1689-1691

Chapter 1689: Muddling the Waters 

In the blink of an eye, the atmosphere shifts from a raging storm to calm waters, the transition so swift and intense it’s almost disorienting. 

Didn’t you see? Annie’s assistant and team members are utterly stunned, their jaws practically unhinged, eyes darting aimlessly like broken marbles. Their souls seem to have fled the scene in a panic, leaving behind empty shells. 

Annie herself is a bit tense, but with Anson by her side, she musters her courage. “So, how’s everything being handled? Do we need to worry?” 

Richard, his scattered rationality finally pieced back together, responds, “Everything’s under control, no need to worry. The paparazzi’s attention has been completely diverted—seems like something’s going on with Anson.” 

Richard glances at Anson, who meets his gaze with unflinching confidence, that unshakable demeanor catching Richard off guard. 

Tough guy, huh? 

Annie misses the silent clash between Richard and Anson. “What happened at the restaurant—Anson told me about it. He’s not going to get in trouble, is he?” 

Edgar steps forward with a smile. “No worries. Those are small potatoes. Anson doesn’t need to sweat it.” 

Richard shoots Edgar a look. Is this guy throwing shade at him? 

Regardless, the tension in the room finally eases, the heart lodged in everyone’s throat slowly settling back into place. 

Anson isn’t surprised by Richard’s reaction. 

From the way Annie and Richard have worked together so far, it’s clear Richard holds the reins. Even during Cinderella Story, when Annie felt suffocated by the Barbie-doll image, she still didn’t speak up to Richard by the time The Princess Diaries 2 promotion rolled around. 

As a rising young actress, Annie lacks clout—that’s one factor. Richard and Innovative Artists’ dominance is another. 

But tonight, Richard impressed Anson. 

It’s not just that Richard regained his composure and swallowed his pride—it’s how quickly and decisively he did it. That ability to bend without breaking is crucial for an agent. 

Edgar has the same quality, but he’s not yet at the top of Hollywood’s pyramid. Even if he’s close, it’s only recent, and he still carries the scrappy, cunning edge of his grassroots origins. 

Pride and dignity? Can those put food on the table? 

Richard, though, is different. He’s already at the industry’s peak, yet he hasn’t let pride blind him. He maintains the same hustle that got him there. 

Either Richard genuinely sets aside his ego, humbly owning his mistakes when outmatched, or he’s playing the long game, biding his time with a “revenge is a dish best served cold” mentality. 

Either way, Richard’s a force to be reckoned with. 

No wonder he’s carved out a name at Innovative Artists, and no surprise Annie hesitates to voice her opinions in his presence. 

Having an agent like Richard is a double-edged sword. 

Wielded right, Richard could propel Annie to Hollywood’s summit. His assertiveness might be overbearing, but in the jungle of fame, he can clear paths and slay dragons. Even if a project flops, he’d likely guide Annie back to the top. 

Used poorly, Richard could damage every relationship, isolating Annie until she’s stranded. Before she even realizes what’s happened, she might have burned bridges, her career over before it truly began. 

In Anson’s past life, he’s unsure if Richard stayed Annie’s agent, but Annie did enjoy a wildly successful career. Still, Anson believes her path could’ve been even brighter—not just in missed roles or opportunities, but in how her acting career was shaped. 

Since this is now a parallel timeline, with the world Anson knows veering off course, why not seize control of their own destinies? 

No need to rush, though. For now, he’ll watch and wait. 

Finally, they leave the underground parking garage. Annie and Richard walk ahead, discussing the fallout from tonight’s unexpected events at the theater. Anson and Edgar trail behind, recounting what happened at the hotel after Anson left. 

The situation is chaotic, and controlling it isn’t straightforward. 

Diverting the paparazzi’s focus from The Princess Diaries 2 was a challenge. In the end, Edgar leaned into their preconceptions. Since Anson and Scarlett’s whereabouts were already exposed, he decided to go with the flow, releasing a barrage of decoys to keep the paparazzi scrambling. 

Now, every paparazzo in Hollywood is on the move. 

Anson? Scarlett? A scandal? 

Each word alone is explosive. Combined, the impact is tenfold, a hundredfold. 

Anson’s no stranger to rumors—they pop up every few weeks. But time and again, they’ve proven baseless, with no evidence or witnesses. Even TMZ resorts to speculation and fabrication, grasping at straws. 

