1026-1030

Chapter 1026: Facing Reality

If possible, Anson also wished Jack could stay away from the entanglements of his biological family forever. That nightmare should remain in the past.

But Anson had been through it himself. He knew that just because something is out of sight doesn't mean it no longer exists. Even if Jack never sees his father again, the nightmares that haunt his mind will still persist, relentless and inescapable.

In the end, we all need to face our fears; otherwise, the scars on our souls will never heal.

So, rather than worrying about Jack running into his father in New York, it’s better to focus on Jack himself, hoping he’ll gather the courage to fight back.

They can’t run away forever.

Jack stared blankly at Anson, his eyes slightly reddening. "At least now, I'm not afraid to return to New York. One day, I won’t be scared to face him."

"But for now... New York is so big. I’m not worried he’ll find me."

"To be more accurate, he's probably drunk and passed out somewhere. He doesn’t have the energy for anything else, let alone knowing I’m back."

Deep down, Jack was still afraid. He wasn’t ready to face his father.

It wasn’t easy.

Jack took a deep breath and forced a big smile to cover up his vulnerability. "But I had to come back. You were in trouble, weren’t you?"

"Now there are all kinds of rumors flying around in the media, getting more and more outrageous. I don’t know what to believe anymore. Those reports are terrifying."

Jack shivered and made a funny face, baring his teeth.

This made Anson laugh out loud.

"Don’t believe any of it," Anson said. "The media is all lies. More precisely, you should focus on enjoying your school life, thinking about what college you want to go to and your future, not paying attention to my news."

Jack pressed his lips together. "It’s hard not to pay attention. Do you know how many headlines are about you?"

Anson looked serious. "No, because I don’t go online or watch the news. So, I don’t know anything about it. You can do the same."

Jack’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. You can do that?

A smile crept into Anson's eyes.

Jack finally relaxed, walking to the foot of the hospital bed to take a closer look at Anson. From the outside, he didn’t seem injured, no broken arms or legs, just lying there casually. The media’s dramatic reports seemed way off, and this confused Jack.

"Anson, are you okay?"

Without thinking, Anson said, "I’m fine."

But after speaking, he reconsidered and said more carefully, "I hurt my lower back, and I need time to heal. There will be rehab, but it’s not that serious and shouldn’t affect the rest of my life."

"Or, to put it another way, to make sure it doesn’t affect my future, I need to follow the doctor’s orders, which is why I’m lying here like a good patient."

Often, parents or adults assume kids don’t understand things, or they try to shield them from the harsh realities of life. But this approach is questionable.

First, kids usually do understand.

Second, just because they’re unaware of the truth doesn’t mean life will treat them kindly.

The movie Life Is Beautiful is incredibly moving. A father, trying to protect his child’s innocence, weaves a fairy tale in the middle of a concentration camp. It’s a classic, no doubt.

But that doesn’t mean reality will spare the child. When reality takes away the father, the child still has to face the brutal world, and it will be even bloodier.

So, Anson tried to speak the truth in a reasonable way.

Maybe it would help Jack grow up.

Sure enough, Jack quieted down, looking at Anson thoughtfully.

"...Does it hurt?" Jack asked softly.

Anson nodded. "Yeah."

Because Lucas and the doctors were cautious about Anson’s history of addiction, they were careful with the painkillers.

The painkillers only worked for a while, and once they wore off, the electric-shock-like stiffness and sharp pain would return, tugging at Anson’s nerves, keeping him in a half-dream, half-awake state through the night, unable to fully sleep or wake.

But there was no need to tell Jack these details.

Jack thought for a moment. "Even so, do you still love your job?"

Anson smiled.

Jack was confused.

"My mother asked me the same thing," Anson said.

Jack: "What did you tell her?"

Anson: "I love it."

Jack didn’t say anything more.

Anson noticed. He remembered when they were filming Elephant in Portland, Jack had shown some curiosity about acting. "Why, are you interested in becoming an actor?"

Jack looked up at Anson, eyes full of confusion, as if he didn’t understand where that idea had come from. Then, he realized.

"Haha, no, no, no, that’s not it."

"I can see why you’d think that, but no, I was just thinking maybe being a journalist is an interesting job."

"Not like those paparazzi who dig into people’s private lives, but finding the truth through investigation, through conversations, through thinking—about justice, fairness, and hope."

