From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Lively. Noisy.

Spreading from inside the tent to outside, media reporters immediately launched into widespread discussion. The red-hot Ansen had actually climbed another step—

Daringly stroking the tiger's whiskers and retreating unscathed.

Actually, such a description isn't entirely accurate, because it wasn't just a simple retreat; Karl even expressed admiration for Ansen's alterations.

A single stone stirs up a thousand waves.

It's now certain that the entire fashion world's attention will be focused on Ansen, a brand new storm spreading across the globe.

This time, even those with no interest in Dior Homme's unconventionality and reforms will have to focus their attention; the situation has clearly spiraled out of control.

Amidst the rustling conversations and greetings, gazes inadvertently gathered on Ansen. With the Chanel show imminent, the focus remained on Ansen, the burning intensity hidden within those gazes gradually raising the temperature.

Perhaps, not everyone.

The woman sitting to Ansen's left didn't even glance at him. Her head was slightly lowered, short hair falling to obscure half of her cheek. Her shoulders trembled slightly, as if she wasn't quite awake.

The memory of accidentally meeting Anne Hathaway on the plane resurfaced. Ansen was seriously considering whether he should maintain some distance this time.

Anne: Achoo!

Ansen looked at the woman in front of him, then looked up again at the surrounding crowd. The feeling was somewhat subtle. The entire venue was clearly focused on his movements, yet no one came forward. Anna, Eddie, and even Edgar were all incredibly busy, leaving him, the focal point of the topic, sidelined.

Ultimately, Ansen was now just a label, a symbol, carrying various meanings, but lacking vitality, color, and edges.

Just like Malèna from "Malèna".

When Ansen looked up and surveyed his surroundings, those gazes automatically avoided him. Only a very, very few returned his gaze with a generous smile.

The corners of Ansen's mouth gently curved upwards, without restraint or nervousness, openly welcoming those gazes.

Not because he was comfortable, but because he knew that the more he dodged, the more uncomfortable he would be, and the more unscrupulous those gazes would become.

It was the same in his previous life.

After his father's business went bust, he had to face these strange looks. No matter what he did, even if he apologized, even if he felt guilty, even if he repented, it was still seen as a sin in those eyes.

They wanted him to die, to atone for his father's sins, but he couldn't. Even if it wasn't for his mother, there was a stubbornness in his bones. The more others wanted him to, the less he could let them have their way, carrying his own pain forward, until the day he could finally breathe.

Now, the nightmares of his past life inadvertently intertwined, but he wasn't afraid, because he had already experienced even the most terrifying and thorny hells. How could he be timid because of this little scene?

The only correct way to respond was to openly and honestly enjoy those scrutinizing looks.

Then, Ansen looked at the woman in front of him again.

In the end, Ansen didn't turn and leave.

Calming down and taking a closer look, one could notice that the woman was clutching her stomach, her delicate eyebrows behind her disheveled hair tightly knotted together. The taut line of her shoulders stretched down her arms and back.

Ansen's mind flickered. He half-squatted down in front of the woman, maintaining eye level. "Miss, hello, are you feeling unwell?"

The woman lightly nodded haphazardly, her body seemingly devoid of strength. Her almost imperceptible nod caused her to sway dizzily.

At this moment, Ansen noticed that her pale, bloodless face was covered with tiny beads of sweat, constantly draining her body's energy.

Instinctively, Ansen felt for his pocket—

Phone!

Not here. To ensure a form-fitting and lightweight look, Ansen wasn't carrying any items. Everything was in Edgar's backpack.

Damn it.

Ansen didn't bother with pleasantries. "Do you need an ambulance?"

The woman slightly regained her senses, took a deep breath, and weakly waved her hand. "It's okay, I, it's okay. I, uh, I just need a glass of hot water."

But as she spoke, her fragmented words trailed off.

It was evident that she was resisting the pain with her willpower.

Ansen looked around and immediately had an idea. "Wait a moment."

This was Paris, and people who carried thermoses might be rare; but this was Fashion Week, full of models who had irregular meals to control their diets, and many suffered from stomachaches.

This also meant that finding a few aspirin or other painkillers shouldn't be difficult.

Standing up, Ansen smoothly entered Chanel's backstage—

The security guard instinctively tried to stop Ansen, unwilling to bear the consequences of a design being revealed in advance, but seeing that it was Ansen, he couldn't help but be more lenient.

Ansen entered the backstage and looked around, feeling somewhat troubled:

Do not look at what you shouldn't.

Slightly different from Dior the day before, this year's Chanel was the main event for women's wear all year round. Before him were all female models, and all of them were strangers.

Fortunately, Ansen didn't know them, but they knew Ansen. The parties and social events of the previous day had indeed made some new friends.

Spending a little time, Ansen found a bottle of water and two aspirins.

"Here, aspirin, it should be able to temporarily help you get through this."

Ansen returned to his seat and handed over the opened mineral water.

The woman took the aspirin, threw it into her mouth, and tried to pick up the mineral water, but found her wrist shaking so badly that she almost couldn't hold it.

Immediately afterwards, the woman noticed Ansen gently supporting the bottom of the mineral water bottle with his fingers. He didn't intimately take the mineral water and feed her to drink, but provided help while maintaining a distance, perfectly displaying gentlemanly manners.

She couldn't even bother to thank him. She took a sip of water and swallowed the aspirin, then the mineral water was taken away again. She lowered her head again, holding her heavy, dizzy head in her hands.

Snap.

A wave of warmth enveloped her. She tilted her head and looked, not a coat, but a Chanel dark brown scarf, which he must have borrowed temporarily.

Warmth, gradually relieving her tense nerves and muscles.

The Chanel Spring/Summer fashion show had already begun, and the entire audience was seated. Ansen sat next to Anna. Attending the four major fashion weeks for the first time with Anna as company was indeed an honor that couldn't help but attract attention.

It wasn't until the show had been going on for a while that the woman on the other side finally came to her senses, sat up straight again, and the pain finally subsided.

She leaned gently against the back of the chair, and in the corner of her eye, she saw a handkerchief and a bottle of mineral water, quietly placed there. Her gaze couldn't help but move upwards along the slender fingertips, and then she saw a shallow smile.

Warm and bright.

Unconsciously, her heart, which had been curled into a ball, unfolded.