976-980

Chapter 976: The Disguise Mask

To Anson, Thomas Keller seemed like a smart person, similar to Banksy.

The key here is accent.

In the UK or France, if you speak the local language fluently and without an accent, you'll earn the admiration and approval of locals and quickly blend into their life. But in the U.S., this isn't the case. Locals don't necessarily reward you for speaking without an accent. Quite the opposite — they tend to like accents.

Of course, it's a bit more complicated than that, but the point is that a French person speaking fluent English isn't particularly impressive. However, a French person speaking English with a noticeable accent? That can be quite charming.

That's why some French people — and Spaniards, Italians, and Argentinians — even if they can speak perfect English, might deliberately keep their accent. It adds a certain appeal.

Take Sofia Vergara, who plays Gloria in Modern Family. In the show, her Spanish-accented English is part of her charm, but in real life, she can speak perfect standard English.

In interviews, Sofia half-joked, "This skill is basically a survival tool for every Colombian in the U.S."

Accent, of course, carries with it certain stereotypes and even discrimination. But sometimes, those stereotypes can be used as tools to enhance one's position in life.

It’s like how Hollywood blondes often play dumb to fit a stereotype, all while cleverly hiding their intelligence.

Right now, Thomas was doing something similar.

He didn’t try to hide his French accent. In fact, he leaned into it, playing up the stereotype. Whether it made his guests more comfortable or added to his allure, the seemingly humble Thomas was, in fact, in control of the social dynamic.

Rumor had it that Thomas was arrogant and socially clueless.

But from this brief interaction, Anson suspected that might be a mask the chef had cleverly crafted.

After all, someone truly oblivious to social graces wouldn’t have been able to run a high-end private restaurant in New York.

Of course, this was just Anson’s speculation.

After some casual small talk, Thomas shifted the conversation. "…Mr. Wood said he wouldn’t mind if I came over to say hello."

They had assumed Thomas was referring to Lucas, but to their surprise, he turned to address the other Wood.

"Anson, you're even more handsome in person than you are on the big screen."

The greeting felt a bit odd and out of place.

Nora glanced at Lucas, while Anson gave a quick sideways look in his direction too.

Outwardly, though, Anson remained polite and flashed a bright smile. "Thank you. I hope my appearance tonight isn’t breaking any of your restaurant's rules."

In formal French restaurants, especially for dinner, proper attire is usually required.

At the moment, Anson was wearing a hoodie, which would normally be unacceptable. Without a suit jacket, he’d likely be shown the door — that's the norm in New York.

Anson had initially assumed the relaxed dress code was a feature of this private restaurant. But now it seemed there was more to the story.

Thomas tilted his head slightly and gave Anson’s outfit a once-over. "Let’s hope no one else sees you tonight."

The disdain in his voice was real.

Anson didn’t mind. "Well then, I’ll have to trust in your restaurant’s privacy measures."

A clever retort.

Thomas raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised, but then relaxed his expression. "Now I understand why everyone says Anson Wood has a sharp tongue."

"Hah, if that’s all it takes to be considered sharp-tongued, the bar for witty conversation must be really low. I think I owe all the stand-up comedians out there an apology."

Self-deprecating humor and wit in one.

This time, Thomas gave Anson a closer look.

His eyes showed a touch more sincerity. "My daughter really, really likes you. She’s collected all your works. I was wondering, would you mind signing something for her?"

So that was the reason.

It wasn’t Thomas who was the fan — it was his daughter.

Anson nodded cheerfully. "Of course, no problem at all."

Thomas finally brought his hands out from behind his back: a copy of Midnight in Summer.

It wasn’t a movie poster or DVD — it was an album.

Anson was pleasantly surprised. "Now I’m convinced she's a true fan. You know, this is the first time anyone has brought one of my albums outside of a tour. I’m truly honored."

Thomas quietly set the album on the table. "I won’t tell you that we have two full boxes of them at home."

Anson laughed. "Haha, sounds like we should go big with our dinner tonight, then."

That response made Thomas chuckle. "I’ll make sure you have a great time, especially since you just got back from France. Do you prefer something traditional or a little rebellious?"

Anson smiled. "Surprise me. That’s what Chef Keller does best, right?"

Thomas looked at Anson again, for the second time tonight, with a newfound respect — all within just three minutes.