"Like you. The media is just making wild guesses, spewing nonsense without any evidence. I want people to know what really happened."

He paused.

"I also want people to know what happened between my mom and me, instead of gossiping behind our backs."

The last sentence was nearly a whisper, but Anson caught it.

"Jack, did something happen at school?"

Jack shrugged lightly. "Same old stuff. Nothing new. But don’t worry, I can handle it. I know what to do."

His evasiveness and half-truths made Anson’s heart ache. Had Jack escaped domestic violence only to fall into the whirlpool of school bullying?

But what could Anson do? Beat up those bullies? Help Jack run away again?

Anson took a deep breath and looked at Jack. "They’ll try to make it seem like it’s your fault, but you haven’t done anything wrong. They’re just finding excuses for their violence and stupidity."

"You need to know that. Stand up for yourself. Be proud of yourself. The ones who use violence to show their strength are the real weak and small ones."

Pep talks don’t really help, that’s true. But Jack needed to face these challenges on his own. The path of life must be walked alone.

The difference is that Anson will always be there as a strong support.

Jack looked at Anson and suddenly smiled. "Like Spider-Man?"

Anson remembered Peter Parker was also a victim of school bullying. He smiled and nodded lightly in agreement. "Just like Spider-Man."

The two exchanged a glance and smiled at each other.

Knock, knock.

The sound of knocking interrupted their laughter.

Anson was about to respond.

Jack put a finger to his lips. "I snuck in."

Anson: "??? So what? This isn’t Romeo and Juliet!"

*Chapter 1027: Luring the Snake out of its Hole*

A knock on the door made Jack panic.

Anson couldn’t help but chuckle.

Anson wanted to say that this was his hospital room, and as long as he permitted it, no one would blame Jack. But Jack had already dashed into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind him like a real thief.

The scene before him caused Anson's lips to curl upward.

Creak.

The door to the hospital room opened, and Lucas's tall figure appeared.

Seeing that Anson was awake, Lucas asked in a deep voice, "Why aren't you resting?"

Anson was speechless. "I've been resting, okay? But what about you? Aren't you supposed to be working?"

Lucas responded, "I've been working, okay? Taking a few days off isn't a bad thing." He shot back with the same tone.

Anson replied, "There's no need, really. I can take care of myself..."

Before he could finish his sentence, Lucas shot him a sharp look. Anson, not one to back down, glared back, but the rest of his words trailed off.

Lucas nodded with satisfaction, "I think it’s going to happen in the next day or two."

Anson asked, "Are you sure?"

Lucas replied, "Yeah. For the past two days, several people have been lurking nearby, trying to figure out the security shift patterns."

"I know time is money for them, and they're racing against the clock. They can't wait much longer, so it’s either today or tomorrow."

"I've already given orders for one of the security guards to slack off on purpose, maybe take a longer bathroom or smoke break. It doesn’t need to be long—just one or two minutes is enough to create an opening."

"They'll take the bait."

No wonder!

Jack had just slipped in without any trouble. He must have timed it perfectly during that window.

Anson nodded, "Alright, I'll be ready."

Lucas wasn’t convinced, "Why don’t you switch rooms? I’ll stay here and deal with them."

Anson laughed, "There's no need, really. You should trust me. They're not worth worrying about."

Lucas’s face darkened. "It’s those same worthless guys that got you hurt..."

Seeing Lucas about to start nagging again, Anson quickly changed the subject, "By the way, I’ve got a friend I want to introduce to you. Remember that young guy we ran into at the San Francisco theater?"

Anson was about to call Jack out of hiding to introduce him to Lucas, but he was interrupted again by another knock at the door—this was the third time that afternoon.

Things were getting lively.

Anson glanced at Lucas, silently asking with a look.

Lucas got the message and mouthed, "There’s no one at the door right now."

So, could it be the target they had been waiting for?

Knock knock.

The knocking came again.

There was only knocking, no words. The sound was soft, like a thief, not wanting to wake the sleeping beauty inside, just testing the waters. The knock itself seemed sneaky.

The two brothers exchanged a quick look.

Lucas moved to the corner of the room, sitting on the sofa, blending into the shadows and staying silent.

The room quickly fell into silence.

Knock knock.

The knocking came a third time.

This time, without waiting too long, as soon as there was no response from inside, the person outside pushed the door open and quickly slipped in, pushing a cart. They softly and quickly closed the door behind them.

