1671-1673

Chapter 1671: Return After Leaving 

Haha, hahaha. 

Laughter burst from her chest, releasing all the frustration and annoyance in one go, swept away by the night breeze, vanishing without a trace in an instant. 

Under the glow of the streetlights, Scarlett studied Anson’s face carefully. A “thank you” was on the tip of her tongue, but she realized a single word felt too light to capture her emotions at that moment. Swallowing it back, she quickly averted her gaze, took a deep breath, and spoke again. 

“Honestly, we should both keep a low profile. TMZ’s probably going to have a field day with rumors tomorrow.” 

Anson turned his head to look at Scarlett. “You’re the one who should be worried, right? You have no idea how many crazy fans I’ve got. They’d eat you alive.” 

Scarlett: ??? Something’s not adding up here. 

“Wait a second. Hollywood’s buzzing with all sorts of rumors about me. They even say I built a harem out here when I was fourteen. You sure you’re okay with that?” 

“Didn’t you hear what those people were saying earlier? I’m the guy who slept his way to the top. Hollywood’s pretty boy. They’re so jealous they’re itching with envy. The life I’ve got? It’s everything they dream of but can never have.” 

“So, you’re saying you’re fine with being labeled as one of ‘Scarlett’s men’?” 

“I think my fans might slap you with all kinds of nasty labels. You ready for that? Do you even know how much Spider-Man 2 is grossing right now?” 

“I thought you were jealous of Leonardo. People dream of climbing into his bed, but they just want to be your neighbor.” 

“Lover or neighbor, doesn’t matter. Right now, no one wants to be caught in the same headline as me. Those paparazzi are like flies—relentless.” 

“…Alright, you win. I’m the victim here. You owe me an apology.” 

Scarlett’s expression was completely unbothered. 

Their back-and-forth had clearly veered off track. What started as a bad feeling somehow turned into something comical, a full-blown farce. 

Scarlett didn’t push it further, going with the flow. Her eyes locked onto Anson’s, a spark of amusement glinting in her pupils. 

Caught off guard, Anson was hit square in the chest by her comeback. But, surprisingly, after a brief moment of panic, he regained his composure. 

“Sorry.” 

An apology—really? That straightforward? 

Scarlett was caught completely off guard. 

Anson continued, “Sorry, the dog bit me, and I shouldn’t have bitten back. Now we’re both stuck with a mouthful of fur, dragged down together.” 

Scarlett stared at Anson, half a beat late to catch his quip. Unable to hold it in, she burst into laughter, doubling over, tears forming from how hard she was laughing. 

Haha. Hahaha. 

Her hearty laughter echoed through the night. 

Scarlett covered her cheeks. “Oh, God, my image.” But the laughter didn’t stop, even as tears welled up. She wiped the corners of her eyes. “Anson, I finally get why Jay Leno speaks so highly of you. You should be a regular on Saturday Night Live.” 

Anson grinned confidently. “Thanks for the compliment.” 

Scarlett pressed, “Why aren’t you worried at all? Handsome guys need to protect their image. Look at Leonardo, Tom Cruise, Will Smith, Brad Pitt, George Clooney—they’re all obsessed with their image, terrified a sense of humor might ruin their sex appeal.” 

Anson wagged his finger lightly. “Times have changed. The truly charismatic men now are the ones who can laugh at themselves, who’ve got a sense of humor.” 

“And it’s not just men—women, too. Mark my words, in the next few years, the trend’s going to be people with humor, no baggage, just owning it.” 

Scarlett studied Anson carefully, momentarily unsure if he was serious or not. 

At least in today’s Hollywood, that trend wasn’t exactly obvious. 

But then she thought about it. “Is that why you took on The Hangover? To ditch the pretty-boy baggage?” 

Anson nodded. “And it’s also why I invited you for a cameo. Turn that ‘vase’ label into a weapon and take charge.” 

Scarlett chewed on that, lost in thought. 

But she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. She stopped walking, glancing around. “Wait, where are we even going?” 

After leaving the restaurant, they’d been walking aimlessly, already a few hundred meters away. Standing at the street corner, there were no signs in sight, and they had no clue where they were. 

Anson chuckled. “Looks like we’ve wandered off from the parking lot. Did you drive here?” 

Scarlett raised an eyebrow. “You forgot about those two—no, four—whiskeys? I saw this coming, so I took a cab tonight.” 

Anson nodded. “Cabs are hard to come by on the street in L.A. Want to head to the parking lot? I can give you a ride.” 