"Of course. I’ll do my best, after all, that’s why you’re here at Self-Serve, isn’t it?" Thomas straightened up proudly, without any trace of false humility.

As Anson had suspected, Thomas was a smart man, far from the socially clueless figure the rumors suggested. All of it was just a disguise.

Thomas noticed Anson’s knowing look. This time, he didn’t hide it, meeting Anson’s gaze head-on, offering a knightly nod, silently acknowledging his presence.

"Charlotte Keller," Thomas said, handing over a marker to Anson.

Anson didn’t say much more, instead focusing on signing the album with a flourish.

Thomas turned to Nora. "Please forgive my unprofessional behavior tonight."

Nora, beaming with pride, had been quietly watching Anson. At Thomas’s words, her smile widened as she turned to face him. "No, I should be thanking you as a mother. Thank you for appreciating Anson’s work."

"Tonight, I don’t mind being Anson Wood’s mother. My son gives that title a special shine. I’m sure you understand, Chef Keller."

Thomas thought of his daughter, Charlotte, and in that moment, a mutual understanding passed between them. "Of course, I understand your pride. Though I try not to expect too much from Charlotte."

Though Thomas didn’t elaborate, Nora got the message right away. "I just want him to be happy."

Thomas gave a knowing nod. There was no need for further words. The two had reached an unspoken agreement.

Then both Thomas and Nora turned their gaze toward Anson.

Without looking up, Anson quietly said, "Please stop staring at me, or I won’t be able to write."

Haha.

The room filled with warm laughter.

Chapter 977: Evil Prevails for the Moment

Nora quietly gazed at Anson, her eyes filled with both pride and relief.

The Wood family was naturally aware of Anson’s movements in Hollywood. Even if they hadn’t been, Darren Star would keep them updated regularly.

However, those numbers, headlines, and stories always felt a little distant. To them, Anson was still Lucas' younger brother, their youngest son. It was hard to truly imagine people being captivated by him.

What exactly made someone a superstar was hard to define.

When Anson had been planning to buy property in Malibu, Nora and Charles had discussed helping him with the down payment. It was only then that they realized their youngest son probably had more assets than they did.

For Nora, the only thing that mattered was that Anson loved what he was doing, and that he didn’t need to worry about money for now. Whatever happened in Hollywood, they would support him unconditionally.

That was the key.

Today, the crowd outside the gallery and the presence of a chef like Thomas Keller were just more reminders to Nora that—

Her youngest son was more than just “making a name for himself.”

She wasn’t just relieved; she was proud.

After patiently waiting for Anson to finish signing, Thomas exchanged a few more words and finally left.

Standing at the door of the private room, Thomas finally had a chance to look at the album.

It wasn’t just a signature—Anson had written a personal message.

"Dear Charlotte Keller,

The most beautiful part of the journey lies in the adventure and the unknown. You don't even need to start walking for the trip to begin. From the moment you decide to take the first step, the excitement and joy have already started.

You’re the same.

Although we haven't met yet, I’m already looking forward to this adventure. I hope that somewhere along this long journey, we’ll meet, and when we do, we’ll sing and party together.

—Anson."

Thomas was taken aback.

He had expected a signature, maybe a few polite words at most. After all, he had asked for it on behalf of his daughter, and Anson didn’t know Charlotte, nor did he have any idea what she looked like or what kind of person she was.

But Anson hadn’t just left it at that.

Thomas couldn’t help but recall Charlotte’s words.

“Dad, you don’t understand, he’s not just a pretty face or some fleeting encounter.”

Looking at Anson’s smooth, flowing handwriting on the album, Thomas felt a sense of satisfaction. Maybe breaking his usual rule tonight had been the right decision after all.

Inside the private room, Lucas was under immense pressure—

From both Anson and Nora.

Lucas’ usually stoic face remained impassive, his gaze calm and lowered.

“There are only a limited number of private rooms here, and they require reservations in advance. You might have to book six months ahead, if you’re lucky. How do you think I got a reservation?”

Anson shrugged lightly. “I don’t know, the charm of Lucas Wood?”

Lucas: “Thanks for the compliment.”

Anson rolled his eyes at Lucas.

Lucas glanced back at Anson with a calm expression and then flashed a toothy grin, or what seemed like an attempt at one.

Nora, however, was curious about something else. “How exactly did you do it? Did you just mention Anson’s name?”

Lucas: “Yes.”

