746-750

*Chapter 746: An Exceptional Entrance*

Whispers, rustling.

In the air, there was a faint buzz of murmuring conversations, occasionally mixed with some bursts of laughter. It wasn’t too loud or overwhelming, but after a long period of high-frequency, intense energy, the atmosphere had quieted down. A lazy, relaxed mood began to spread, as if the audience was finally starting to enjoy the award ceremony, gearing up for the true climax of the second half.

At that moment, the final guest of the first half walked down the red carpet.

The crowd's reaction was somewhat delayed, as no immediate cheers or noise erupted. They casually shifted their gaze toward the red carpet, searching for the figure.

However—

There were no screams, no cheers, no whistles, and no applause.

Quite the opposite, the audience at the red carpet entrance fell silent. One by one, they stared wide-eyed, holding their breath, as if someone had hit the pause button. The tension and chatter floating in the air gradually settled down—

The world grew quieter, bit by bit.

Even the golden sunlight, swirling in the air, seemed to slow down. Its bright, intense rays softened, gently outlining the tall and striking figure standing before them, carefully tracing the sharp, elegant lines of his face.

As if afraid of disturbing time itself.

Everything slowly returned to calm, and time seemed to come to a halt.

No exclamations, no discussions—there wasn’t a single sound.

The reporters and guests in the back finally noticed something unusual in the front, their gazes gathering one after another, rippling out like a quiet wave.

The laziness, the relaxation, all of it allowed the tension in their nerves to fully unwind. In that moment, they forgot how to brace themselves, didn’t even register the shock, and found themselves unknowingly swept up—

Trapped in time, floating and wandering, forgetting everything.

It was...

A blue suit.

Not a deep, understated navy blue, nor a vibrant peacock blue, but a fresh and natural baby blue. Like a refreshing and bright breeze sweeping over a cerulean lake, it cut through the vibrant, bold red carpet, dispelling the afternoon heat and sleepiness, slipping into the cool air and opening up the horizon.

Clear, vivid, with a beauty that invigorates the soul.

In that instant, every gaze locked onto him—

Anson Wood.

Indeed, it was Anson, undoubtedly one of the biggest highlights of tonight's Golden Globe Awards.

Everyone expected Anson to appear in the second half, competing with stars like Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt. No one anticipated that Anson would make his entrance as the last guest of the first half, taking the red carpet by storm with an overwhelming presence.

One appearance—worth more than a thousand words.

Extraordinary!

Among the endless sea of black suits worn by the men at the awards ceremony, even white suits were rare. The classic black-and-white combinations had long lost their novelty, so much so that people tended to filter out male appearances on the red carpet. But this scene, without a doubt, was extraordinary.

In 2003, it was even revolutionary.

This was a first.

Like a spring breeze, gently brushing against the face, it brought a hint of spring to January in the Northern Hemisphere, particularly in Los Angeles, which had been dry for over three months and was facing potential wildfire threats. The feeling was as refreshing as spring rain, an indescribable sensation.

However, if it were only the color, critics would likely dismiss it as "attention-seeking" or "trying too hard."

Especially because it was Anson.

Idol. Pretty face. Empty shell. Labels like these tend to pack a punch in situations like this.

The insults, unimaginable.

If the reporters could anticipate this, surely Anson's team could as well?

Obviously, the suit wasn’t just about the color. It was far more.

The double-breasted shawl collar design revived the elegance and vigor of French youth from the 1980s. The streamlined cut brought a youthful energy to the retro style, creating a subtle rebellion beneath the formal, grand, and noble double-breasted suit.

The front half of the shawl collar matched the suit's color, while the back of the collar was an inky black, echoing the black shirt underneath. Topping it off with a black bow tie tied in a Prince Albert knot, one could notice the sharp tips of the shirt collar peeking out.

Elegant yet energetic, romantic yet dashing.

But was that all?

Probably not, because the visual effect was still entirely distinct, easily setting him apart from the other men in suits.

Was it just the color? Just the pairing?

Until—

"Proportions."

Cindy finally gave the correct answer. Though Glamour magazine was often dismissed by professional fashion outlets, Cindy had her own expertise.

"Clearly, this double-breasted suit isn’t from Armani. Typically, double-breasted suits drape over the hips, giving a slightly larger, more formal appearance. But that also makes the wearer's proportions look terrible, with the upper body appearing longer than the lower body."