Turning around, the vibrant sunset poured in, filling the room with a soft, bright atmosphere. You could see Anson lying in bed, seemingly fast asleep.

Just as expected.

People often think that the best time to commit a crime is under the cover of night, but in reality, daytime can be even more unexpected.

Choosing dusk made sense because, after a long hot afternoon, fatigue often makes people drop their guard just before dinner.

At this moment, it was the perfect time to sneak into the hospital room.

In reality, it wasn’t like a Hollywood movie. Even though there was a tight security net around Anson's room, this intruder still found a gap.

Heh, it seems Anson’s injury dulled his senses. This was his best chance to turn the tables.

The intruder knew he was walking a moral tightrope, lurking in a gray area, but he couldn’t resist the thrill. The voice of temptation whispered constantly in his ear.

"Everyone does it. There's no need to feel guilty, and definitely no need to feel bad. If it’s not you, someone else will seize the opportunity."

"So why shouldn’t it be you?"

"Besides, have you forgotten all the humiliation and frustration? Every time you faced Anson, you came out defeated, humiliated, even traumatized. Now’s your chance for revenge—are you really going to let it slip by?"

"After all, Anson isn’t really paralyzed, right?"

Those evil thoughts took root and quickly grew into a towering tree, beyond his control.

Not only was he ready to take advantage of the situation, but he also planned to strike back—tenfold, a hundredfold for all the times he’d been played.

Everything was going according to plan.

Moving stealthily, the figure reached the foot of the bed and pulled a camera out of the bag hidden under the cart.

To disguise himself, he had changed into a nurse's uniform, blending in as a staff member at Mount Sinai Hospital, pushing a cart just like Ethan Hunt in "Mission Impossible."

He took out his camera and began searching for the right angle—

Taking a secret photo wasn’t just about capturing a shot; it had to be the perfect composition, proof of his skill, to show he had everything under control.

He could already imagine it—the other paparazzi and journalists marveling at his work. Soon, he would become the king of the paparazzi.

A smile crept onto his face. He was so excited, his hands were trembling. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt such a rush—was it his first job as a paparazzo?

Finally, he found the right angle.

This time, he didn’t forget to turn off the flash. With the room filled with golden sunset light, there was no need for it anyway. He was confident he’d capture a masterpiece.

But just as he aimed the camera at Anson and prepared to focus, he realized—

Anson was also holding a camera, a Polaroid, pointing right back at him.

Wait, what?

Before he could process it, the next moment, he saw the smile on Anson’s face, curving into a perfect arc in the orange glow.

"Three, two, one, cheese!"

Click.

Anson pressed the shutter first, capturing the moment.

The intruder stood frozen, completely dumbfounded.

Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing? What just happened?

Everything felt blurry and confusing.

Just a moment ago, things were under his control.

The next moment, his world had flipped upside down.

For a second, his brain couldn’t keep up. His shaking pupils and the fact he’d forgotten to press his own shutter revealed his true thoughts.

Then, Anson smiled and waved, "Hey, Kevin."

*Chapter 1028: Monsters and Demons*

"Hey, Kevin."

The words felt like the pull of a trigger, barely brushing the nerve in his mind, sending a shiver that shot up from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.

A nightmare awakened.

Instinctively, Harry Percy wanted to run for his life.

However, his feet wouldn't move. The remnants of his rational mind clung desperately to that last straw of hope, and with a reflex, Harry clenched his jaw and shouted, "I’m not Kevin! Harry, Harry, Harry, my name is Harry!"

His knees were trembling, his stomach churning. Cold, then hot, the world spun around him, and Harry felt like he was plummeting straight down from a height of a hundred thousand feet—

Only to realize, there was no parachute.

"A trap. This is a trap. Run, Harry, run!"

Harry kept warning himself, but his feet remained nailed to the floor. His body was stiff, as if he had turned into a mummy.

Snap!

In the corner, a lamp flicked on. A face lurked in the shadows, while the lamp slowly outlined a figure clad in a black suit and pants, capturing Harry's gaze.

Like Lucifer himself.

The figure greeted him in a low, magnetic voice.

"Hey, finally we meet, Harry Percy."

That voice—it sounded familiar?

Harry shivered, a distant memory resurfacing in his mind.

"It's you!"