Anson then noticed Nora’s curious gaze lingering on Lucas.

Anson sighed, half-amused, half-exasperated. “Mom?”

Nora waved him off. “Hey, sweetie, nobody’s going to stop me from being proud of my youngest son. He’s no longer Mommy’s little boy; he’s Anson Wood. Let me enjoy this moment, okay?”

Anson: … Uh, can he leave now?

Lucas glanced at Anson’s resigned expression, a flicker of amusement in his normally calm eyes.

Then he noticed the same expression in Nora’s eyes—

They were in sync.

“Obviously, I was rejected the first time I tried to book. I wasn’t surprised.”

“In fact, I didn’t expect much. I just wanted to see if there had been any cancellations or if we could jump the line. Otherwise, we’d have to celebrate Anson’s success at The Cheesecake Factory.”

“But before I hung up, I threw out a Hail Mary, mentioning Anson’s name and that this was a private party celebrating his Cannes Palme d’Or win. I asked if there were any private rooms available.”

“And voilà.”

Lucas finished the story with his usual stoic demeanor.

“I know, people are often amazed by magic. But once you reveal the trick, it all feels a bit dull, doesn’t it?”

“Anson, I’m sorry. I know you don’t like using your name for special treatment. You’re not the type to casually toss your name around.”

Nora joined in, teasing their youngest. “Anson, don’t be shy. You should be proud. Your name carries weight now, just like your grandfather knew it would when he gave it to you.”

She paused, choking up slightly, blinking quickly to hide her emotions.

Finally, Anson spoke up. “That’s great.”

Lucas: ???

Nora: ???

That wasn’t how it was supposed to go!

Anson, looking perfectly composed, said, “If using my name gets me perks, why not take advantage of it?”

“Thanks, Lucas, for reminding me. Looks like I won’t have to wait in line anymore.”

Lucas blinked. “Anson…”

From his European street performances to film festivals, and finally to his quiet return to New York, it was clear that Anson was trying to stay grounded.

The success of "Spider-Man" and "Catch Me If You Can" had been so fast and overwhelming that it had thrown Anson into the whirlpool of fame. He needed to regain his focus and balance before he lost himself in the bright lights and the traps of fame—alcohol, drugs, or worse.

That’s why Anson had been cutting back.

Of course, Lucas understood.

But Lucas hoped Anson wouldn’t carry so much weight, that he could relax and enjoy his youth and his career more freely, even be a little reckless. If he wasn’t happy, he could always walk away—there was no need to push himself.

Just moments ago, Lucas had noticed Nora’s playful mischief, so he’d gone along with it, hoping to tease Anson a bit.

Now, Anson’s unexpected response had left both Lucas and Nora at a loss.

Lucas tensed up.

Seeing Lucas stammer, Anson had planned to keep up the act but couldn’t hold it any longer and burst out laughing.

“Haha, Lucas, you should see your face right now.”

“Mom, you too.”

“Ha, haha.”

Anson’s carefree laughter filled the room.

Lucas and Nora exchanged glances and started laughing as well. Yes, this was the Anson they knew—

The trickster always one step ahead, pulling the rug out from under his mother and brother in this playful battle of wits.

Nora shook her head and quickly passed the blame. “Lucas, you’re no good. You gave yourself away too easily.”

Lucas: ???

He was about to protest, but looking at Nora and then at Anson, he decided to stay silent.

Chapter 978: Dreams Come True

“What?”

Michael Hathaway abruptly stood up so fast that his chair toppled over. He instinctively turned to catch it but missed, his focus completely elsewhere. With his phone still in hand and shock written all over his face, he stood frozen in place.

“Wait, are you sure? This isn’t a joke?”

At the table, Anne Hathaway and Thomas Hathaway were startled by their brother’s sudden movement. They exchanged confused glances, mouthing to each other, “What happened?” But neither had any clue. Was it good news or bad?

Michael was fully absorbed in his own thoughts, oblivious to the scene around him. “Is he still there? Did he leave any information?”

“But I’m the creator, why can’t I know?”

“Oh, my God. Wait, are you sure the numbers are correct? I remember the listing price…”

“Alright, thank you. Really, thank you. Have a great evening.”

Finally, the call ended. Michael still stood there, dumbstruck.

It was Anne who called out, “Michael? Michael!”

Snapping out of it, Michael turned to his siblings, who were now looking at him with concern. He quickly waved his hands and smiled. “It’s good news. Good news.”