"We’ve become used to such suits, never thinking they were off. But Anson Wood's sudden appearance showed us a man's waist and legs, revealing proper proportions. This is revolutionary for the fashion world, a total game-changer."

"Today, Anson took it a step further, cutting off the bottom of the double-breasted suit. The jacket ends just between the waist and hips. Additionally, the suit is tailored to fit his body perfectly, hugging his form. Any larger movement might tear the fabric, but the custom fit showcases Anson’s tall frame and ideal proportions."

"The aura is entirely different."

"It’s not just elegance; it’s youthful energy, as if shedding the burdens of heavy winter clothing and becoming light and free."

Details.

It’s precisely these seemingly minor details that create an aura, a feeling, an impact. And on Anson, they all come together.

A chemical reaction—boom!

From color to fit, from design to pairing, everything came together, completing the final puzzle when Anson wore it.

And just like that—stunning.

Countless thoughts swirled in the air, a mixture of admiration and expletives, difficult to separate. The immediate response was confusion and awe, leaving them speechless and unable to think. The red carpet outside the Hollywood Hilton Hotel fell into complete silence.

Not a sound.

From the extreme noise, heat, and excitement to utter silence, the sharp contrast became the most baffling and eye-catching moment of the 60th Golden Globe Awards.

No one could resist. No one!

Chapter 747: The Ultimate Experience

Did people anticipate this moment?

More than that!

To be precise, all of Hollywood had been eagerly awaiting this moment, hoping that Anson could once again bring surprises, looking forward to witnessing a historic moment after long buildup and anticipation, hoping to see Anson transform from quantity to quality, breaking through to become a fashion icon.

Without a doubt.

However, when this moment truly arrived, people realized they were not ready.

Their minds went completely blank.

Even the roaring sounds slowly faded from their eardrums, eventually disappearing into the void, leaving behind a profound silence as they quietly gazed at the scene before them.

Witnessing history.

At the front of the red carpet, Anson felt the solid ground beneath his feet. He buttoned his suit one button at a time, adjusted the hem of his jacket slightly, straightened his shoulders, stood tall, and gently raised the corners of his mouth, presenting the best version of himself.

Everything was happening tonight.

It wasn't the Oscars, nor the Emmys. Precisely because it was the Golden Globes, the opportunity was rare.

Because this was the Golden Globes, an event filled with stars and entertainment, where people paid more attention to gossip than awards. The stage under the spotlight could become a moment of universal attention.

Because this was a crucial piece of the puzzle in crafting his fashion image, Anson knew exactly what the recent promotion and hype would lead to.

It wasn't just the fashion insiders or the media; his colleagues in the industry were also watching, with even more critical and expectant gazes, waiting for the moment when quantity turned into quality.

And because this was a special moment Anson was dedicating to Eddie Slimane. After Anson's collaboration with Dior ended, there were murmurs of worry and even doubt about Eddie's future. Without his muse, people questioned whether his designs would lose vitality and fail to meet expectations.

Eddie said not to worry, because haters never stay quiet. He shut out all the noise and designed this look for Anson's transformation, eagerly awaiting the moment Anson would wear it.

But Anson cared.

So, today was the day.

Anson needed to show his best self. Whether facing an uphill battle or a bed of roses, he would greet it all with a smile.

A brief pause, a small adjustment—

He stood still.

At this moment, Anson also noticed the silence, almost mischievously quiet; but Anson remained unfazed.

Not only was he calm, but the smile on his lips widened slightly, blooming under the golden sunlight, a sense of inner lightness and joy radiating out.

Who could have imagined that such a scene would unfold at the Golden Globes?

This, too, was a first.

Without lingering further, Anson began walking, ascending the red carpet step by step.

His steps left ripples.

Beneath his feet, golden sunlight and red flames created waves of gentle ripples, as if touching the hearts of everyone present. Hearts trembled involuntarily.

But no one could speak, and no one dared to break the stillness. Amid the silence, the surging emotions grew louder and wilder, as if the blood was about to burn the soul to ashes.

Repressed, enduring, stretched to the limit, like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

Including inside the glass room.

