1624-1626

Chapter 1624 – The Ultimatum 

“Let me make this clear: it’s him or me. You can’t have both. Don’t get greedy.” 

Will Smith spoke slowly, biting each word out through clenched teeth, his tone thunderous as he slammed down an ultimatum that sent shockwaves through the entire office. 

The three top agents were all struck silent. 

But Will didn’t back down, not even a little. 

“Yes, you heard what I said.” 

“So you'd better choose wisely. Because if I see him walk in here, grinning like he owns the place, I swear, I’ll walk out without another word.” 

“Immediately. On the spot.” 

Each word pounded like a drumbeat. 

“When I leave, what do you think Denzel will do? You think Denzel’s Black ass is gonna stick around for even one more second?” 

“Don’t test me. Don’t.” 

“Let me tell you something—I'm the only real lunatic in this Hollywood neighborhood. That pretty-boy poser couldn’t handle a single round of my crazy.” 

Furious. Explosive. Unrelenting. 

He was talking about Denzel Washington, the only top-tier Black movie star Hollywood had seen in the last decade—and also a client of Creative Artists. 

Both Will Smith and Denzel Washington held unique positions in the industry, not just because of their personal success, but because of the distinct markets and communities they represented. 

That’s what made them two of Creative Artists' greatest assets. Having both of them under their banner gave the agency unmatched power during negotiations. Major studios—those perched at the peak of the Hollywood pyramid—often had no choice but to work with Creative Artists. Even Black actors outside the agency respected the influence these two carried. 

In essence, Will and Denzel were the keys to an entire market. 

Which is exactly why Creative Artists would never want to lose both at once. 

Will’s threat wasn’t empty—he was dead serious. He knew exactly how valuable he was. 

But the real question was: would Will actually leave? 

Kevin Shevlin didn’t think so. Will was smart. So was Rust. 

Sure, Will and Rust had started their own film company, but they’d never actually left Creative Artists. Was it because they didn’t have the resources or the clout? 

No—it was because they understood that their relationship with Creative Artists was mutually beneficial. They needed the agency’s ability to package and integrate deals. That was the best way to gain more power for Black actors, directors, and producers. 

Even if they wanted to walk away, the other Black talents depending on them wouldn’t let them. 

In other words, Creative Artists was using them, yes—but they were using the agency right back. It was a codependent relationship. If things really went south, it would be a lose-lose for both sides. No matter what other agency Will and Denzel might join, it would never match what they had here. 

That’s why Rust was staying out of sight—smart move. 

If things were really about to blow up, Rust would be right here backing Will. But since he wasn’t, it was clear that Will just needed to blow off some steam. 

After all, I, Robot had just lost to Spider-Man 2 at the box office, and Creative Artists had immediately signed Anson afterward. For an actor of Will’s stature, that kind of move was hard to swallow. 

Kevin was sure Rust would clean things up after Will let it all out. They wouldn’t even have to step in. 

So Kevin played dumb, keeping a blank face like a monk in meditation. 

Richard and Brian picked up on the vibe and stayed quiet too. 

Will... looked a little awkward. 

He’d just thrown down an ultimatum, threatened to walk—and now, nothing? 

Will hadn’t expected to be met with complete silence. Suddenly, it felt like he was putting on a one-man show. The embarrassment hit like a wave, snapping his last thread of composure. But now that the anger had crested, it left a strange emptiness behind. He didn’t even know how to keep the scene going. 

What was he supposed to do now? Flip a table? Trash the office? Punch someone? 

If he did any of that, he’d be the real joke. 

And so, the room froze in that awkward, no-man’s-land silence. 

Kevin noticed Will’s hesitation. He seized the moment and spoke up with perfect timing: 

“Will—coffee?” 

“Two creams, two sugars, right?” 

Will stared at Kevin, the breath caught in his throat. 

It finally hit him—Rust hadn’t followed him in. He was facing all three of them on his own, and the odds weren’t in his favor. 

How was he going to turn this around? 

Outside the office, whispers and hushed murmurs filled the hallway. People peeked around corners, nervously watching the storm rage inside. 

But wait—the parking lot attendant had said Anson had already arrived, right? 

Then why was it Will who showed up? 

Where was Anson? 

Had Will confronted him in the garage? Was the newcomer knocked out cold? Was the welcome party about to be canceled? 

Trying to push forward felt pointless—but just ending it felt wrong, too. 

No one knew what to do. People exchanged glances, but no one had an answer. 

Slowly, people inside the office started to notice something was off. 