But then he fell silent again.

After a moment, he jolted back to reality. “My painting. It sold.”

Thomas thought for a moment. “That city nightscape one?”

Michael nodded slowly, still in a daze. “Yeah.”

Then, looking back at Anne and Thomas, he mumbled, “It sold for fifty thousand dollars.”

Even saying it out loud didn’t make it feel real. It was hard to believe this had actually happened. He was still in a fog, unable to fully wrap his mind around it.

Thomas glanced at Anne and whispered, “It wasn’t you who secretly bought it, right?”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Thomas, do you think I have fifty thousand dollars to buy a painting?”

Thomas made a face.

A beat later, Michael caught on too. “Anne, it wasn’t you, was it?”

Anne raised her hands in exasperation. “Michael, it wasn’t me. You should believe in yourself. Your work is finally being noticed.”

Michael still looked doubtful.

Anne clenched her fists and cheered for him, “Your painting sold! Michael, this is amazing!”

In the next second, reality finally sank in. Michael and Thomas both leaped to their feet, fists in the air, jumping and shouting in excitement, immediately switching to party mode.

Though the eldest, Michael was only two years older than Anne. Having just graduated from college, he was in the early stages of figuring out his career and life, filled with uncertainty and confusion. He’d been experimenting with different possibilities, trying to find his path.

Their mother, Kate McCauley, was an actress, though not a famous one, but she had performed off-Broadway.

When Anne was eight years old, she watched her mother perform as Fantine in Les Misérables and fell in love with acting, setting her dream early on. However, the Hathaway parents knew how tough the acting industry was, and they didn’t want Anne to follow that path.

Kate even quit acting entirely to focus on raising her three children, hoping this would extinguish Anne’s passion for acting.

But Anne still became an actress.

As for Michael, he never quite found his calling. He wasn’t interested in acting, but he couldn’t escape the pull of the arts. So, he dabbled in painting, writing, photography—exploring different fields, trying to find his way.

Of course, it wasn’t easy.

In movies, struggling artists often seem to have grand ideals and a carefree life. But in real life, struggling was just struggling.

It wasn’t just about rent; putting food on the table was always a concern too. Day after day, Michael drifted like a ghost, constantly on the edge of being swallowed up by the concrete jungle that is New York.

He kept telling himself to be patient, stay positive, and focus on his art. There was still time to figure things out.

But it was harder than he imagined.

Until tonight.

Happiness? Joy? Excitement?

None of these words could capture how Michael felt. It was like the entire world was setting off fireworks, and he couldn’t contain himself. Then a thought popped into his head.

“I’m going to the gallery,” Michael said.

Thomas was puzzled. “What?”

Michael repeated, “The painting is still at the gallery. It hasn’t been shipped yet. I need to make sure this is real.”

Thomas egged him on. “Yeah, you should check, just in case someone’s secretly helping you out.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Ha. Ha.”

But Michael had no time to chat. He grabbed his jacket and rushed out the door.

Anne and Thomas looked at each other.

Thomas grinned. “Well, this is too good to miss. I’m coming.”

As he backed out of the room, Anne followed. “It wasn’t me! I told you, it wasn’t me!”

When the three Hathaway siblings arrived at the gallery, they were all stunned.

The place was bustling, with a steady stream of people coming and going.

It wasn’t packed, but there was definitely a lively energy, with people leaving and others coming in, making the scene feel vibrant and noisy.

Thomas gaped. “Michael, is this art show really that popular? If it’s this hot, then your painting selling today shouldn’t be that surprising or exciting. Maybe they thought it was a warehouse clearance sale and some poor sucker thought they scored a hidden gem… Ow!”

“Thomas!” Anne elbowed him, cutting off the teasing.

Michael wasn’t paying attention. “No, the show’s been struggling. I was here yesterday for two hours, and only three people came. Three! I watched the door until my eyes hurt, and still, just three people.”

“This…”

Michael had no idea what was happening.

Anne, always one to take action, opened the car door and got out first. “Let’s go inside and see.”

It took Michael a second to react, and he quickly called after her, “Anne!”

He lowered his voice, suddenly self-conscious. “Anne, be careful. Put on your hat. You don’t want to be recognized.”

Worried that his shouting might attract attention.

Thomas, already a step ahead, tossed a baseball cap onto Anne’s head without a word.

