From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

“… … Could it be the driver?”

The rustling, fragmented whispers inadvertently brushed against Lucas's eardrums, making his expression even darker.

Lucas: Heh, driver, correct answer. Isn't that what he is tonight?

However, on the surface, he remained unmoved.

His face was as still as water, calm and composed. Lucas held his head high, standing tall and straight like a pine tree, his slender fingers fastened his suit buttons, and he turned and strode straight ahead, walking around the front of the car towards the art gallery.

Just then, those inside saw the commotion outside and proactively pushed the door open to come out.

“Anson…”

“Anson!”

“Anson.”

In an instant, the buzzing sound that had been surrounding his ears transformed into murmurs calling Anson's name—

Some loud, some soft, some excited, some shy, some joyful, some lost.

The fragmented sounds continued to surge, as if all the surrounding buildings had started tap-dancing, the world undulating in his vision, waves of heat rolling in.

Lucas: Driver and bodyguard.

Anson didn't dodge.

He stood his ground gracefully, scanned the crowd, and nodded and smiled at them, as if he were simply greeting a neighbor in the morning—

He didn't wave.

It was precisely because he was so ordinary and so natural, not at all like a superstar receiving cheers, that the onlookers received the signal, and each of them politely nodded in response, temporarily preventing the lava-like, gurgling heatwave from erupting out of control.

Then, Anson politely stepped aside, gentlemanly protecting the lady behind him.

But Anson had a different opinion.

Of course, they could leave through the back door, but the back door was probably already surrounded by paparazzi; moreover, even if there were no paparazzi, if they chose to leave through the back door, it would mean they were choosing to avoid the limelight.

Firstly, it would look like they had a guilty conscience. Originally, they had nothing to hide, but as a result, the media might seize upon any shadow, fabricating news out of thin air.

Secondly, it would stimulate curiosity. The more they dodged, the more excited the paparazzi would become; the more they hid, the more determined the paparazzi would be to continue digging.

Accurately speaking, this was a cat-and-mouse game, but the key point was—

Their starting point was the same, whoever ran first would become the mouse.

Anson had always faced the media with integrity and openness, and was willing to communicate with the paparazzi and the public on an equal footing. No matter who would be the cat in this cat-and-mouse game, it wouldn't be him.

That being said, Anson still gave the decision-making power to his mother.

Nora carefully considered the matter and finally chose to break through head-on.

However.

Nora immediately realized that she had underestimated the power of the crowd. What looked like surging was actually even more insane in reality.

Involuntarily, she paused.

Click. Click, click, click, click.

There weren't many paparazzi, but the sound of shutters still broke through the roaring heatwave to find a place, proving their presence with silver flashes.

But precisely because there weren't many, scattered in different corners, the flashes attacked sporadically, making it difficult for the eyes to adapt to this stimulation.

Immediately afterwards, Nora saw Lucas come forward, stand on the side of the car, respectfully open the door, and make an inviting gesture in a formal manner.

“Please, Mrs. Wood, Mr. Wood.”

Nora didn't have time to think carefully and quickly got into the car.

Anson, on the other hand, looked at Lucas and immediately caught the teasing in his words. Was this some kind of role-playing game?

“…Driver?” Anson joked.

Lucas looked at Anson expressionlessly.

Anson could clearly see the despair in Lucas's eyes and chuckled lightly, not provoking Lucas any further, and followed him into the car.

Lucas reminded him impatiently, "Be careful not to hit your head."

He watched as Anson's left leg also retracted into the car before closing the door.

Bang.

The muffled sound finally caused the paparazzi and onlookers to come to their senses slightly:

That's it?

Anson was just going to leave like that?

Instantly, they became anxious.

The noisy shouts instantly erupted, like a summer afternoon thunderstorm, pouring down without warning, the whole world a roar.

Everything happened right before their eyes, with no trickery, so that people couldn't react, not thinking of chasing, not thinking of surrounding, not thinking of getting close, but instead maintaining a certain space in an orderly manner.

Completely unaware, they just watched Anson get into the car.

…That's it?

They were a beat too late, only then realizing that Anson was about to leave.

The paparazzi and the crowd alike were instantly anxious, all kinds of questions, all kinds of screams, erupting with astonishing energy in a deafening wave.

Ahhh, ahhh!

The whole world shook.

However, Lucas took the lead.

His long legs took only a few steps to get around the front of the car and back into the driver's seat.

Then, he sped away.

Without pausing, without hesitation, he left before the crowd could come to their senses.

At this time, the crowd at the scene finally reacted, surging into the street in a breaching and flooding manner, instantly engulfing the street, the flashes and shouts chasing after them with bared teeth and brandished claws, but in the end, they could only catch a glimpse of the vehicle's back.

Their eyes were full of reluctance.

“Ah, Anson, ahhhhhhhhh…”

Earth-shattering, heart-wrenching.

Accompanied by a shout, a figure rushed out from the bustling crowd, rushing forward in a frenzy, like a cheetah, sprinting at full speed—

They weren't joking. For that brief moment, it felt like entering the Olympic 100-meter sprint final, all eyes locked on that figure leading the way.

The man was running and shouting all the way, the combination of his athletic and strong physique with his heart-wrenching screams was incongruous yet inexplicably unified, making it difficult to accurately describe the impact of the scene in front of them, so that others were stunned, watching the vehicle turn the corner.

Then, it disappeared from sight.

The man finally ran out of strength, no longer chasing, standing in place, his hands supporting his knees, panting heavily, even from half a street away, you could feel his sadness and helplessness, that lonely back made the onlookers feel embarrassed—

After all, they were purely watching as bystanders, how could they compare to other people's genuine feelings.

Meanwhile, in the art gallery.

Carroll and the other two were sticking to the glass windows, standing on tiptoe, peering at the commotion in front of them, instantly awakening the parade scene from St. Patrick's Day not long ago.

“If he shouted at this time, 'Hey, Anson, your wallet,' that would be comedy,” the man muttered.

Carroll looked back at him speechlessly.

The man raised his hands, “Humor. It's called humor. Without any sense of humor, life is so tiring.”

After a second's pause, Carroll quietly said, “If he shouted, 'Hey, Anson, your phone,' that would be a horror movie.”

And in the car.

Nora looked back in the rearview mirror, watching the figure who had stopped, full of unwillingness and regret, “Anson, are you really okay?”

Anson looked serious, “If we stopped the car at this time, and I went forward to express my gratitude, and then gave him a hug, what do you think?”

Before Nora could respond, Lucas shifted directly from second gear to third gear and stepped on the accelerator.

Anson: … “Hey, driver, are you voting with your feet?”

Lucas refused to answer.