no longer contain their excitement.

“Oh my God, he’s so sexy.”

“His eyes are so captivating.”

“I almost got lost in his gaze.”

“And that accent!”

---

“Ah, ah, ah!”

In an instant, the flight attendants all turned into fangirls, momentarily putting aside their professionalism to soak in the surge of hormones, almost losing control.

The excitement and restlessness spread through the air.

Edgar paused slightly, noticing the stir behind him. He smiled subtly and then quickly took a few steps to catch up.

“How did you do that?” Edgar couldn’t help but ask curiously. Anson had been asleep the entire flight but still managed to effortlessly win over the entire crew. And somehow, Anson even knew the name of the oval-faced beauty.

Even though Edgar didn’t understand French, he was pretty sure “Sophie” was her name.

Oh, right, French—Edgar hadn’t even had time to think about that.

Anson smiled. “The name? Every flight attendant has a name tag. You just need to glance at it; a little observation is all it takes. It’s not magic.”

Edgar blinked. “They have name tags?”

Anson shrugged lightly.

Actually, it’s all the same.

When a passenger goes from being addressed as “sir” or “ma’am” to “Mr. Wood,” that special treatment makes them feel respected. And when flight attendants go from being just “service staff” to “Sophie,” they’re no longer just faceless figures serving drinks—they come alive.

They kept walking forward.

Suddenly, Edgar thought about himself. This was how he and Anson had first met, and today, it was the same. Anson was still the same Anson he knew, unchanged by the success he had achieved in just a year.

That was a good thing.

Edgar matched Anson’s pace as they left the airport through the VIP lane. “Eve and the car are waiting outside. I’ll notify them to come over.”

Anson smiled. “Isn’t that a bit too formal? Maybe no one’s even here at the airport; we could just be overthinking things.”

Anson wasn’t being modest—he was just being realistic. Why would people care about a small fry like him when the big players were at odds?

Plus, back then, information didn’t spread as fast. PR responses weren’t as quick either—not like twenty years later when you’d have to respond within hours to avoid falling behind. Back then, a few days of leeway was still manageable.

Maybe all their tension and precautions were just unnecessary worry.

Edgar rolled his eyes. “That would actually be perfect. I could use some peace and quiet. Our contract isn’t signed yet, so let’s avoid any hiccups…”

Right now, nothing was more important than their “cat and mouse game.” That was priority number one—they had to secure this deal, no questions asked.

But before Edgar could finish speaking, Eve’s call came through.

“Be careful, the airport is surrounded.” She didn’t waste any time dropping the bomb.

Edgar didn’t have time to react. “What do you mean the airport is surrounded? Do you think we’re in an O.J. Simpson chase?”

O.J. Simpson, the American football star, was accused of murdering his wife in 1994, in what was dubbed the trial of the century.

Originally, Simpson had agreed to turn himself in, but on the day of the deadline, he didn’t show up at the police station. Instead, he attempted to flee to Burbank’s private airport, leading to a high-speed chase by the LAPD down the freeway—like something straight out of a Hollywood movie.

At the time, TV stations even interrupted the NBA Finals to broadcast the chase live, with helicopters tracking the whole thing.

Before Edgar could finish his rant, a wave of heat washed over him and Anson, swallowing them whole.

The world plunged into a blinding white light.

Chapter 368: Small Fry at the Helm**

A burst of white light poured down, and the world briefly plunged into a silvery hue. But before it could fully register, the brightness became overwhelming, forcing everything into darkness.

A vast, impenetrable darkness, where not even a hand could be seen in front of you. Only tiny flickering lights moved and danced in the void, with no clear outlines.

At the same time.

A cacophony of noise exploded against the eardrums. The sounds of camera shutters clicked away, mixed with the chaotic roar and shouts, breaking down into countless frenzied noises.

The ears couldn’t process it all, the buzzing even faded, leaving an indescribable silence—a strange stillness that seemed to exist outside the overwhelming noise.

Vision, gone.

Hearing, gone.

But the sense of smell could still detect the burning scent in the air; touch could still feel the scorching heat waves dancing on the skin; and taste could still sense a faint metallic tang, like blood.

It was like a shark circling closer.

One second.

Just one short second, and it hit like a punch to the gut, causing all the internal organs to contract, making it impossible to move.

Compared to this, the chaos of Paris Fashion Week seemed like child’s play. This was L.A., showing its absolute power right from the start.

Even though they had anticipated this scene, it still caught them completely off guard.