But now? 

You can practically feel Los Angeles buzzing with frenzy, setting the stage for that rookie paparazzo’s bombshell appearance on Fox News. 

Edgar slows his pace, a hint of concern in his eyes. “The next few days might get noisy.” 

He knows Anson’s never been fazed by paparazzi—in fact, they’re the ones who turn docile around him, like chicks in a coop. But when they swarm relentlessly, even ants can overwhelm an elephant. Edgar feels the need to warn him. 

“Heh.” Anson chuckles. 

Not only is he unfazed, he’s downright relaxed. 

Edgar shakes his head with a wry smile. “When the paparazzi go wild, they don’t play fair. They’re a bunch of lunatics.” 

Anson waves it off. “I know. I’m not dumb enough to walk into their crosshairs.” 

“Here’s the plan: you set things up to distract them. Have someone ‘spot’ me in Burbank, heading to Warner Bros. Then, a bit later, leak that I was seen at airport security, about to fly to New York.” 

“Throw out a few more decoys, muddy the waters, keep them running in circles.” 

“Mix truth with fiction, make it hard to pin down. Slip in a couple of ‘real’ tidbits—like at a restaurant, have someone pretend I signed an autograph for a waiter. In L.A., people mistake randos for celebrities a dozen times a day.” 

Edgar catches on, a grin flickering in his eyes. “And you?” 

Anson shrugs lightly. “I’m leaving L.A. tonight, before anyone catches on.” 

He pats Edgar’s arm. “You handle it. I’ll say goodbye to Annie now and slip out. Make sure no one tracks me.” 

Chapter 1690: Chaos and Commotion 

“Anson didn’t return home but headed to Beverly Hills, to Jennifer Aniston’s mansion.” 

“Burbank! Anson was spotted sneaking into Disney’s office building in Burbank!” 

“The Princess Diaries 2 premiere was just a smokescreen. After Sony Columbia and Warner Bros., Anson is gearing up for a Disney collaboration.” 

“Anson Wood back at Scarlett Johansson’s place! It’s all a facade—Anson’s been lurking near Scarlett’s home, waiting for his moment!” 

“Beverly Hills Hilton restaurant! Anson tipped a waiter $10,000, and the staff and kitchen are losing their minds.” 

Rumors swirled, true and false, scattered across every corner of Los Angeles, coming so fast it was impossible to keep up. 

Everyone had their own “exclusive” source, naturally believing their intel was the real deal. But in the race for a scoop, they had to guard against competitors, tossing out red herrings and smoke screens. Information got distorted, fragmented, or outright misleading, plunging the scene into chaos. 

For an entire night, LA’s paparazzi boiled over like water on a stove, buzzing with frenzy. 

No exaggeration—Hollywood hadn’t seen this kind of madness in ages. It was like the city was alive again, pulsing with energy— 

Like the days of Leonardo DiCaprio dating Gisele Bündchen, Ben Affleck with Jennifer Lopez, or Jennifer Aniston with Brad Pitt. The difference? Those were actual relationships. This was just chasing shadows. 

All of it, because of Anson. 

Because of Anson, Hollywood’s paparazzi mobilized en masse. Because of Anson, Los Angeles was turned upside down. Because of Anson, Hollywood felt a long-lost tidal wave of excitement. Because of Anson, even agents and producers endured a sleepless night. 

And then— 

“Rumor has it, Anson was just spotted at LAX, catching a domestic flight to… New York.” 

Amid the relentless wave of rumors, this one sent ripples through the chaos— 

If true, it perfectly explained why Anson couldn’t be found in LA’s nooks and crannies. It was a classic misdirection, a sleight of hand. While paparazzi ran around like headless chickens, sweating buckets, Anson slipped out of the City of Angels, vanishing without a trace. 

Instantly, the paparazzi erupted. 

Some believed it—the most logical explanation—and raced to the airport. 

Others didn’t buy it, convinced it was a diversion. Anson had been at Scarlett’s place all along, leaking this story to throw them off, creating an opening to slip away unnoticed and leave no evidence. 

Some took a different angle, recalling the Elephant shoot. Everyone thought Anson was recording an album in Music City. When word got out he was at the airport, paparazzi swarmed, only for Anson to sneak away by car, unnoticed. This felt eerily familiar—was Anson pulling the same trick, driving out of LA? 