Anne groaned, “My hair!”

But she only grumbled for a moment before adjusting the cap and heading straight for the gallery.

Just then, a couple walked out.

“… I have to say, it was better than I expected.”

“I thought it was pretty interesting. It’s a unique perspective.”

“I’m a bit surprised he liked this kind of exhibit.”

“Haha, what’s so surprising? Maybe it’s just a PR stunt. His publicist probably told him to make an appearance, stir up some buzz, and now everyone thinks he has great taste, while the painting sits in his storage collecting dust.”

They laughed and walked away.

Anne glanced at them briefly but kept walking. Inside, right in front of them, was the painting—both unfamiliar and familiar.

Anne turned back. “Michael, is that…”

*Chapter 979: A Coincidental Opportunity*

As they entered the gallery, directly in front of them was a white wall, serving as both a partition and a screen, presenting the facade of the entire exhibition and attracting the attention of passersby.

And hanging there was the familiar painting titled “City Night Shadow.”

A few customers gathered near the entrance, curiously examining the space. Since this was a regular gallery and not a museum, there was no glass barrier, allowing visitors to admire the artwork up close and in detail—

Which is exactly what people were doing.

One after another, they leaned in as if inspecting the paint and canvas with magnifying glasses, then quietly exchanged opinions amongst themselves.

Anne Hathaway wasn’t entirely sure, but she had a vague feeling that this might be Michael’s work. However, the scene before her raised some doubts.

"Michael...?"

Anne called out softly.

Michael was completely stunned, staring at the painting in front of him, unable to speak.

Thomas stepped forward, glanced at the description in the lower right corner, then turned to Anne and nodded, "Sebastian Orsino. Yes, it's him—clearly a pseudonym."

Shakespeare was a literary giant particularly adored by the Hathaway family. Anne Hathaway, after all, was named after Shakespeare's wife—

Anne Hathaway. The exact same name.

So it wasn’t surprising that Michael used characters from Shakespeare’s works as pseudonyms.

Michael explained, “That’s because Anne is no longer an ordinary person. I don’t want people to judge me differently because of my surname.”

Thomas muttered under his breath, “It’s not like Anne is famous enough for that to matter.”

Michael ignored Thomas and added, “But... it wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Anne asked, "What do you mean?"

Michael looked around, “It was originally supposed to be in the second part of the exhibition, as part of the second phase, displayed further inside. So why is it here?”

Clearly, there was no explanation for this, and Michael had many questions.

Thomas, however, noticed something else. “A red dot. It looks like the painting has been sold. Who knows? Maybe it's the only one they sold, so they’re putting it on display. Let me take a closer look…”

Thomas squeezed back into the crowd.

Michael sighed helplessly. "Thomas."

They really shouldn't be drawing attention to themselves—especially with Anne still there. Michael also didn’t want to be caught coming to the gallery just to confirm whether his painting had sold. But Thomas was already pushing deeper into the crowd.

“Anson Wood?” Thomas exclaimed in surprise.

Anne was startled and quickly scanned the surroundings. “Where?”

Thomas called back, “Over here. Look!”

Anne couldn’t contain her curiosity and hurried forward.

Michael called after her, “Anne!”

But he didn’t dare shout. Watching Anne and Thomas move through the crowd, he sighed in frustration and reluctantly followed, whispering, “Thomas, tone it down.”

Thomas ignored him, busy chatting with those around him.

“…Didn’t you know? I thought half of New York knew by now. Anson himself showed up here this afternoon and caused quite a stir.”

“Yeah, that Anson Wood. There’s a rumor he was spotted on a date, but no one knows for sure. He stayed here for quite some time, though, and bought a painting.”

“And now everyone’s just here trying to see what’s going on.”

“I think it was definitely a date. Anson came straight here from Europe—if it’s not a date, then what is it?”

“Heh, how do you know? Maybe Anson’s been in New York for days. If he didn’t want to be seen, he wouldn’t be. Showing up here is just for attention, to tie his name to art.”

“Heh, and if you’ve figured out the game, why are you here?”

The chatter buzzed all around them, making it unnecessary for Thomas to even ask any questions.

By this time, both Anne and Michael had seen it too—

“Anson Wood.”

His name, right there. It seemed that Anson had indeed purchased the painting.

The Hathaway siblings exchanged glances, their minds filled with numerous thoughts.