Even Cindy, who had seen it all, couldn’t look away, staring at the live screen. Soon, she realized it wasn’t enough for her eyes and heart, so she turned and looked through the glass, capturing the figure at the end of the red carpet.

She couldn’t make out his face or expression, couldn’t even discern his figure and proportions, yet she felt a presence, an aura, effortlessly standing out from the sea of people, making everyone else seem irrelevant.

One look, a thousand years.

The world stopped turning.

Maybe Anson was the only exception, strolling through the center of the Eternal City, unhurriedly, with poise, weaving through the chaos and frenzy without caring about the lack of cheers or reactions.

That presence, that grace, that aura.

Unforgettable.

Unintentionally, Anson’s gaze met that of a spectator. Seeing the shock on her face, the smile on his lips curved upward, nodding in acknowledgment, his clear, bright eyes glimmering with joy.

"...Anson."

The words slipped from the girl’s throat, a quiet murmur, a soft call; yet it felt like an ancient spell awakening a sleeping dragon, sweeping across the scene in an instant.

Then, it exploded.

Ah!

A mushroom cloud rose.

Ah! Ah! Ah!

Frenzy, heavy, sensational, echoing in waves throughout the air.

Ah! Ah! Ah!

The volcano finally erupted.

There was a brief pause, then a flood of flashbulbs, the sound of shutters clicking.

And in an instant, it reached its peak.

Click, click, click, click, click...

The entire world was swept into a storm, leaving no time to react, only the roar reverberating above their heads.

Dizzy.

The world spun.

From extreme silence to extreme noise, as the impact hit their hearing, it was cut off the next second, leaving only the sound of hearts pounding, blood boiling, and souls burning, silently yet vividly vibrating in their ears. The senses — sight, touch, smell — perfectly absorbed the surging tidal wave of heat, the world dissolving into chaos, leaving only one figure—

In their eyes, ears, hearts, and souls… there was only one Anson.

The one and only.

The shock, the impact, was an unforgettable, unique experience, even while immersed in it, hard to believe it was truly happening.

This is the aura of a superstar.

The screams, the tears, the worship, all became a dazzling halo, blending into the endless golden and red, merely a backdrop, with all focus locked on Anson.

The world had already changed.

He was no longer just a fashion icon but had transcended fashion’s boundaries, becoming a landscape in Hollywood, much like Leonardo DiCaprio once was — perhaps even more so.

Angelina Jolie?

Who?

Did anyone even care about the earlier arrivals or what had happened before?

Even Halle Berry, still on the red carpet, turned in surprise to look at Anson, momentarily forgetting her own interview.

"I love you!"

"Marry me!"

"You’re my prince."

"I’ll have your babies."

"Ah! Ah! Ah!"

The shouts evolved into the simplest, most direct cry.

"Anson!"

Only now did Cindy truly understand the saying in the fashion world:

True top-tier fashion doesn’t follow trends; it creates them. A piece of clothing is merely fabric until worn by the right person; at that moment, it comes to life and becomes fashion.

Everyone knows this principle; but a fashion icon? That’s a once-in-a-decade occurrence.

Words had lost their power, and even expertise had become useless.

Without thinking, Cindy sincerely uttered a single phrase:

"Who could possibly say no to Anson Wood?"

Little did Cindy know, this phrase would become iconic, not just after the Golden Globes but for a long time to come, spreading far and wide, becoming a beloved quote.

*Chapter 748: Walking Advertisement*

"Anson, Anson, this is 'America Weekly'..."

"Little Frank William Abagnale, look over here!"

"Anson Wood!"

As Anson walked down the red carpet, media outlets on the left side shouted frantically, trying to catch his attention using various keywords in an attempt to make this superstar pause for a moment.

Then—

"Lucas!"

A call that was very, very unexpected caught Anson's ear. He looked in the direction of the voice and instantly recognized a familiar face.

It was Nicholas Flynn from The New York Times.

Anson immediately realized he'd fallen into a trap, unwittingly stepping into Nicholas's ploy.

Other reporters around him looked puzzled, their eyes quickly darting between Nicholas and Anson as they tried to decipher the meaning of "Lucas" and why it made Anson stop.

A faint smile appeared on Anson's lips as he looked at Nicholas, casting a knowing glance his way.

Nicholas got the hint and didn't make any further moves, only tightly closing his mouth:

"Don't worry, the secret is safe with me."