Now Edgar finally understood what Eve meant by “surrounded.”

First, there was the hexagonal scandal.

Second, there was Paris Fashion Week.

Both events had caused unbelievable waves across North America, and they had converged on Anson, making him the focal point.

Then, the media went wild.

Even Anson couldn’t help but feel a bit panicked and surprised by such a scene.

When he was cyberbullied in his past life, all the attacks were online. You could see and feel them, and there was a suffocating sense of being overwhelmed. But this was different—it was all so real, seeping through every pore, with the sensation of impact and tearing happening simultaneously.

A wave of panic washed over him—

Old memories surged back to the surface.

“Anson…”

“Anson!”

Edgar was calling out, shouting with all his might, but his voice couldn’t break through the chaos. He could only tug on Anson’s arm, trying to get them out of there.

Not far away, Eve and the airport security team had arrived and were ready to escort Anson away. No matter how they handled this later, leaving the scene was the right move. There was no need to confront this head-on.

But Anson refused.

Edgar was stunned, unable to believe it.

With verbal communication no longer possible, Anson simply patted Edgar on the shoulder, using the gesture to reassure him.

Then, with his head held high, he faced the storm of flashing lights.

Edgar was completely frozen, unable to believe what was happening before his eyes. But in that split second, Edgar made a judgment and a choice—

To trust Anson.

No matter what the difficulty, no matter what the situation, he would be Anson’s support.

What about Anson?

Was he being foolish?

No, of course not.

Anson knew exactly what the media wanted. He was the fish on the chopping block, with hungry eyes watching, just waiting to slice him up.

Anson could have chosen to leave the scene and let the PR team issue a statement. But clearly, the reporters wouldn’t believe it, and the paparazzi would launch into a relentless, endless pursuit, hounding him even as he joined the "Cat and Mouse" production.

In truth, Anson didn’t mind this. After all, it wouldn’t cause him any harm. But if he did that, the spotlight on Matt would shift, and Winona would become another victim.

Regardless of the truth, Anson believed Winona shouldn’t have to endure such a nightmare.

In his previous life, during Anson’s lowest, most helpless, and loneliest moments, he had desperately wished for someone to tell him that everything would be okay. Even a single sentence could have been a guiding light.

But he never found that person.

And now, he hoped to say those words to Winona: Everything will pass. Even though, in the moment, it might feel like an insurmountable hurdle, reality proves otherwise—it will pass, eventually.

That’s why Anson made a different choice: to stay and face the media head-on.

There was no need to play cat and mouse—just face them directly.

So what if there’s a storm?

Not far away, Eve was leading the security team, trying to push through the crowd. After some jostling, chaos, and tugging, they finally made it through.

However.

Eve paused, seeing the figure standing confidently under the barrage of flashing lights, and a smile slowly crept onto her face:

This guy really is something else.

There was no panic, no fluster, no anxiety. The calm and composed manner in which he faced the situation exuded a certain power, making the chaotic, crowded reporters look disorganized, ugly, and uneasy.

Click. Click, click, click.

The relentless flashing lights engulfed Anson, but gradually, the frenzy began to settle. One by one, the reporters realized something was off.

By all accounts, Anson should have been running away, fleeing in a panic. They needed to capture that moment, to seize the newsworthy shots before he escaped. But now, with Anson just standing there, their frantic clicking felt pointless, like they were wasting film for no reason.

Awkwardly, the shutters slowed; even the questions began to calm down.

The entrance to the terminal finally quieted down a bit, and it was only then that the scene became clear—about 300 reporters were crammed together. Not an overwhelming number, but still substantial, packed shoulder to shoulder.

Then—

“Why aren’t you running?”

A voice rang out from the crowd. Despite its rough tone, it made sense, and the other reporters began to smile.

Anson shrugged slightly. “Because it doesn’t look like there’s anywhere to run. For the sake of L.A.’s traffic safety, I figured there’s no need to stage Fast & Furious, right?”

What kind of answer was that?

But it was a little funny. What was going on?

A smile spread across Anson’s face as he looked around the room. “Wait, you guys were waiting for me, right? I didn’t make a mistake, did I? Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt isn’t standing behind me, watching this show, are they?”

Ha, haha.

The crowd burst into laughter.

Who would have thought that Anson would remain so calm in such a situation?

In a clash of titans, it was this small fry standing at the forefront, facing the storm, steering the ship. Was this normal?