Thomas asked, “Is it possible someone used his name?”

Michael: ???

Someone nearby chimed in, “TMZ took pictures. No way it’s a fake.”

Thomas, unwilling to back down, replied, “TMZ can be wrong too. They’re not the Times.” But he knew the chances were slim. Then he turned to Michael and Anne, “So, what’s going on?”

Michael had no idea that the curator of the exhibition was Nora Wood, missing a critical piece of information. He couldn’t understand why Anson would be here—

Even if it was for a date, choosing this obscure little gallery didn’t make sense.

Could it really just be a coincidence?

Michael instinctively looked at his sister. “Anne, could it be... you?”

Anne seemed a bit dazed, her mind crowded with countless thoughts. “No, I didn’t…”

Thomas interjected, “Maybe he’s pursuing you? Or you two are secretly dating?”

“Maybe he bought Michael’s painting to impress you? Or maybe, because he couldn’t attend the sequel's filming, he’s making up for it by buying this painting?”

“Wait, Michael, your painting isn’t going to end up at our house, is it? That’d be awkward. I wouldn’t know where to hang it.”

“Oh God, what if he’s dating someone else while taking her to see Michael’s art? What a jerk!”

The wild guesses dragged Anne back to reality.

“He’s not... he wouldn’t…”

Anne laughed.

“We’re not dating, and he wouldn’t do something that ridiculous.”

“I’ve never discussed Michael’s work with him, and besides, don’t you remember? That painting isn’t even signed by Michael.”

Thomas realized, “Ah…”

A crucial detail, instantly cutting off any speculation.

Michael had calmed down by now, though still somewhat uncertain—

You couldn’t blame him. After years of being overlooked and doubted, when success finally came, it was hard to believe. His instinct was to doubt, to feel uneasy.

Anne took a deep breath. “I didn’t do it. I swear!”

“Michael, this is beyond my influence. Even if I were face-to-face with him, I wouldn’t dare ask such a thing. I never mentioned it.”

“In fact, I have just as many questions as you do.”

The three siblings looked at one another, still unable to untangle their thoughts.

Thomas suddenly had an idea. “Anne, why don’t you just ask him?”

“We’re being silly. Why are we standing here guessing? Just ask him why he bought the painting. Does he even know it’s Michael’s?”

Anne looked at Michael.

Michael, in turn, looked at Anne. “I don’t mind if my name is revealed. But do you? Does it matter to you?”

If the answer was yes, and Anson knew the painting was Michael’s, what did that mean? And how would Anne handle it?

If the answer was no, and Anson had no idea about the connection, how should she respond? Should she thank him?

In what way?

*Chapter 980: A Talent Scout Recognizing a Great Horse*

Her mood was a mix of excitement and nervousness.

For a moment, Annie couldn't quite describe the feeling. It was a strange combination of anticipation and anxiety, something that words couldn't easily capture.

More than anything, though, Annie was worried about Michael.

Michael had been going through a tough time, stuck in a low point with little hope for the future. He desperately needed a breakthrough, something to reignite his optimism.

Deep down, despite knowing she shouldn’t, Annie couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement sparked by Thomas’s wild guesses. Though this wasn't about her—it was about Michael—she still found herself caught up in the emotions.

Finally, Annie took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and looked over at Michael.

"Do you want to know the truth?"

In the end, she decided to hide her own feelings and leave the decision to him—after all, this was Michael's situation, and his feelings should take priority.

Michael didn't answer immediately, his eyes clouded with hesitation as he looked at her.

Though he hadn’t spoken, the answer was clear. Michael was worried about Annie, so he didn’t dare voice his thoughts too easily.

Off to the side, Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Oh, God, you two."

"This isn't that complicated. You shouldn't think you're that important. It's just Anson Wood, not Leonardo DiCaprio."

With one snarky remark, all eyes turned toward Thomas.

Unfazed, Thomas shrugged, "What? I don't care about Anson Wood. You got a problem with that?"

After a brief pause, the stares withdrew.

Thomas threw his hands up, "See? He's not that important."

Annie burst out laughing, the tension and nervousness loosening up. She stopped overthinking and fished her phone out of her pocket.

"I’ll call him right now..."

Michael was startled. "Here? What are you thinking? You’ll give yourself away!"

As he spoke, Michael quickly moved to shield Annie, swiftly guiding her out of the gallery.