Anson was well aware that his family information wouldn't stay private for long; if the media were determined, they'd dig it up. But he still hoped to keep them in peace for as long as possible.

"Hey, Nick."

Anson greeted him, and the surrounding looks of envy and jealousy instantly engulfed Nicholas like a storm, making the air feel as though it was about to ignite.

Nicholas didn't have time to pay attention to others. He quickly threw out his question, "How does it feel to attend the Golden Globes for the first time?"

Anson relaxed, standing there with a casual and dashing presence that easily captured attention. The flashbulbs went off like a waterfall, and the camera shutters nearly drowned out the screams of the audience.

— "Anson, marry me!"

A gut-wrenching scream tore through the heated atmosphere.

This scene made the smile on Anson's face widen. He raised his voice and replied, "Please wait for me at the City Hall for a bit."

Ah, ahhh.

Ah!

Screams spiraled out of control, and the entrance to the Hollywood Hilton Hotel seemed to turn into scorched earth.

Drawing his gaze back, the surrounding reporters whistled and joined in the fun, making it difficult for Anson to speak without being interrupted.

After a brief pause, Anson was finally able to respond. He lightly shrugged and spread his hands, "A little nervous. I'm just trying to find a place to stand here."

Relaxed, at ease, and poised.

That's Anson. But then again, considering his first time on the red carpet at the Emmy Awards, where he showed unparalleled grace and poise, it shouldn't be surprising or remarkable now.

Nicholas wasn't surprised, nor did he have time to be. He knew he had to seize the moment. "So, do you have a feeling you might win tonight?"

"After all, at the Emmys, you won on your first nomination."

"Hah," Anson chuckled softly. "That probably used up all my luck."

"No, I don't think the award tonight is going to be mine. I just want to enjoy the party. I heard the Golden Globes buffet is delicious."

As humorous as ever, there wasn't a trace of tension.

Nicholas could see the reporters around them itching to move, each trying to grab his attention.

Here, The New York Times didn't hold an advantage. Nobody cared.

So, Nicholas had to act fast and cut straight to the point.

"Anson, there are rumors you turned down 'Ocean's Twelve.' Was it because of Brad Pitt or Matt Damon?"

Bombshell!

Anson could immediately feel the heat wave on his skin, almost burning, which made the smile on his face reach his eyes.

"Is it my imagination, or did the space within five feet just go silent?"

This was the reality. Everyone—reporters and staff alike—held their breath. Even the approaching TV camera crew froze like a game of statues.

Everything seemed to pause—

Tense, anxious.

But Anson found it amusing.

He poked through the tension.

The reporters realized they'd been holding their breath, and laughter filled the air, a bit awkward yet unavoidable.

Then.

"Actually, it was because of George Clooney."

Anson gave a different answer.

He knew the reporters wanted to probe into his relationship with Brad and Matt. All three would be present at the awards tonight, and every move would be scrutinized. Anson's answer would set the tone for the evening.

But it seemed Anson didn't grasp the subtext, offering another explanation.

"Obviously, George thought I was too young to pull off the charm of a black suit. I completely disagree, but I will defend his right to express his opinion."

Hah.

Laughter erupted.

On the poster for "Ocean's Eleven," George, Brad, and Matt were all dressed in sleek black suits. Anson was making a joke about that—

A complete fabrication.

Anson didn't hide his nonsense, yet he cleverly turned the topic back to himself. And with the final remark, the humor hit just right.

Moreover, Anson never directly answered.

Nicholas noticed this slippery behavior and prepared to press on. But this time, he lost his chance as the NBC live team showed up.

Everyone wanted Anson, including the TV stations.

Irenne Haynes, dressed in a light purple gown, approached elegantly. The camera focused on Anson, and she called out to Nicholas.

"Sorry, but can we borrow Anson for two minutes?"

Nicholas: Ha. No.

If he had actually said no, it would have been hilarious. But he couldn't; he had to give NBC some face.

Grinning, a fake smile plastered on his face, he nodded as he watched the TV station swoop in.

Not just Nicholas, but the other reporters rolled their eyes.

The camera didn't catch it, but Anson didn't miss it. The sight made his smile fully bloom.