It seemed some people had forgotten Anson’s first real encounter with the public after his cameo on Friends, when he was swarmed outside the studio.

Quietly, Anson had already taken control of the situation. “So, you all gathered here—not to congratulate me on my Oscar nomination, right?”

The room erupted in laughter, the tension completely easing.

“No, it’s not that,” someone in the crowd responded.

Anson spread his hands in mock disappointment. “Well, I figured my chances were slim. The Princess Diaries was a bit of a stretch.”

Another round of laughter, and then a reporter couldn’t resist dropping the bombshell.

“What’s your relationship with Winona Ryder? Are you two dating?”

*Chapter 369: A Mistake by One Move*

“What’s your relationship with Winona Ryder? Are you two dating?”

“No.”

The answer came like a brick wall—no room for negotiation, no space for speculation, and decisively shutting down any possible interpretations. It was firm and clear-cut.

Moreover, it was crisp and to the point.

So direct that it left Anson stunned, and even the reporters at the scene were momentarily baffled.

That’s it?

Could it be that there really isn’t anything between Anson and Winona?

Anson himself has a background in journalism, having worked internships at newspapers and TV stations. He knows when to be clever and leave room for interpretation and when to be straightforward and quash any possibility.

This was one of those moments.

Right from the start, there were no pleasantries, no small talk, no need to beat around the bush, and no unnecessary explanations. A simple denial was enough to make his stance clear.

As expected, the reporters were a bit dumbfounded.

They initially thought Anson would offer further explanation, but there wasn’t any. His openness in facing all suspicions left the reporters with nothing to work with.

After all, Anson had done the same thing in Paris—keeping everything out in the open.

“So, what happened in Paris?” The reporter, still persistent, threw out a vague question, aiming to prompt Anson into an explanation. But the key was, without specific direction, what exactly should Anson explain?

Could it be... the rumors?

Even seasoned pros could slip up, and a guilty conscience might lead them to reveal something unintentionally—let alone rookies.

Anson didn’t panic. The corners of his mouth lifted into a slight smile.

“You happened.”

Reporter: ???

“You, the uncrowned kings, happened.”

“Like jackals and hyenas, you pounced, trying to prey on a weakened Winona, trying to fabricate rumors out of thin air, trying to destroy her for a sensational story, attempting to exploit a victim for the sake of hype.”

“Well, we’re all familiar with this by now.”

With a casual shrug and a straightforward expression, Anson dropped a bombshell among the reporters—

Words have power.

Anson not only defended Winona, explaining why he helped her and clarifying the rumors, but he also hinted that the media was attacking Matt Damon, harming Winona to paint Matt as a heartless man.

In just a few words, he conveyed a wealth of information.

Edgar might not have noticed, but Eve couldn’t help but take another look at Anson.

Impressive!

Sure enough, the reporters were immediately stirred up. None of them wanted to take the blame for this. If the accusation stuck, they’d be like rats in the street, despised by all.

“You mean the paparazzi did this.”

A reporter quickly drew a line, distinguishing between paparazzi and journalists.

Anson didn’t respond, just calmly scanned the room, as if saying, “If you say so.” But the subtext was clear—he was mocking the fine line between paparazzi and journalists.

Ahem.

Quite a few reporters discreetly looked away, avoiding direct eye contact with Anson.

Anson had achieved the effect he wanted—not guilt, but a brief reprieve. He knew that in the face of a big story, any guilt would quickly fade. He still needed to clarify the facts.

So why go through this roundabout way?

Because that’s how news works—if the truth is laid out too plainly, it’s often too dull, and people aren’t inclined to listen. They need something to catch their attention.

It’s like magic.

Before the real trick, there’s always a bit of flashy distraction to confuse the audience and draw them in.

“Winona and I aren’t friends.”

Another bombshell.

“I don’t have her contact information. The fashion show was the first time we met. Winona had a stomachache, and I helped her find two aspirin. That’s all there is to it.”

“And everything that happened afterward, clearly, was beyond our control.”

“Including now.”

An arrow, aimed directly at the reporters.

But Anson knew them well. They wouldn’t think Anson was blaming them; they’d naturally think of the forces behind all this—

Matt Damon.

Edgar and Eve exchanged a glance. Anson had deftly untangled a complex situation and laid it out simply.

Imagine if they had fled the airport. Things would have gotten more complicated, spiraled out of control, and gotten messier. Who would benefit from that?

Matt Damon and Tom Cruise.