"You were the one who called me the other day, weren’t you? I told you, I don’t know anything! I don’t know who caused that accident!"

"Why are you still bothering me?"

Lucas raised an eyebrow slightly, showing a hint of interest. "I never said we suspected the paparazzi of causing the accident. I just asked if anyone had tried to sell you photos of the Spider-Man suit."

After speaking with Anson, Lucas had gotten in touch with Harry Percy, the founder of TMZ—after all, his contact was openly listed on the site, so it didn’t take much effort.

Lucas made a quick call and asked a few questions, but he didn’t get anything useful. Yet, after hanging up, Lucas sensed something odd.

Harry Percy had denied everything too quickly, without any hesitation. And unlike most paparazzi, he hadn’t taken the opportunity to dig for information in return. Instead, he seemed eager to distance himself from the whole situation, as if he wanted nothing to do with it.

That wasn’t normal.

Though Lucas couldn't be certain, he was convinced Harry was holding something back.

So, after discussing with Anson, Lucas decided to strike back.

A move to draw out the monsters and demons and see who would take the bait.

They hadn’t anticipated who would show up, but they hoped to follow any clues they could find.

They never imagined they’d hook such a big fish.

All eyes were now on Harry. This was something Harry never expected. It was as if he had been thrust into the spotlight, forced to the center of attention.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Harry panicked—partly because of Lucas’ words, but mainly because of Anson.

Harry was convinced that "Anson’s PTSD" was a real condition. No words were needed; even a brief glimpse of Anson was enough to scare someone to death.

"Think." Harry tried to force a smile, masking his panic. "There’s this thing called a brain. It’s really useful. I hope you guys have one. Try using it, okay?"

Lucas tilted his chin up slightly. "Thinking. Would you care to share how you think? Also, if you have nothing to do with any of this, and want no part of it, what on earth were you thinking, coming here to the hospital, dressed in a Halloween costume?"

"Why don’t you share your thought process with us?"

Harry: Crap.

Anson finally spoke. "Lucas, there’s no need to be so aggressive. Your reputation is already bad enough. If you keep going, you’ll run out of fertilizer for the roses in your backyard. You wouldn’t want us to start dumping trash at the docks, would you?"

Lucas: "I’m just trying to be friendly. Didn’t you notice I’m solving the problem through conversation? I’m not the savage I used to be."

Back and forth, Harry was getting dizzy, unable to keep up with the Wood brothers' banter.

Then, without warning, Anson turned the conversation back to Harry. "So, you’re doing better today, right? At least you're not hiding in a pile of boxes, drenched in sweat like last time."

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. "No, I’d rather suffer in the box…"

The words slipped out, but Harry abruptly stopped himself, realizing he was about to expose too much. He felt dizzy again, couldn’t believe what he had just said, and stared at Anson as if facing the Grim Reaper.

Snap.

Suddenly, Lucas gripped the armrest of his chair tightly, as if ready to leap to his feet. The tension and murderous intent leaked out, filling the room and gripping Harry by the throat.

"No…"

"No, no, no, I meant last time. Last time, I hid in the wardrobe of the trailer."

Harry stammered incoherently, realizing he might have let something slip. In that instant, he truly felt the threat to his life.

Anson tilted his chin up slightly. "The first time is always rough, but by the second time, you get better at it. No wonder we didn’t catch you this time. If you hadn’t mentioned it, I almost forgot about last time."

"Then again, I was unharmed last time, so of course I don’t remember it. Let’s switch places—you remember last time, I’ll remember this time. Sound good?"

Harry swallowed hard. He had to deny everything—deny it until the end. "What are you talking about? I don’t understand."

After all, Anson had no evidence, right?

Anson really didn’t have any evidence, or any witnesses.

Even Sean Graham couldn’t help.

Sure, Sean’s subconscious had captured an image of a man in a camouflage T-shirt breaking through a wall of boxes and slipping away in the chaos. Sean remembered the camera hanging around the man’s neck and the black baseball cap, but he couldn’t make out the man’s face, let alone identify him.

Sean’s description reminded Anson of the catering staff cleaning up dishes and trash, but the point was, Anson himself hadn’t seen the man’s face either. He couldn't remember what he looked like, so it wasn’t much help.

Edgar was investigating the catering crew, but the chances were slim: with such a high turnover in catering teams, it would be hard to track anyone down from that afternoon.