Irenne gazed at Anson, feeling a bit dizzy—

The suit was tailored to perfection, not a stitch too much or too little. The fine fabric wrapped around his body, outlining his muscles.

From a distance, his lean figure gave off a pale, slender vampire-like vibe. But up close, it was different; the muscular tension stretched the fabric, sending out waves of raw, powerful energy that made hearts race.

Perfectly fitting.

Only then could one fully appreciate the charm of the outfit.

Or rather, the chemistry of it being worn by Anson.

No wonder the fans at the front of the red carpet were all in a daze.

Even Irenne momentarily held her breath, her mind blank for a second, completely captivated by Anson's charm.

Fortunately, Irenne didn't get completely lost. She managed to regain her composure.

"I can't believe what I'm about to ask, but who made this suit?"

*Chapter 749: The Perfect Spokesperson*

Erin Hayes, tonight’s red carpet host for NBC, relies on more than just her looks. After all, at the star-studded Golden Globe Awards, looks alone probably won’t cut it.

After a brief moment of dizziness, Erin quickly regained her footing amid the shock and confusion, found her voice, and quickly organized her thoughts, seizing the moment.

"I can't believe I'm about to ask this, but... whose suit is this?"

This was, without a doubt, a first.

The awards ceremony red carpet is a crucial stage where women strive to outshine one another, whether they're unknown actresses or top-tier stars. From the vibrant 16-year-olds to the seasoned 60-year-olds, everyone is there to showcase their charm and be judged—

Even without any notable works or talent, being the most dazzling on the red carpet can earn praise from the fashion world and become a hot topic.

Meanwhile, men usually serve as the backdrop in their monotonous, unchanging black suits. On the red carpet, they are almost always reduced to mere accessories.

Thus, a red carpet host must be well-versed in actors, fashion trends, and designers—

"Whose outfit is this?" is not a question directed at the wearer, but rather at the brand or designer of the outfit.

If someone were to answer, "It's mine" or "I rented it," it would likely become the joke of the evening.

However, 99% of the time, this question is directed at women.

The reason is simple: In 2003, the safest choice for men attending an awards ceremony was always Armani, Armani, and Armani.

Twenty years later, different brands would introduce their unique styles in men's suits, and occasionally, red carpet hosts might ask men this question, especially those like George Clooney and Brad Pitt, who look great in suits. That in itself becomes a highlight of the red carpet.

But now?

Not a chance.

Yet, this moment was happening right now.

Even as Erin asked the question, she couldn’t believe what she had just said. A small yet significant historical moment had been born.

Interestingly, Erin was the only one surprised; everyone else seemed to take it in stride, their eyes all turning to Anson.

So, what’s the answer?

Honestly, if wearing that brand of suit could make one look like Anson, no one would refuse. Anson was a walking advertisement, firmly grabbing everyone’s attention. Whether they were men or women, everyone had their thoughts, with images rushing through their minds.

"Uh, if I remember correctly, this is mine."

Anson spoke up.

Really—

Erin was stunned. Even with her vast experience, she couldn’t keep up with Anson’s train of thought.

Anson said with a straight face, "I might need to check with my manager, but I believe it's mine."

The more serious he was, the more absurd it became.

Pfft.

Erin couldn't hold back her laughter. She caught the subtle glint in Anson's eye, realizing a beat too late that this was a joke.

A little prank.

The same words might make someone else look naive or ignorant, but when Anson said them, it came off as completely natural and inherently humorous.

Erin had to admire Anson’s poise and composure, utterly unafraid of being ridiculed. His seriousness became the best kind of humor for the moment.

Erin nodded slightly, "Oh, that's even better. We won't need to check if anything is missing from the wardrobe."

A little comeback.

Anson got the hint, a smile appearing in his eyes. "It's a gift from my friend, Hedi Slimane. If you like it, you can check with him."

So that’s it—

Dior.

After going around in circles, Anson chose Dior once again to attend the Golden Globes; and this was after Anson spent the past few weeks building a new image and reaching new heights, concluding with a perfect touch in Dior.

This not only showed that Anson and Dior maintained a close relationship, but also that Anson was still Hedi’s muse, continuously bringing surprises.

Through Anson, the world's attention turned to Dior once more.

No advertising needed, no promotion required—Anson was the perfect spokesperson, able to interpret everything Hedi Slimane designed and envisioned.