Today was supposed to be unprecedented—a grand welcome party for Anson joining Creative Artists. A reception with such ceremony had never been thrown for any actor before, especially not at an agency filled with A-listers and Hollywood power players. 

And now? 

It felt like they’d backed themselves into a corner. 

Lesson learned: don’t try something you never do. 

And never, ever, plan surprises—didn’t movies and shows teach us anything? The classic relationship-breaker is always a surprise gone wrong. 

“Surprise” or “shock”—you never know which one it’s going to be. 

Ding! 

The elevator chimed again. 

Though it felt like an entire century had passed, Will Smith’s dramatic entrance had happened just sixty seconds ago. And now, his whirlwind tantrum had swept across the entire Creative Artists tower. 

Every gaze, every ear, every heart had been locked on that office—so much so that they’d all forgotten about the elevator. 

Then the door slid open. 

Like clockwork, as if responding to a silent signal, everyone at the entrance perked up like meerkats, ears twitching. 

A second later, they all instinctively turned to the elevator—where a figure had just stepped into view. 

Tall. Poised. Effortlessly elegant. 

He didn’t need to say a word, didn’t even need to smile. His eyes alone—clear and radiant, like the golden sun reflected on a calm summer ocean—were enough. Serene and warm, a breeze brushing gently against the skin, the dappled light filtering through olive branches swaying softly on his face. 

So simple. So beautiful. 

He paused at the elevator door, glanced around, as if taking in the scene, and then— 

A soft smile played at his lips. 

Chapter 1625: Like a Breath of Spring 

The elevator doors opened again—and with that entrance, it felt like a breath of fresh spring air. 

There was no need for a grand reveal or a dramatic flourish. He simply appeared in front of everyone, plain and effortless, yet he instantly caught every eye. The chaotic, noisy room seemed to freeze for a moment. All the cluttered thoughts and buzzing tension vanished in an instant. Everyone stood stunned, eyes locked on him. 

Pop. 

Someone, hesitating slightly, set off a party popper. “…Surprise…” The uncertain voice was so faint, it felt muffled—completely out of sync with the moment. 

That hesitant tone carried unease and confusion, failing to hype the mood—in fact, it dragged the atmosphere down to rock bottom. 

The man let out a small smile and raised a finger. “Give me one second.” 

He turned back into the elevator, shoved the second person who had been about to step out back inside, and with everyone staring, the elevator doors slowly closed again. 

The office: … 

Utter silence. Everyone stared at each other, dumbfounded. Only the faint sound of Will Smith losing his mind could be heard through the supposedly soundproof glass. 

What just happened? What was that? What’s going on now? What are we supposed to do next? 

No time to discuss. No time to think. 

Ding! 

The elevator doors opened once more. Instinctively, everyone turned to look—this time no one missed it. As if reacting on reflex, as if their bodies moved before their minds caught up, they all snapped to attention. 

Pop. Pop-pop-pop. Pop! 

All the party poppers went off. Balloons, whistles, glitter—everything got tossed into the air. People began cheering, “Surprise!” 

Anson Wood stepped out again, as if he hadn’t just done that a minute ago. With arms raised high, his grin lit up the room. 

“Surprise!” Anson echoed back. 

Edgar followed him out, totally confused, glancing around at the crowd lined up on either side of the elevator like a welcoming committee. He genuinely thought he’d gotten off on the wrong floor. 

Something like this? Totally unheard of at William Morris. 

But the people snapped back into the moment, sticking to the plan. In unison, they broke into song. 

“Eh, eh, oh oh oh…” 

Just four beats in and it was already unmistakable—*"Sunflower"*, this summer’s breakout hit. It had gone viral online, blown up offline, then circled back to dominate online again. The anthem of the summer was playing everywhere you went, claiming its place in pop history. 

Clearly, Anson hadn’t expected this. He looked around at the somewhat unsure expressions in the crowd and burst out laughing. 

But instead of shying away, Anson jumped right in and started singing. 

“Eh, eh… oh oh oh…” 

He moved to the rhythm—not real dance moves, just easy hip-hop steps, feeling the beat with his body. 

With both hands high in the air, he waved people over, inviting them to join in. Singing, moving to the music, the catchy tune and chill rhythm made it effortless for everyone to get swept up in the vibe. 

And slowly, without anyone realizing, the tension melted away. No nerves, no stress, no pressure. Then— 

The party began. 

One by one, people joined Anson, getting bolder. They even started calling Edgar over to join. 