Scarlett flashed a smile but waved him off. “Thanks, but I really think we should keep our distance. Who knows if TMZ’s paparazzi are camped out at your place or mine, ready to blow tonight’s story out of proportion.” 

“You’re right. With Peter Parker’s momentum right now, whew, God, I really don’t want to get caught up in that.” 

Scarlett let out an exaggerated sigh. 

Anson smiled, not pushing further. 

After all, glancing at the time, he needed to go pick up Annie. It was peak traffic hour. 

After a quick exchange, Anson gave Scarlett space to mull over his two proposals and turned toward the restaurant’s parking lot. 

The night was deep, the wind howling, a stark contrast to the day’s lazy heat. Los Angeles showed another side—empty streets and a vast sky that seemed to stretch the world infinitely. Standing on the street at night, one’s smallness and insignificance felt like it could vanish into the cosmos at any moment. 

Anson tugged his jacket tighter, glancing back. 

In the dim, faint light, he could just make out Scarlett’s solitary figure, teetering in the boundless night, as if a gust could blow her away. 

Scarlett wasn’t in a hurry to leave. She stood at the corner, staring blankly into the darkness, looking lost. 

Though her expression wasn’t clear, the loneliness and fragility were palpable. She stood still, as if waiting for the night to swallow her whole. 

Anson let out a soft sigh. 

It wasn’t just the unexpected conflict earlier. The entire meeting had revealed Scarlett’s confusion and uncertainty. Everything had erupted in the gossip from the booth next to them. This Scarlett—Anson had never seen her like this. Her outward strength couldn’t hide the brokenness in her soul. 

His steps paused, torn for a moment. 

Despite the hesitation, despite the doubt, he let out a long breath, pulled out his phone, and dialed Annie’s number. 

No answer—Annie must be busy. 

Anson left a voicemail, then called Annie’s assistant. 

Thankfully, this time, someone picked up. 

In a few words, Anson explained he had some work to handle and might not finish soon. Annie should head back to the hotel after her promotional events, and he’d meet her there once everything was done. 

After wrapping up, he hung up, adjusted his steps, and turned back toward Scarlett. His light footsteps were like a boat sailing through the dark, vast sea of the night, the sound of waves gently lapping, turbulent yet serene. 

Chapter 1672: The Roaring Wind 

The wind howled fiercely, gusts surging from all directions, making Scarlett’s steps unsteady. Her mind went blank, devoid of any thoughts. 

For a fleeting moment, Scarlett forgot where she was or where she was headed, standing there in a daze, lost in emptiness. 

Then, as if snapping back to reality, a trace of confusion flickered in her eyes. She tried to recall what she’d been about to do, but her mind drew a blank. 

The night was vibrant yet heavy, wrapping her in its boundless embrace. No edges, no landmarks—just an endless void. 

“…Need a jacket?” 

A question cut through the roaring wind, faint and fleeting, like a rootless drifter. It barely reached her ears before fragmenting, but Scarlett caught the sound and instinctively turned her head. There, she saw Anson’s tall, lean figure once again. 

Calm, composed, with an effortless charm—even the way his clothes fluttered in the wild wind seemed carefree and suave. 

Scarlett tilted her head slightly to look at Anson— 

He made a show of starting to take off his jacket but paused, his expression betraying a hint of reluctance, completely unmasked. 

His demeanor, his movements—it was clear he didn’t want to share his jacket. The question was merely a gesture of gentlemanly courtesy, his eyes even flashing a trace of wariness, as if dreading Scarlett might actually say yes. 

With that single appearance, no extra words were needed. Humor flowed naturally through his gestures, and Scarlett couldn’t help but laugh out loud. 

“I thought you were a gentleman.” 

Anson clenched his jaw, tugging at his jacket’s collar. “My mom said this is the proper thing to do.” 

Scarlett burst into laughter, doubling over. “I think you need it more than I do.” 

As she spoke, a chill crept over her. It was hard to believe that just this afternoon, it had been swelteringly summery, the heat still lingering in the air. But this relentless wind was truly testing their endurance against the cold. 

Finally, Scarlett put on her own jacket. “You should keep it. Otherwise, if your fans find out you caught a cold because of me, I’ll have another crime added to my rap sheet.” 

“You know, blaming the woman is the easiest way society holds someone accountable.” 

With a lighthearted jab, Scarlett joined in the playful banter. 

Anson let out an exaggerated sigh, adjusting his jacket. “I offered to help, and you refused, right? You sure?” 

His words were teasing, as unserious as ever, but in reality, Anson stepped forward, positioning himself at Scarlett’s side. His tall frame blocked the wind, casting a shadow that enveloped her completely. The simple act brought an unexpected warmth. 