Believe it? Doubt it? Question it? Ponder it? 

Thoughts churned wildly, and in the end, everyone followed their gut—the only thing they could trust. 

A small group of paparazzi rushed to LAX, tracking the latest departing flights to Delta’s terminal— 

LAX’s terminals are organized by airline, not flight, so all Delta flights operate from one terminal. 

At the check-in counter, they got their first solid lead: 

Fifteen minutes ago, someone booked a ticket to New York under Anson Wood’s name. 

Boom! 

The paparazzi network exploded. 

It was a free-for-all, each pulling out their best tricks to infiltrate the terminal, hoping to catch Anson. 

Snagging an exclusive photo of Anson’s “date”—even if it wasn’t Scarlett—would be huge. It’d prove Anson went to great lengths to hide the truth, whatever it was. A scoop like that could shake North America and make a career. 

But… 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

On the LA-to-NY flight, no Anson. The seat booked under his name? Empty. 

A ticket purchased, but no one boarded. 

The terminal echoed with announcements: “The flight from Los Angeles to New York is about to close. Mr. Anson Wood! Mr. Anson Wood, please proceed to…” 

The paparazzi stood dumbfounded. If they didn’t realize they’d been played by now, they were hopeless. 

Staring at each other, jaws dropped, they were utterly speechless: 

Defeated. Drained. 

As dawn broke over the horizon, exhausted paparazzi slumped across LA’s morning streets, their sleepless night of frantic chasing yielding nothing but a bucket of water from an empty well. 

So, where was Anson? 

The mastermind who turned LA upside down was, in fact, at LAX. While everyone fixated on Delta’s terminal, Anson quietly appeared at another: 

The private jet terminal. 

Times had changed, and Anson knew old escape tricks might not work anymore. He’d planned ahead. 

Beyond Edgar, there was Eve. 

Eve contacted NetJets, a company specializing in private and business jet charters, catering to high-end clients with top-tier privacy and security. 

NetJets acted fast, their service impeccable. Their PR team arranged a seamless escort, personally picking up Anson, ensuring no paparazzi caught a whiff, and discreetly getting him to the airport for boarding. 

Completely confidential, airtight. 

This was NetJets’ brilliance. One well-executed plan showcased their service to Anson. 

A first collaboration paved the way for a second, a third. 

NetJets wasn’t aiming for a one-off. 

So, while the airport was a circus of paparazzi chaos, Anson was within a mile of them, calmly boarding a NetJets plane, leaving LA’s noise and frenzy behind, diving headfirst into work— 

The Hangover shoot was ready to roll. 

Chapter 1691: Sin City 

The sky gradually brightened, the mystery and haze of the blue hour quickly fading. A warm orange glow burst forth from the horizon where sea and sky met, tearing through the darkness. Rays of light spread out, enveloping the entire landscape. 

Soft, delicate glimmers floated above the desert, refracting into a faint golden mist that swirled and surged silently like ocean waves. A breathtaking mirage quietly emerged in the lens of vision. 

Caught between half-dream and half-wakefulness, it was hard to tell whether the scene before the eyes was a dream or reality. 

Then, at the edge of the horizon, a dazzling, vibrant city rose abruptly from the boundless desolation, towering into the clouds. Neon lights and radiant brilliance propped up a shimmering curtain, mysterious and irresistible like Atlantis itself. The heart pounded wildly, drawn toward it. 

The dizzying lights outlined a perfectly straight avenue, as if a giant’s sword had cleaved the desert in two, transforming into a burning ribbon piercing the city’s heart. A whirlwind of sights unfolded along both sides of the road. 

The Luxor Hotel’s black pyramid glowed mysteriously under the lights, like a whisper from the banks of the Ganges. The Paris Hotel’s replica Eiffel Tower stood casually by the street, sketching a touch of French romance in this desert. The Venetian’s winding canals bloomed proudly like an oasis, with gondolas floating quietly, as if waiting for an unexpected encounter. 

In the breeze, the sound of rushing water pulled the gaze onward. 

The Bellagio’s musical fountain came into view. Even from high above, the fountain’s dance was vivid, captivating attention. Water jets swayed to the rhythm of the music, light and shadow blooming with the sprays, a symphony of water and light orchestrated by the city. 