Edgar panicked. What was happening? Why was everyone suddenly singing and dancing? When did this become a party? 

Who am I, where am I, what am I doing? 

His mind was a whirlwind of questions. Surrounded by all the noise and celebration, Edgar was totally lost, stiff as a board—awkwardness written all over him. Anson saw it and burst into uncontrollable laughter, quickly joined by all the agents nearby. Poor Edgar, flailing around like a malfunctioning robot, just wanted to disappear. 

But after reaching peak embarrassment, Edgar gave up and embraced the chaos. 

He threw up his hands and gave the rhythm a couple of clumsy tries, limbs moving in all the wrong places, body stiff as a board. 

Yet—no one laughed at him. Anson was the first to cheer him on, clapping wildly. 

The mood instantly lifted. 

Laughter filled the air. The happiness and joy bubbling in everyone’s chests felt light and sweet, like cotton candy. All the stress and confusion faded into the background. The party was back on track—pure fun, no pressure, just good times. 

“Anson!” 

“Anson!” 

“Anson!” 

The whole floor joined in the celebration. This was supposed to be a welcome party after all—a party just for Anson. A one-of-a-kind Hollywood welcome. It might’ve gone off-script, but in the end, everything fell into place. Everyone brought out their party gear and joined in. 

The place erupted into joyous chaos. 

Rust looked around at the scene in front of him, a little worried. He glanced toward the office. If Will saw this, he’d probably have a heart attack on the spot. 

But Rust had to admit… no one could resist Anson. Even he, in this moment, could feel that pure, genuine joy radiating through the room. It wasn’t forced, wasn’t just for show. Everyone had dropped their walls, joining this spontaneous celebration—singing and dancing right there at work. 

If this were for a show taping or a live broadcast, no problem. Even if people weren’t into it, they’d still go along with the performance. 

That’s entertainment for you. 

But in real life, top-tier stars like Anson and Will? They usually didn’t bother getting down to the staff’s level. 

Yet here it was—this moment, so natural, so sincere. It was all real. Even Rust’s fingers, resting on his knee, started tapping to the beat. His heart responded before his brain had a chance. The leash of logic had already snapped. 

If this was just acting, then Rust was convinced Anson could be a world-class actor, able to adapt to any role and any genre. 

But if it wasn’t acting? Then Anson could very well become the next Tom Hanks—or even surpass him. 

After all, Anson was still only twenty-four. 

Wait—twenty-four? 

Rust suddenly froze. 

Anson was only twenty-four?! That young? 

At that age, most people were still brash and wild, full of themselves. He had already climbed to the top of the Hollywood food chain, achieved more in three years than most people could in a lifetime. At twenty-four, he should have been lost in the glitz and glamour of fame. 

Forget Anson—just look at Will. 

His career kept climbing, and his confidence and pride ballooned along with it. He strutted around like he was king of the world, looking down on everyone else. It eventually turned into arrogance, rejecting criticism and challenges, convinced he had earned his power and status. 

And yet… Will didn’t even have Anson’s wisdom. 

The realization hit Rust hard. 

Chapter 1626: Young, Wild, and Free 

“Anson, welcome!” 

“Welcome to the Innovative Artists family!” 

“Anson, I love you!” 

The excited chatter filled every corner of the floor. The entire place buzzed with energy, faces glowing with joy and enthusiasm. Even after the noise began to settle, someone suddenly shouted, “Anson, you’re amazing!” 

It was like thunder out of nowhere. 

Anson turned toward the voice and replied with a bright smile, “Thank you!” 

The crowd burst into laughter, the atmosphere growing even more lively and electric. 

Eventually, the party came to an end. 

But Anson didn’t leave right away. Instead, he stayed behind, personally hugging everyone on the floor. “Thank you for such a warm welcome,” “Thanks for accepting me,” “This has truly been a surprise—God, really,” he said, making sure not to leave anyone out, even the janitor standing nearby with a mop in hand. 

When he heard that Richard Loft was still tied up in his office, Anson didn’t pry. He simply followed instructions and waited in the lounge. 

Of course, he noticed Rust lingering by the office door, but didn’t ask questions—not even indirectly. He knew how to act like a proper guest. 

Still, even in the lounge, Anson didn’t get a moment to rest. 

Knock knock knock. 

Even though the frosted glass door wasn’t fully closed, someone still knocked. When Anson looked up, the visitor gave him an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry to bother you… It’s just… when my sister heard you were coming in today, she practically begged me to get your autograph.” 