These two high-profile figures would have had the focus on them diluted by the chaos.

But now?

Anson had simplified everything in one move.

What will happen next?

If Matt’s PR team is savvy, they won’t drag Anson down. Instead, they’ll subtly suggest that Matt and Winona’s relationship has long been on the rocks and that Anson’s involvement isn’t the issue. The focus should be on the breakup, not Anson’s appearance. This way, they can use the momentum to smoothly exit the situation without harming Anson or Winona.

*But if they’re not smart enough and insist on clinging to the rumors about Winona and Anson, then Anson could easily push them into a corner, making them look not only deceitful but also viciously aggressive, like mad dogs snapping at everyone.*

Edgar could tell that Anson was still showing some restraint, giving Matt a way out without going for the jugular. He glanced at Eve, silently asking for her opinion.

Eve gently shook her head, a look of regret on her face.

Edgar was taken aback: Could it be…?

A voice from the crowd of reporters asked, "But there are rumors that you’ve known Matt for a long time, and that you’ve also known Winona even before Matt started filming ‘The Horse Whisperer.’ Is that true?"

Edgar looked at Eve, barely able to believe what he was hearing.

Were they seriously accusing Anson of being the third party who ruined Matt and Winona’s relationship?

Eve nodded slightly, her expression one of resigned disappointment.

Things could have been simple, and Matt could have turned the situation around. But one wrong step by his PR team, and now everything was spiraling into chaos.

Anson chuckled—a mixture of disbelief at the absurdity of it all and the realization that, in a way, this made everything even simpler. “Yes, in fact, Winona and I have known each other for a very, very long time, even before I was an adult. So, is the Los Angeles County Court preparing to subpoena Winona next?”

Having a relationship with a minor is illegal.

Back when Anson was filming “The Princess Diaries” in San Francisco, Lucas had warned the fervent fans to be careful not to cross any boundaries.

And now?

With a bit of humor and a touch of sarcasm, Anson’s stance couldn’t be clearer:

Ridiculous. Laughable. Not worth taking seriously.

If someone truly believes this, then they should produce evidence. Perhaps the reporters should ask the paparazzi to dig up some photos. Otherwise, it’s all just baseless gossip.

The entire issue stemmed from paparazzi photos of Matt and Penélope getting cozy, as well as other photos showing Tom and Penélope entering and leaving places late at night. But what about Anson and Winona?

A photo of them strolling along the banks of the Seine—that’s all there was.

From the moment Anson stopped, stood in front of the reporters and paparazzi, and calmly faced the challenges and controversies, his stance was already clear:

Honest. Upright.

In just a few words, he had untangled a complicated knot.

Anson’s smile remained as he looked around the room, his tone steady and friendly. “So, is there anything else we need to discuss?”

*Chapter 370: Following the Clues*

"So, is there anything else we need to discuss?"

The air grew quiet.

Anson was so cooperative that the once complicated situation had suddenly become clear, leaving the reporters at a loss for how to proceed.

But there was no way the press would give up so easily.

"Anson, how would you evaluate this whole situation involving Matt, Penélope, Winona, Tom, and Nicole?"

If there was no story, the reporters could always create one. A simple question like that could stir up a hornet's nest, potentially offending anyone involved.

Traps were everywhere.

Anson shrugged slightly and flashed a smile. "I hope I can become friends with them in the future. Any one of them—they're all out of my league."

His lips curled into a smile, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth.

The reporters were disheartened—

They had anticipated Anson would be difficult, but not this difficult.

With no other option, the reporters shifted to asking about Paris Fashion Week and Dior’s runway show. The atmosphere became much more relaxed, with none of the hostility or tension that had been there before, now replaced by a light and easy mood.

Throughout the exchange, Anson remained very cooperative—patient, calm, and friendly. It wasn’t until the questions were all answered that Anson, still perfectly composed, left the scene under the protection of airport security. There was no pushing, no chaos; Anson didn’t even break a sweat, leaving the scene as dry and composed as he had arrived.

Security personnel: Never had a job this easy!

As they stood in the arrivals hall of LAX, the reporters felt a strange sense of emptiness. Had everything really gone that smoothly?

Meanwhile...

As soon as they got in the car, Eve and Edgar got busy. Anson had resolved most of the issue, setting the framework and the path forward, but they still needed to seize the moment to ensure everything stayed on track.

Their work continued non-stop until they reached their destination. The car had safely delivered Anson home, but Eve and Edgar were still making calls and sending emails, unable to rest.