Still, Edgar would check it out, just in case. Meanwhile, Anson had a hunch:

The suspect might be standing right in front of him.

Anson flashed a faint smile. "Oh, isn’t it you? The paparazzi on set that day? I was just thinking, what a coincidence. It seems we’re all tied to Peter Parker."

Harry’s face went pale. "Are you saying… you think I was at the shoot that day?" This time, Harry was careful not to slip up again.

Anson: "Exactly. Not only were you there, but you forgot to turn off the flash while taking photos, which set off a chain of events."

Harry: "Absurd!" He took a deep breath. "That’s ridiculous! It’s hilarious!"

Anson: "I’m not laughing, and neither is Lucas. I don’t see what’s funny. You’re dodging the question."

The air froze into ice.

*Chapter 1029: On the Brink of Suffocation*

Aggressive, pressing step by step—

Even though Anson was lying on the hospital bed and Lucas was sitting on the sofa, neither of them moving, why did the air in the entire room feel like it was solidifying, an invisible pressure overwhelming everything in its path?

Harry: …

His heart was pounding so wildly it felt like it would explode. Harry barely held onto his sanity, like a blade of grass clinging to the ground in the middle of a storm.

“It wasn’t me.”

“I already told you, I don’t know anything. So what are you expecting me to say?”

As long as he gritted his teeth and refused to admit anything, Anson would be helpless.

Anson replied, “Then why did my eyewitness see you at the scene?”

Harry's heart sank. “Slander.”

The survival instinct kicked in, “Anson, if you’re just looking for a scapegoat to vent your anger on, you can take it all out on me. I know I shouldn’t have been here today.”

“Trust me, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I apologize for showing up here today, but if you’re trying to pin everything on me, then you’re wrong.”

“This kind of approach will only let the real culprit get away, scot-free.”

Harry’s defense was elaborate and impassioned, as if he were ready to give his life for the cause.

Even Lucas, for a moment, began to doubt their judgment—could they have been wrong?

Anson seemed to waver too, raising his chin slightly as if deep in thought.

The air settled in the silence. In the blink of an eye, the sun outside the window had dipped below the horizon, but the city skyline grew even brighter, lit up by the countless lights of the towering buildings.

Then, Anson showed a meaningful expression.

“So, what you’re saying is that an eyewitness, who has no grudge against you, randomly pointed you out? Someone who may have never even met you, yet still identified you?”

Lucas glanced at Anson because they couldn’t be 100% sure it was Harry.

But Lucas didn’t say anything, instead looking at Harry, curious to see how he would respond.

If Harry was truly innocent, he should be outraged by now.

Harry took a sharp breath, his gaze flickering as he looked at Anson. He couldn’t tell if Anson was lying—what if there really was an eyewitness?

Harry was thrown off again.

“Who knows? Maybe—maybe that eyewitness was paid off by the real culprit. The real culprit sneaked in, took pictures, and then left during the chaos, throwing out a random name afterward to frame someone else, all without making a sound.”

Quick thinking!

Harry’s survival instinct unleashed an incredible burst of energy, and in a flash, he managed to concoct a story that almost made sense.

However, Lucas was now certain: the real culprit was standing right in front of him, this smooth-talking guy.

Because of the details.

Harry knew too many details—

The real culprit had sneaked onto the set, taken pictures that caused an accident, and left during the confusion.

It seemed reasonable, almost like the daily routine of a paparazzo; but the vividness of his description, as if he’d seen it with his own eyes, didn’t lie.

The biggest flaw, though, was that Harry didn’t know who the “eyewitness” was. This eyewitness couldn’t have been an inside mole helping the paparazzi sneak onto the set and frame Harry, so Harry’s entire theory collapsed.

From every angle, Harry was slowly revealing his true self.

Yet, Harry didn’t realize it. He kept on passionately defending himself, even accidentally revealing details that neither Anson nor Lucas had known yet—

The full picture of what happened was becoming just a bit clearer.

Lucas’ heart pounded, throbbing with anger and urgency, so much so that he had to use all his strength to stop himself from smashing his fist into Harry’s face.

Harry didn’t notice. All he could think about now was distancing himself from the situation, proving with all his might that some dark force, out of envy or spite, was trying to take TMZ down and smear him in the process. He had nothing to do with Anson’s injury.

“…No! It wasn’t me! A hundred percent, I swear on my mother’s life!”