Anson blinked in surprise. It wasn’t exactly common to get autograph requests inside a talent agency—especially one as star-studded as Innovative Artists. 

“It’d be my honor,” Anson smiled, making direct eye contact. “What’s your name?” 

Caught off guard, the visitor paused. She clearly hadn’t expected him to ask. “Erin. My name’s Erin.” 

Anson held her gaze. “Nice to meet you, Erin. Thanks for the warm welcome today. I can’t believe I’m actually signing autographs here—if this were a play, I’d say: welcome to Broadway.” 

Erin waved her hands frantically. “This isn’t staged, no no no. I really need to get back before my boss sees me!” 

She glanced nervously behind her, clearly worried about getting caught. 

Anson chuckled softly and put a finger to his lips. “Shhh.” 

Then he glanced at what Erin was holding. 

Only then did Erin remember the poster and quickly handed it over. 

Anson unfolded it, visibly surprised. “This is a limited edition poster from The Butterfly Effect, right? I didn’t even keep one for myself. I only saw the prototype back then—this is the first time I’m seeing the real deal. You’ve taken amazing care of it.” 

Erin’s smile lit up. “Stephanie’s going to faint from happiness. She’s kept this poster pristine. If it weren’t for today, she wouldn’t have let me touch it.” 

Anson laughed heartily. “Are you sure she still wants me to sign it? I might ruin it.” 

Erin giggled. “Believe me, she’s been waiting for this day forever.” 

Edgar handed Anson a carbon-ink pen. As he took it, he asked, “So, what’s Stephanie’s favorite work of mine? Or is it just the face?” 

The cheeky comment made Erin laugh even harder. “Both. But her absolute favorite is still Eternal Sunshine. She’s watched it seven times. I refused to let her go for an eighth.” 

Anson smirked, “Well, now we know why the box office did so well.” 

Erin’s eyes turned into crescent moons. “We were more than happy to help. That was a great time.” 

Anson joked, “Poor Peter Parker.” 

Laughter broke out again. 

After finally signing the poster, Erin carefully turned to leave. But just as she reached the door, she saw two coworkers peeking in, clearly eager for news. They looked at her expectantly. 

Erin gave them a big thumbs-up before dashing out of the lounge, arms raised triumphantly as she jumped with excitement. 

“YES!” 

People nearby immediately turned their attention to her, bombarding her with questions. Erin could barely contain her joy, even while trying to keep a straight face. 

One by one, more and more employees grabbed items and began inching toward the lounge, peeking in curiously. 

The scene was electric. 

Meanwhile, the chaos in Richard Loft’s office finally settled down. 

Will Smith had calmed himself—barely. He wasn’t planning to leave Innovative Artists, and Denzel wasn’t either. But Will needed to make his position clear. He had to express his anger loud and clear, or else he’d be inviting future trouble. 

If this ever happened again, he wouldn’t hold back. 

This was a warning shot. 

Will had been in Hollywood nearly twenty years. He wasn’t naïve. His outburst today? Half genuine emotion, half calculated performance. 

Sometimes “losing control” is a message in itself. It shows just how serious things are—and also plays to the audience outside the room. 

Now that Anson had officially joined Innovative Artists, there was no undoing it. But Will wanted the industry to know: he wasn’t going to just sit back and take it. 

After making his stance crystal clear, Richard offered a way to save face, and Will took it. No more drama. Situation resolved—for now. 

Feeling somewhat composed again, Will opened the office door—and froze. 

The hallway was packed. People buzzed with excitement, a long line trailing out of the lounge like a fan event. Everyone looked like eager groupies waiting for a meet-and-greet. Others chatted excitedly in small clusters, eyes sparkling as they glanced toward the lounge. 

It was loud. It was wild. 

And all because of one person. 

That fire Will had just managed to tamp down reignited. His fists clenched. 

This—this was a slap in the face. A blatant one. 

Everyone knew Will was inside Richard’s office. Everyone knew he was furious. Everyone knew why. 

And still, they all flocked to Anson without hesitation. No subtlety. No respect. No concern for Will’s presence. They celebrated Anson openly—rubbed it right in his face. 

In an industry where reading the room is everything, this was a loud, public humiliation. 

“...Will,” Rust leaned in, trying to soothe the moment. “It’s just the novelty. It'll pass.” 

Will couldn’t even breathe properly, his chest tight with frustration. He walked forward, slowly making his way through the crowd to the lounge. 

From the doorway, he could see Anson on the couch, surrounded by laughter and cheer. 

Will stopped in his tracks. 

(End of Chapter)