Only Anson was left with nothing to do.

This didn’t surprise Anson. After a simple farewell, he got out of the car by himself.

With a quick glance, Anson noticed unfamiliar vehicles parked across the street and unfamiliar figures lurking around the area—

Paparazzi.

This was a first.

Despite his work, Anson had never received the kind of attention that would bring paparazzi to his doorstep. But now, thanks to a trip to Fashion Week, he was getting that treatment for the first time.

Rustling.

The paparazzi noticed Anson and were surprised—no other vehicles, no other people, just a lone car arriving so casually.

Normally, if nothing substantial came out of the airport, the reporters would have followed Anson to his home to launch a second wave of questioning, hoping to catch him in an awkward moment. But now?

Because it was just one car, the paparazzi hadn’t realized it might be Anson’s, and they were caught off guard.

In a flurry of activity, the paparazzi quickly grabbed their cameras, ready to snap pictures, afraid Anson might dash into the house before they could surround him. But then...

"Hey, Kevin."

Anson didn’t turn and run. Instead, he stood openly in the sunlight, smiling as if greeting an old friend.

Paparazzi: ???

Wait, does Anson have friends among the paparazzi?

Harry Percy was pretending to be dead.

What the—? What is Anson doing! He just greeted him? What now? Responding would be bad, but not responding would be worse. He was stuck. What was he supposed to do? Damn it!

This was unreal. Most celebrities hate paparazzi with a passion, getting furious at the sight of them. How could Anson be friends with one? And they’d only met once, just once!

How did Anson even remember him?

Harry wanted to disappear.

He could feel all eyes on him, everyone looking for an explanation, but no one knew what was going on—

Kevin? Which Kevin?

Harry did his best to hide, keeping his face behind his camera, snapping pictures to distract from the situation, but all he could think was:

Go. Just go!

But Anson wasn’t letting Harry off the hook that easily.

"How long have you been waiting here?"

"You should check in with your colleagues at the airport, get an update. I don’t think you should waste your time here; otherwise, you might fall behind."

Paparazzi: ???

Click, click, click... click... click...

It was rare, but the sound of cameras clicking started to slow down, the paparazzi calming down, looking at each other, unsure of what was happening.

"Kevin, don’t fall behind now."

Anson waved again with a smile before finally turning to walk into his house.

Everyone was left bewildered.

It wasn’t just the paparazzi—Eve and Edgar, sitting in the car, exchanged puzzled looks. Eve couldn’t help but sigh.

"I thought I’d seen enough oddballs in my time, but clearly, I’m still too young."

Across the street, Harry tried to steady his racing heart, looking around innocently like the rest, searching for this "Kevin"—

Could Kevin be a mole among them?

Meanwhile, he quietly moved toward his car, his instincts telling him that Anson wasn’t making things up. If Anson said something happened at the airport, then something must have happened. If Harry didn’t want to miss out, he needed to move fast.

The air was tense, the scene like something out of "Mission: Impossible." Anson had tossed a stone into the water, creating ripples, and then walked away, leaving the paparazzi on high alert, ready for anything.

Edgar was ready to leave, but Eve, with a mischievous glint in her eye, instructed the driver to wait a bit longer.

"It's a rare sight. Even in Los Angeles, you don't see this every day."

Who would have thought it was possible to handle the paparazzi this way?

The tension held until Harry Percy was the first to get into his car, hit the gas, and speed away, breaking the delicate balance. Chaos erupted in front of Anson's house.

Some paparazzi exchanged glances, unsure of what to do. A few immediately drove off, some made calls from their driver's seats, and others boldly marched toward Anson’s house, hoping to catch a glimpse of something through the garden.

It was pure pandemonium.

Even Edgar, wide-eyed, couldn't hide his shock and amazement.

Only then did Eve allow herself a satisfied smile, patting the back of the driver's seat. "Alright, let’s go. The real drama will be unfolding where we can’t see it—behind the scenes."

Eve was spot on—

Anson’s composed response at the airport had completely changed the rules of the game. Looking back at how calmly and openly he and Winona had acted during Paris Fashion Week, their behavior now seemed even more significant, snuffing out any lingering doubts and suspicions.

If all the rumors about Anson and Winona were baseless fabrications, then… what was the real motive behind the initial source of these rumors?

Perhaps the truth was hidden right there.

With just a little digging, it was as if a hornet's nest had been stirred, setting off a frenzy.