Harry declared, loud and firm, putting all his energy into his defense, as if confessing before Jesus, his face full of conviction.

Anson remained silent the entire time, simply watching Harry.

Once Harry had finished his impassioned speech, Anson stared at his heaving chest and flushed cheeks, letting the silence creep in.

From heated argument to dead silence, from volcanic eruption to icy stillness—the extreme contrast left everyone disoriented.

Unease slowly crept in.

On the brink of suffocation.

Then—

“Okay. We’ll continue our investigation.”

Anson said.

Harry froze: That’s it?

He had just given a passionate, detailed defense, only for Anson to respond like this? What was he supposed to say now?

Something wasn’t right. Harry could sense that things weren’t as simple as they seemed, but his mind couldn’t catch up, leaving him overwhelmed with emotion.

The words stuck in his throat, like a lump he couldn’t swallow.

Anson didn’t wait for a response, though. “You can leave now. Sorry, but I won’t be able to provide any photos from the hospital.”

Harry: …

Finally, he could escape. He was finally free from this nightmare. But why did it still feel unreal? Why couldn’t he move?

“Are you waiting for an escort?”

“If you don’t leave soon, I can’t guarantee you’ll walk out of here unharmed.”

Harry’s knees wobbled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure standing, blocking the light from the floor lamp. A tall shadow covered the entire room—

“I didn’t say you could leave.” Lucas’s voice drifted over.

Harry started backing away. “But Anson…”

“Anson is Anson, and I’m me. We still have some unfinished business. Don’t worry, I won’t call the police. Having them involved would just complicate things.”

No police?

Harry glanced down at Lucas’ broad-shouldered, slim-waisted frame, far stronger than Anson’s. The answer was already forming in his mind.

Damn.

“Anson, Anson…” Harry called out repeatedly—

What’s with the huge difference in styles between the Wood brothers?

Panicking, Harry turned and bolted, yanking open the hospital door and darting out.

At some point, the black-suited security guards had returned, locking eyes with Harry in confusion. They didn’t understand how Harry had gotten inside, but Harry didn’t care anymore.

From behind, Lucas’s voice called out, “Grab him.”

Harry panicked. Lucas wasn’t going to use vigilante justice, was he?

If he got caught in Anson’s hospital room and was intercepted by Anson’s brother, getting beaten up would be a given. Even if he exposed it later, no one would sympathize with him. Worse still, he hadn’t even gotten any photos of Anson, so getting beaten would be a complete waste.

No, this couldn’t happen.

Harry bolted, running for his life.

He didn’t care that he was in a hospital; his legs pumped with everything he had, desperate to save him.

Run, Harry, run!

*Chapter 1030: Caught Red-Handed*

“...Catch him, the paparazzi is trying to take pictures.”

Lucas stood at the hospital room door, watching Harry's figure retreating like a beaten dog, shouting out loud, paying no mind to the hospital's order at this point—

To be precise, the strategy was to blow things up as much as possible; the bigger the scene, the better. Inevitably, it disturbed the peace, like poking a hole in the sky.

Fortunately, Anson was in the VIP ward, where each room had excellent soundproofing, so no patients were disturbed. Instead, the nurses at the station and some passing staff caught sight of the commotion and immediately noticed the paparazzo sprinting down the hospital corridor.

Squeak.

Harry, in his haste, was in such a rush that the footsteps and shouts behind him closed in, right on his heels. Panicked, he slipped, his whole body shooting forward like a bowling ball, sliding uncontrollably across the white tiles before crashing into the wall, coming to a violent stop.

Even the onlookers winced involuntarily at the sight.

But Harry didn’t care at all. He scrambled to his feet, using both hands and feet, and without even thinking of a direction, darted off in any random way.

Thud, thud, thud.

The sound of footsteps quickly approached from behind, pounding Harry's heart with every step. He ran faster and faster, rivaling an Olympic sprinter.

At the door, Lucas didn’t give chase. He stood there stomping his feet, making noise by stomping against the tiles, shouting for the men in black suits to chase after Harry. He watched as Harry's figure disappeared, arms crossed over his chest, exuding a cold, unapproachable aura as he kept staring in the direction Harry fled.

The atmosphere was chaotic and tense.

A nurse nervously approached Lucas, carefully seeking his approval before entering the room to check on the “shaken” Anson.