Scarlett glanced up at Anson, then shifted the topic to hide her emotions. “Honestly, you don’t need to worry about me. Women are better at handling situations like this.” 

“Look at award show red carpets. No matter the temperature or weather, women are always in dresses or gowns—shoulders, back, thighs, something’s always exposed. Meanwhile, men? Always in suits, sometimes even three-piece ones.” 

Anson raised his chin slightly. “So, women are pros at handling the cold, and men are built for the heat?” 

Scarlett froze, caught off guard by Anson’s unexpected angle. She mulled it over, a grin spreading across her face. “I thought you’d launch into a righteous critique of that double standard.” 

Anson spread his hands. “Me? You sure? In Hollywood, that’s my weapon for breaking through, okay?” 

A pretty face relies on looks. Anson never forgot that his first big break in Hollywood wasn’t Friends—it was media exposure and magazine spreads, purely a visual triumph, unrelated to acting or projects. 

The red carpet was no different. 

Scarlett chuckled. “So, none of us escape it. Actors are all trapped in the shackles of appearance and style.” 

Anson nodded. “Exactly. It’s a predicament. But look at it another way—if someone says your professional skills outshine your looks, I’m not sure that’s entirely a compliment. Are they saying I’m ugly?” 

“Haha!” Scarlett clapped her hands, laughing so hard tears welled up. “God, are we causing noise pollution right now?” 

She glanced around, barely reining in her laughter. Pulling herself together, Scarlett tugged at the leash of reason. “By the way, why’d you come back? I bet the paparazzi are lurking nearby, trying their luck. If you’d left earlier, we might’ve slipped out of this mess.” 

Anson’s gaze settled on Scarlett. “Because I was worried about you.” 

Scarlett froze. 

Anson continued, “You haven’t been yourself today, and it’s not just because of that trashy crowd earlier. As a friend, I couldn’t leave you alone on the street. As a producer, I couldn’t let an actor I believe in get left behind in some personal hell.” 

The first half of his words touched Scarlett deeply, but the second half, with its playful jab, shattered the moment. 

Scarlett shot him an exasperated look, her sentiment lasting all of three seconds before she rolled her eyes. “No need to worry about me. Worry about yourself. Haven’t you noticed the paparazzi closing in?” 

Anson tilted his head, looking at her. “Paparazzi, paparazzi, paparazzi—they shouldn’t be your entire life.” 

Scarlett’s words caught in her throat. She froze, stunned, feeling like Anson had seen right through her. 

Instinctively, she wanted to ask if he’d noticed something, but the words stalled, swallowed back with a bitter smile— 

This was Anson, always sharp, always perceptive. Of course he’d noticed. 

“In front of you, I’m an open book, huh?” Scarlett said, self-deprecating. 

Anson didn’t deny it. “But you haven’t exactly tried to hide it, have you?” 

Scarlett let out a long sigh. “No, I don’t want to hide. I don’t want to become someone even I don’t recognize. Every day, on the big screen, I play different people, wear different masks, burying the real me under layers and layers. That’s painful enough. But to keep performing, keep acting, keep playing the fool in real life, pretending to be someone else entirely—that kind of life is suffocating.” 

“I don’t like it. No, I hate it.” 

“But…” 

“But…” 

The words poured out, rushing to the tip of her tongue, only to halt, her face full of wistfulness. 

Chapter 1673: Facing It Alone 

"But..." 

A pause, followed by a long, suffocating silence. In the stifling quiet, only the howling wind roared, but within that silence, you could clearly feel the tangled mess of emotions, broken and bitter, spreading faintly across the tongue. It lingered until Scarlett broke the silence herself. 

"But showing your true self often means exposing your vulnerabilities, putting yourself under the paparazzi's lens, giving them every chance to tear you apart." 

Scarlett lifted her head to look at Anson, trying to be strong, trying to be open, but the sadness and struggle in her eyes shimmered through her bitter smile. 

"Every time I say or do something, the paparazzi blow it out of proportion to entertain the masses. They twist, they slander, they defame every word and action, even making up baseless stories to tarnish my name." 

"My pain. My loneliness. My sorrow. In their eyes, it’s just fodder for headlines, something to sell papers." 

"If I talk to a man, they call me reckless. If a man talks to me, they say I’ve seduced him out of his mind." 

"If I laugh and chat with a man, they call me shameless. If I ride an elevator alone with a man, they say sparks are flying." 

"Even when I talk to a woman, they claim I’m indiscriminate, taking all comers." 