Erin didn’t hide her surprise, "Why Hedi Slimane? I mean, in recent times, you've shown us different looks, proving that you have your own understanding of fashion and style. Why did you end up back with Hedi Slimane?"

This time, Anson didn’t joke. He simply gave a faint smile.

"Because it's perfect."

Period.

Just a few words, but they stirred up waves in the ears and hearts of everyone.

Whistles, cheers, applause—all erupted at once.

Undoubtedly, this was one of the most remarkable moments in the history of live television—

Award ceremonies have commercials, and plenty of them; but you have to pay for sponsorship first.

Fashion brands are the only exception; their ads are the actors and guests. Whoever can grab the attention and create a buzz is the ultimate winner.

Unexpectedly, Dior created the buzz, drew attention, and ignited the conversation, effortlessly becoming the talk of the evening.

Better than any commercial.

Moreover, other topics surrounding Anson were temporarily forgotten.

Edgar was busy, Eve was busy.

Countless visible and invisible forces quietly converged to push forward. The energy accumulated over the past few weeks through "Catch Me If You Can" exploded further, to the point where the Golden Globes became a mere backdrop.

The overwhelming momentum was enough to make anyone envious.

The Golden Globes elevate artists, and artists elevate the Golden Globes; it’s a mutual journey. But surprisingly, the Golden Globes turned into a stepping stone, becoming a mere accessory—a rare spectacle.

The red carpet went crazy for Anson.

From the media to TV stations, from staff to guests, no one was exempt. Even reporters who witnessed last year’s Emmys were all in shock.

Nicholas suddenly realized that Anson had completed his transformation—

He truly turned the attention and momentum into a tangible star power, transforming from a label into a symbol, creating a solid impact.

After the Golden Globe Awards, Hollywood will feel this force. Whether they like it or not, whether they admit it or not, Anson has firmly secured his place at the pinnacle of the pyramid.

The clamor continued endlessly.

Now people finally understood why Anson chose to appear at the end of the first half:

Plenty of time.

When the live broadcast entered a commercial break and intermission, the stage at the entrance of the Hollywood Hilton Hotel belonged entirely to Anson.

Anson didn’t miss the opportunity, showcasing his wit and humor to command the room, so much so that the reporters and the audience forgot about the passage of time, not even noticing when the commercial break ended and the second half of the red carpet began.

Even as the second-half guests arrived, the attention was still on Anson. They reluctantly watched his back.

Now, this was awkward.

*Chapter 750: Losing Direction*

Brad Pitt: ...

His smile stiffened slightly.

A gentle breeze blew under the lazy sun, typical of an ordinary winter afternoon in California. There was nothing unusual, and one couldn’t help but want to bask in the golden light until the end of time.

However, the lack of abnormalities was, in itself, the biggest abnormality—

This wasn’t just any afternoon; it was the Golden Globe Awards red carpet moment.

So, where were the cheers? The commotion? The flashing lights?

Something wasn’t right.

When Brad got out of the car, the atmosphere on the red carpet felt off.

Listless, lazy, dazed.

It felt like a heatstroke; it was hard to focus and hard to breathe, as if he had entered a hazy blur and lost all sense of direction.

Brad looked toward the red carpet. The front part was mostly cleared and ready, with only a few sparse figures visible at the far end.

So, what was going on?

Had he really gotten heatstroke?

Brad looked up at the sky. The sun was already sinking, turning the sky into shades of orange. The heatwaves in the air were also settling down. There was no chance of heatstroke; in fact, once the wind picked up, the temperature would plummet.

None of this made sense.

Jennifer Aniston, a step behind, also got out of the car. She adjusted her hair, straightened her posture, and stood gracefully beside her husband, waiting for the photographers to capture their entrance.

However—

Nothing.

Well, not entirely nothing. A few weak flashes went off, but this was the real humiliation. It was like they were nobodies arriving at the scene.

Jennifer’s smile stiffened a bit. She looked up at Brad, the pitiful sound of camera shutters echoing in their ears.

But clearly, Brad had no answers either.

Thankfully, it was only momentary.

Up ahead, Anson was already standing at the end of the red carpet, which meant the journalists and audience could no longer see him. Reluctantly, they averted their gazes, still lingering on the red carpet’s end, eager to catch even a glimpse of that dazzling blue. But finally, they turned their attention back to the start of the red carpet.