After a quick examination, the nurse left, and rumors began to spread like wildfire throughout Mount Sinai Hospital:

A bold paparazzo had sneaked into the VIP ward, trying to secretly take pictures of Anson.

Anson was startled, Lucas was furious, and just as the incident where Anson got injured on set hadn’t calmed down, the media frenzy surged again. Despite the unclear condition of the patient lying in the hospital bed, they still showed no mercy.

Hollywood really is a ruthless place.

In no time, gossip and sighs spread across the hospital.

Lucas patiently continued his act at the door, making sure the situation had calmed down before finally reentering the room and closing the door.

“So, what exactly is your plan?”

Lucas walked to the bedside, glancing at the pills on the nightstand, which the nurse had brought for Anson—

Phenobarbital.

Used to calm people down, but it can also suppress breathing and circulation, and it's addictive.

Silently, Lucas pocketed the pills.

Anson noticed this and looked at Lucas with a speechless expression.

Lucas met his gaze unashamedly. “Why did you let him go?”

Things had gone a bit off track.

The original plan was to lure the snake out of its hole and catch Harry red-handed. No matter how he tried to argue, they just needed to search his camera to find the evidence—

The truth would be revealed.

However, Anson had let Harry leave.

Lucas was slightly surprised, confused even, but in the blink of an eye, he decided to play along and put on a good show.

In that short time, Lucas quickly grasped the situation and adjusted on the spot, making noise without knowing Anson’s full plan.

That way, regardless of what Anson had in mind, Lucas had a backup plan—

Even if Anson wanted to let Harry go, Lucas wasn’t willing to.

“Don’t tell me you were convinced by his sweet talk. I'm not a prosecutor, but his words are totally untrustworthy. We have to consider the credibility of witnesses, after all.”

Lucas deadpanned.

Anson couldn’t help but laugh, “Thanks for the cooperation.”

Lucas: “What if I hadn’t cooperated and insisted on catching him?”

Anson: “Same result. Honestly, I was hoping you’d use force, and we could have a Colombian soap opera right here.”

Lucas: “...So, what’s your plan?”

After all that, Lucas circled back to his question.

Anson chuckled, “I just realized that I’m not sure if his camera even has any pictures from the set. If not, they might be on his computer or in a darkroom at his place. Either way, if we can’t catch him red-handed, we might need the NYPD to issue a search warrant.”

“You know how messy that can get.”

“Even if we catch him, what’s the endgame?”

“The police arrest him, and then what?”

Lucas paused. Dealing with paparazzi legally was much harder than it seemed. If it weren’t, Sean Penn wouldn’t have resorted to punching a photographer to get justice himself.

Even with solid evidence, at most, Harry would face a charge of accidental injury. Whether it’s detention or a fine, it likely wouldn’t be severe, just a slap on the wrist.

And the result?

Harry might even become famous overnight. Far from ruining his career, it might actually boost it.

Absurd? Yes, but that’s reality.

Lucas looked at Anson, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

Anson continued, “Even if we could punish him legally, a fine of a few thousand dollars or a hundred hours of community service won’t hurt. Or if you beat him up and he ends up in the hospital, he might even win sympathy and gain more attention.”

“Lucas, do you know how to really hurt someone?”

“Take away what they care about most. Some people care about money, some about reputation, some about family, and some about their lives. Everyone values something different. But if you take away what they value most, that’s how you really hurt them.”

His voice was calm, tranquil, but beneath that, the scars were visible.

It wasn’t anger or hatred, but a sense of weary experience, of someone who’s been through the wringer.

Lucas quietly watched Anson, his deep eyes reflecting a quiet sadness.

Noticing this, Anson turned away, embarrassed. “What? Do I seem scary to you?”

Lucas: “No.”

Anson was surprised and looked back at Lucas.

Lucas: “Anson, remember this—you’re my brother. I’ll never think you’re scary.”

Anson’s eyes grew warm, and he quickly closed them. “Ha. Ha. Lucas, be careful with those words.”

Lucas didn’t mind, “On the contrary, I’m happy for you. My brother has grown up. He’s no longer the little fledgling I had to shield; he knows how to fight back, how to protect himself.”

“Though I wish you never had to learn these things, since you wouldn’t need them, you chose Hollywood, and you had to grow up.”

“So, what’s the strategy in your mind? How do you plan to hurt him?”