Thomas grumbled under his breath, "I doubt Anson has security like this," but still hurried along, blocking any curious eyes aimed at Annie.

…

The phone vibrated, breaking the silence in the room.

Anson paused slightly, "Luca, you should turn off your phone for a bit and let people rest. At least during dinner."

Lucas had been busy all evening, his phone buzzing non-stop.

At the dinner table, this was especially impolite, more so when dining on fine French cuisine.

Without arguing, Lucas glanced at his phone, then looked around the table. "Anson, it's for you."

Anson: …

Anson put down his utensils and picked up his phone, glancing at the screen.

Shaking his head, he said, "I guess it's true, pride comes before the fall."

Lucas couldn't help but chuckle at Anson, a smile forming in his eyes.

Anson answered the call. "Hey, Annie, good evening."

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Anson noticed a hint of hesitation in Annie's voice. Curious, he asked, "Let me guess, 'The Princess Diaries 2' is delayed again, and the director sent you to check my availability?"

The playful tease made Annie laugh. She played along, “Your intuition is sharp! So, does Mr. Wood have any availability?"

"Of course I do. Since you asked, I have to say yes." Anson replied without hesitation.

Annie was momentarily stunned, not expecting such a straightforward response. Seeing Michael and Thomas watching her, she quickly refocused.

"Anson, I called because I heard you bought a painting tonight in the East Village."

It was a clumsy segue, and Annie regretted it as soon as she said it. Thomas, next to her, was dramatically pretending to shoot himself in the head.

But before she could react, Anson’s amused voice came through.

"Ah, word travels fast." Though it was part of his strategy, the buzz was even better than expected. "What, are you interested in art now?"

Annie was caught off guard again. "No, it’s not that. I just wanted to ask…" She fumbled for the right words. "Why did you buy the painting?"

Ahead of her, Thomas mimicked pulling the trigger on himself again, his eyes rolling back.

But Annie didn’t have time to respond to him. Anson’s voice came through, this time with a smile.

"Because I liked it."

Annie froze, a wave of joy washing over her. "Because you liked it?"

"Yes, because I thought it would look perfect in my New York apartment."

"Oh my God," Annie gasped, clutching her chest.

Anson was confused. "Is that really something to call on God for?"

In the next second, cheers erupted on the other end of the line.

"Ahhh! Ahhh!"

Anson blinked, surprised. Lucas and Nora both looked at him in confusion, but he just shrugged, unsure of what was happening either.

"Anson, Anson!" Annie’s excited voice came through. "Can I ask whose painting you bought?"

Anson raised his eyebrows, sensing something off. "Sebastian Ossino, a young artist. But I think that’s a pseudonym. Probably inspired by Shakespeare."

An inkling of suspicion began to form.

Annie quickly confirmed it. "Yes, that's Michael Hathaway, my brother."

Anson didn’t hide his surprise.

What a coincidence!

Annie continued, "That was Michael's first sold piece. He couldn’t believe it! And when we found out the buyer was you? It was just crazy!"

"Wow," Anson said, genuinely impressed. "Seems like the New York art scene really is a small world. But it was an excellent piece. Even if I hadn’t bought it, some other collector would’ve snatched it up soon."

Annie smiled, but insisted, "That may be true, but you were the one to break the ice. Oh God, sorry, Anson, Michael would love to thank you in person. Is that okay?"

"Of course," Anson said, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

“Uh, Anson... Mr. Wood,” Michael’s voice came through the phone.

"Just call me Anson. Otherwise, things will be awkward next time we meet with Annie."

"Haha, Anson, thank you! I mean, really, thank you. This means the world to me."

Michael tried to find the right words, but his mind went blank, leaving him feeling like a fool. "Thank you."

Anson didn’t brush it off. As an actor himself, he understood how hard it was to wait for that one ray of light in the art world. When that moment finally arrived, no words could truly express the joy.

It was like the time Hayden Christensen found out he had landed the role in Star Wars, or the time Anson was cast in Spider-Man.

Those moments were still vivid in his memory, yet they felt like a lifetime ago.

"My pleasure," Anson said. "I’m looking forward to more of your work. You’ve got talent and vision. Trust your instincts."

Those simple words hit Michael deeply. His vision blurred with emotion, and he took deep breaths, trying to compose himself. But it was no use. He threw his head back and let out a loud, joyous laugh.