Oh, Brad and Jennifer.

Surprise?

Of course.

No matter what, Brad and Jennifer were still the most influential and high-profile Hollywood couple in North America. There was no doubt about that. Seeing them appear to kick off the second half of the red carpet, the Golden Globes ceremony finally seemed to reach its climax.

Cheers, screams.

Flashes, shutters clicking.

A bit delayed, but the red carpet finally returned to its usual state.

Finally!

Brad and Jennifer refocused, subtly adjusting their breathing. They struck their familiar poses, ready to embrace the flashes and cheers.

However, an uncertainty lingered inside—

What just happened on the red carpet?

Why did it feel like the red carpet was hollow and empty?

Was it an illusion?

Although mobile phones were widespread by now, information was still mostly exchanged through texts and calls. Smartphones with more direct access to updates were not yet common. As a result, guests walking the red carpet didn’t carry phones.

Naturally, sitting in the limousine, Brad and Jennifer hadn’t gotten the latest updates and knew nothing of the storm ahead.

Brad was puzzled. Wasn’t the first half of the red carpet just a warm-up? After the intermission, they chose to be the first to appear in the second half to ignite the energy and easily become the focus.

But in reality?

Was this normal?

Brad didn’t understand, and neither did Jennifer.

In fact, instincts are often right.

Don’t get it wrong; people still loved Brad and Jennifer. People still cheered unreservedly for this golden couple.

But, they were spent. After the outburst just moments ago, everyone had given their all. Now, they couldn’t muster the same enthusiasm. They felt empty, shouting with a hollow energy they couldn’t sustain.

Moreover, compared to Anson’s stunning entrance just now, the golden couple’s outfits seemed... bland, lacking highlights. They had the looks, but that was it.

Without comparison, there is no harm. The lack of surprise meant a lack of excitement. Without energy and spirit, the cheers and screams felt weak, like a fire burning without fuel.

Among the crowd, reporters exchanged glances and smirked.

What a... coincidence.

Two years ago, Brad and Jennifer, newlyweds at the time, attended the Emmy Awards for the first time after their wedding. They were undoubtedly the biggest highlight of the evening. However, Anson stole the show with his dazzling appearance.

Incredibly, after the ceremony, the main topic was Anson.

Two years later, Brad and Jennifer remained the focus of Hollywood. They attended the Golden Globes together, aiming to create a buzz following Anson. However, they were completely overshadowed. The audience’s attention visibly wavered.

They saw Brad and Jennifer in front of them, but all they could think about was Anson.

Now, it was certain that Brad and Jennifer wouldn’t like the truth.

Brad: Damn! Anson again? Is this guy haunting me?

Rumor had it that Brad later lashed out in the restroom of the Hilton Hotel, kicking over a trash can and accidentally smashing a mirror. Witnesses from the ceremony staff saw this and were warned to keep quiet, but the story still spread around Hollywood.

Back at the ceremony, Brad noticed Anson with a stiff expression, which was undeniable.

Anson, however, claimed innocence—

He had no idea.

He didn’t intend to target anyone, especially not Brad and Jennifer. Although he wasn’t friends with Brad, he and Jennifer got along reasonably well. They would nod and exchange greetings when they met.

Besides, even if Edgar knew Brad and Jennifer were set to be the first in the second half, Anson’s appearance at the end of the first half was separated by an intermission. It wasn’t something they could control.

From Edgar’s perspective, they just arranged Anson to avoid a head-on clash.

Since this was Anson’s first top-tier event after reaching the pyramid’s summit, if they hastily tried to compete with other top stars, regardless of the outcome, it would look unseemly. However, they couldn’t stop the media from stirring things up. Choosing to appear at the end of the first half was the best option after careful consideration.

It not only avoided conflict but also showed a certain grace.

The result was collateral damage neither Edgar nor Eve had anticipated.

For Anson, it was an unexpected benefit; for Brad and Jennifer, it was anything but pleasant. Brad, evidently, couldn’t swallow this.

But Anson didn’t know—

And even if he did, he wouldn’t care.

Leaving the red carpet, leaving behind the cheers and screams, Anson noticed a figure.

That was...

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