No shouting, no angry accusations—just calm, candid words, like she was telling a fairy tale, her tone laced with a touch of self-mockery. 

"I don’t care, or at least I try not to. I keep trying to be myself, to find happiness and joy, to live my life." 

"But..." 

But the paparazzi are relentless, never giving Scarlett a chance to defend herself. A biased label has already been slapped across her forehead. 

"Since I was thirteen, I’ve been dieting. For seven years, I’ve barely eaten enough. I’ve almost forgotten the taste of butter or salt." 

"In the near future, when my looks fade, people will say I can’t act—not that they believe I can now. All I have is this face, and then I’ll be tossed into the trash like countless other Hollywood actresses." 

"In the end, I’ll be like Macaulay Culkin, a has-been actor people vaguely recall. ‘Oh, that girl who wandered around Tokyo.’ That’ll be it." 

Her words paused again. Scarlett gazed absently into the distant night, her soul seemingly lost in the howling wind. 

Loneliness, regret, helplessness, and confusion surged like a tidal wave, a giant crest sweeping her soul into endless darkness. 

Yet that vulnerability lasted only a fleeting moment. A smile broke through, and she pulled herself together, forcing strength. 

"I’m still trying. I’m still fighting. I’m still pushing forward, but you know..." 

Anson let out a long breath. "The power of words is brutal." 

Scarlett glanced at him. 

Anson offered a faint smile, bitter but with a hint of relief. "You don’t think I’m just basking in applause and cheers, do you?" 

Instinctively, Scarlett shook her head. She knew better. Only those who’ve stepped into Hollywood’s glittering arena can see the truth beneath its dazzling surface. 

Anson continued, "When you linger in the darkness too long, you start to feel like you’re the only one left in the world, like you’re fighting alone, walking a solitary path." 

"But you know that’s not true." 

"In the darkness, there are others moving forward, running, believing in dreams, chasing hope, just like you." 

Scarlett tilted her chin slightly. "Like your stalker?" 

"Ha!" Anson burst out laughing. At least Scarlett still had her sense of humor. "That’s one way to put it. The saddest thing in the world is when the only one giving you strength to keep going, to keep fighting, is your stalker." 

Bookmark our site, 101Books.net 

The joke caught Scarlett off guard, leaving her stunned. 

Much later, a story based on true events would hit the stage and then become a TV series, Baby Reindeer. Written by and starring its creator, it told the story of an unknown stand-up comedian who, in his despair, found his only unwavering supporter was his stalker. 

In the endless darkness, the instinct to survive drives us to unimaginable things. 

"But, Scarlett, you’re not just the paparazzi’s," Anson said. 

Scarlett froze. 

In the windswept darkness of the street, she stopped, staring at Anson. Her eyes glimmered faintly, her heart tugging with each beat. 

Anson didn’t stop walking. Noticing Scarlett lagging behind, he turned to face her, walking backward. "Hey, remember? We’re friends." 

The wind still raged, but Anson’s voice cut through, steady and strong, carrying a quiet resilience. 

His smile bloomed fully. "Besides, we’re not that pathetic, right? I mean, our lives aren’t so bad. At least we don’t have to live in our parents’ basement like some losers." 

Scarlett burst out laughing. "You shouldn’t say that! You just obliterated a whole group of people. That kind of mass-destruction weapon should be used carefully." 

The more she thought about it, the funnier it got. Her laughter spilled over, rocking her back and forth. "Those guys back at the restaurant, oh my God!" 

Anson laughed too. "Peanut-sized, right?" 

Scarlett doubled over, clutching her stomach. "They really need to watch the news. ‘Don’t mess with Anson’—it’s practically the golden rule of Hollywood paparazzi now." 

Anson shook his head. "Scarlett’s no pushover either. Remember, they came for you first." 

"But, Scarlett, don’t be afraid. Keep fighting back. Make them shut up. Let them know their stupidity could get them in serious trouble." 

Warmth flowed through Scarlett’s chest. 

Even her agent, Brian Lord, always told her to avoid conflict with the paparazzi, to steer clear of arguments with strangers, to swallow her pride and keep the peace. 

After all, they were public figures, and the masses were everywhere—attacks were relentless and unavoidable. 

But Scarlett always believed that staying silent only emboldened them. She should stand up. She should fight back. 

Now, Anson thought the same. 

Scarlett straightened her shoulders. "Keep standing tall, right?" 

Anson nodded lightly. "We never have to apologize for being our true selves." 

The wind roared against her ears, but Scarlett stood still, watching Anson’s tall figure. The smile on her lips finally lifted, unburdened, as the world seemed to open up before her. 

(End of Chapter)