Looking out, the city before dawn was still an ocean of dazzling light. Buildings sparkled like diamonds scattered across the desert. Casino signs flashed, clubs glowed with endless colors, never sleeping. This city was always pulsing, always singing. Even at night, there was no trace of silence—only endless streams of light and ceaseless revelry. 

This was the true city that never sleeps: Las Vegas. 

“Wow…” 

A gasp broke the silence in the cabin, stirring the restless heat and quiet that had settled in. 

Anson opened his eyes, followed by an apologetic voice. 

“Sorry, I woke you up.” 

Anson, still groggy, glanced over. Brad Renfro’s expression was slightly tense, which made Anson’s lips curve into a small smile. He teased, “Relax, Brad. Your blood doesn’t taste good. I’m not interested.” 

Brad choked a bit, muttering under his breath, “Come on, I’ve been sober for a whole year. A year.” 

His muffled words seemed to get swallowed up in the cabin’s pressurized hum. Anson didn’t catch them clearly but could sense from Brad’s body language that he should drop the joking. “It’s such a short flight from L.A. My eyes barely had time to close before we reached our destination. I was half-asleep the whole way, so you didn’t wake me.” 

Before Brad could respond, a booming voice cut through. “Ah, Las Vegas!” 

Someone leapt up, only to be yanked back by the seatbelt, crashing back into the chair with a grimace and a sheepish head scratch. 

Anson and Brad stared, dumbfounded, at Chris Evans. 

But Chris seemed oblivious, unbuckling his seatbelt and springing up to rush to the window. He gazed quietly at the stunning view unfolding below, letting out an involuntary, “Whoa.” 

“I’d always heard Las Vegas was something else, but I never paid it much mind. Thought it was just hype. I mean, how could it compare to New York or Chicago?” 

“But now…” 

Words failed him, dissolving into another, “Wow.” 

Turning around, Chris looked at Anson, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Can we circle over the city a few times?” 

Anson blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… probably? As long as the control tower doesn’t think we’re up to something. Why don’t you ask the pilot?” 

Chris rubbed his hands together. “Ha, I’ll just say it was your idea.” 

In a flash, Chris darted toward the front of the plane, buzzing with energy like an overexcited golden retriever. 

Anson couldn’t help but laugh. This Chris was nothing like the Captain America in his mind. But from another angle, Anson could see why Fantastic Four had cast Chris as the Human Torch. That goofy charm was so perfectly him. 

Beside him, Brad seemed to want to say something but held back. 

Anson’s voice broke the moment. “Just say what’s on your mind. All this hesitating isn’t like you.” 

Brad’s mouth twitched. He got it, logically. 

But deep down, guilt gnawed at him. He’d been the first to break into Hollywood, older than Anson, and should’ve known better. Instead, he’d gotten lost in the glitz and glamour, hurting Anson and Chris in the process. 

He didn’t have the nerve to ask for forgiveness. 

Later, he’d pulled himself together, apologized to Anson, and completely turned his life around. 

Nicotine. Alcohol. Caffeine. And, of course, all the powders and pills. 

All gone. 

It had been a grueling, painful journey. Countless times, he’d nearly given up, but he’d pushed through, cutting ties with his old self. 

Yet he couldn’t muster the courage to face Anson. The Anson of today wasn’t the same person from back then. If Brad got too close, wouldn’t it look like he was just trying to ride Anson’s coattails for clout? 

The worst part? He couldn’t honestly say that thought hadn’t crossed his mind. 

So he kept his distance, hoping to preserve the memory of their old friendship, untainted by Hollywood’s grind. 

But then Anson called, extending an invitation. 

Of course he said yes—without hesitation. Still, things couldn’t go back to how they were. He couldn’t be as carefree as Chris or as relaxed as his old self. No matter how hard he tried, something always felt stuck. 

The fault wasn’t Anson’s. It was his own mindset, unable to fully shift. 

It was his mistake. 

Then, unexpectedly, Anson called it out. Brad’s heart skipped a beat, but he couldn’t meet Anson’s eyes, instinctively denying it. 

“No. It’s nothing.” 

A pause. Feeling Anson’s gaze, Brad finally mustered the courage. “Anson… why did you invite me to be part of this project, The Hangover?” 

(End of Chapter)