81-85

*Chapter 81: Milo Is a Simple Man*

As February arrived, New York began to lose its chill, welcoming the early signs of spring typical for the northern East Coast of the U.S. Everything about spring was fresh—new sprouts, budding flowers, new resolutions, and a fresh way of life. Milo enjoyed the crisp spring air.

Milo loved Manhattan's morning sunlight.

He didn't have to endure the daily grind that most workers outside faced—waking up at dawn, cramming into subways or public transport, spending an hour or two just to reach Manhattan for work.

Instead, he woke up naturally, without the need to fight for space on a packed train.

Naturally, this made the sunny mornings of Manhattan's financial district even more enjoyable for him.

Sunlight filtered through white curtains that swayed gently with the spring breeze into the bedroom.

Milo squinted as he awoke, momentarily dazed by the bright sunlight.

Beside him were the silhouettes of two long-haired women, both still asleep.

On his left was Monica Bellucci, now his personal assistant and secretary.

On his right was Catherine Zeta-Jones, who had just flown in from Los Angeles the day before.

Catherine, now a rising second-tier Hollywood actress thanks to the success of Angels & Demons, was becoming more prominent, especially with Shakespeare in Love set to be released in a month.

With the success of Angels & Demons, expectations were high for Shakespeare in Love.

Naturally, Catherine, who starred as the lead in both films, was gaining significant attention.

However, she knew her limits.

Perhaps Catherine realized that Milo was more than just an heir and a film company executive.

Just days after wrapping up Shakespeare in Love, she had turned down other scripts from film companies.

She made the journey to New York to present herself to Milo.

This was a relief for Monica, who, after weeks of feeling worn out, finally had someone to share the "responsibility."

Milo, meanwhile, was in high spirits, thinking this was the life a time traveler deserved.

After enjoying the same beauty for a while, the arrival of another dazzling star was a welcome change.

He couldn't fathom why some protagonists in time-travel stories he read before would dedicate themselves solely to making money, ignoring romantic pursuits.

It seemed pointless to be obsessed with amassing billions while ignoring life’s pleasures, something that puzzled him before he even crossed over to this world.

If it wasn’t a world with supernatural elements offering immortality or power, then, in Milo's eyes, the only joys for men were power and women.

Philanthropy or saintly ambitions? Not for him. Milo was far from noble.

And leading humanity to the stars? He didn't have that capacity either.

The truth was simple: Milo was a materialist. In a capitalist world, wealth was both power and a foundation, enabling him to enjoy life to the fullest.

Fine food, luxury items, and women were the jewels in his crown, which he could manage comfortably.

Glancing at the two Hollywood icons who clearly weren't getting up soon, Milo shrugged, got out of bed, patted them on the back, and went to freshen up.

After breakfast, he left the newly purchased apartment.

Yes, an apartment.

Before Milo's great-uncle Benjamin, the Blackburn family rarely engaged with New York, the most bustling city in the U.S.

When Milo first arrived in New York, he stayed for almost two weeks at the Waldorf Hotel.

With his security and assistant teams in tow, his hotel stay racked up over $500,000 in expenses.

A few days prior, with the help of great-uncle Benjamin, Milo connected with a local real estate developer.

The developer, a blond man with a habit of gesturing when he talked, was skilled in real estate.

He was religious—which was to be expected in a country where over 95% of people claimed some form of faith.

This developer, friendly with Benjamin, assisted Milo through the company he represented.

Milo bought the entire top floor of an apartment building at 251 West 91st Street on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

Spanning 5,059 square feet with six bedrooms and 11 bathrooms, it featured a 1,079-square-foot private outdoor terrace overlooking views from the Hudson River to Manhattan’s East Side and beyond.

He also purchased two smaller two-bedroom units on the floor below, serving as accommodations for his security team, including David and Kenny.

The entire purchase cost Milo $11,995,000.

With a $1.5 million down payment, he financed the rest through a bank loan.

Nearly all of Milo’s available funds were tied up in the stock market.

Every bit of spare cash went into buying up defense stocks in the secondary market.

At this time, such investments were sure winners.

Already, Paladin Investments showed unrealized gains exceeding $100 million.

With tight liquidity, Milo had little extra cash to purchase property outright.

The perceptive blond developer, recognizing Milo’s connection to Benjamin, assisted throughout the buying process without charging a commission, saving Milo both time and money.

Arriving at the office, Milo checked on his stocks.

Seeing that unrealized gains had climbed past $150 million, he smiled contentedly.

Milo stayed at the company until noon, had lunch, and lingered a bit longer before leaving Paladin Investments around 2 p.m. to return to 251 West 91st Street.

By that time, Monica and Catherine were, of course, awake.

Milo took off his coat in the white entryway of the apartment and walked toward the living room. He found Monica lounging on the couch in loungewear, lazily holding a remote and watching TV.

“Hey, darling. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, sweetheart.”

Seeing him return, Monica stood up and kissed him.

With his left arm around the lush, full waist of the Italian beauty, Milo let his hand slide to grasp her curves as he sat down with her on the couch.

“You’re up already. Have you eaten lunch?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Oh.”

Milo glanced at the TV screen, where a soap opera from ABC was playing.

He looked around but didn’t see Catherine.

Monica, sensing his thoughts, chuckled.

“Catherine’s getting ready. She’s looking forward to tonight’s party.”

“Huh?”

Milo glanced at the time—it wasn’t even 3 p.m.

“The party doesn’t start until six. She’s getting ready this early?”

Monica shrugged and settled more comfortably into Milo’s arms, letting him enjoy her presence.

“You’re sure you don’t want to go? I know I don’t have an invite, but I doubt Anna Wintour would mind if I brought an extra guest.”

“No, I’m sure.” Monica said confidently.

Having glimpsed the world of Wall Street and the power of capital over the past month, she no longer felt like the aspiring actress who first arrived in America to chase her Hollywood dream.

Now, she desired a bigger stage.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 82: The Charity Gala*

Tonight's party didn’t interest Monica much, but Zeta-Jones was quite excited about it.

Milo even suspected that Zeta-Jones hadn’t rushed to New York just to see him; she might have been eager to attend this particular event instead.

After all, this was the "New York Metropolitan Museum Charity Gala."

Since its inception in 1948, this gala has been hailed as the Oscars of the fashion world due to its dazzling lineup of celebrities and extravagant display of couture gowns.

To be invited to such a grand event is a badge of honor for any star.

Each year, on this special day, high-society debutantes, Hollywood A-list celebrities, sports legends, and fashion industry moguls gather to celebrate.

They don their most exquisite outfits to join the glamorous festivities. Every name on the guest list requires approval from none other than Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour.

And within this gathering, the hierarchy of fame and importance is unmistakable.

On a different timeline, even stars like Kim Kardashian, Kate Upton, and Lindsay Lohan failed to secure their place on this prestigious red carpet despite their efforts to network or pull strings.

Of course, not having an official invite doesn’t mean one can’t attend.

Some major brands sponsor tables at the gala, and individual tickets are also available for purchase.

Currently, a single ticket costs between $4,000 and $10,000, while booking an entire table goes for $100,000.

Though these prices seem affordable for many, those who gain entry this way often end up in the farthest corners of the venue, barely within the camera’s reach.

True celebrities and wealthy elites scoff at buying their way in.

Being exposed for purchasing tickets could lead to public ridicule and a tarnished reputation.

This explains why stars like Kim Kardashian choose not to buy their way in; it’s not worth the risk of negative press.

The gala is typically held in early May each year.

However, this year was different. Anna Wintour, the main organizer and the infamous "Devil Wears Prada" of the fashion world, was scheduled for major surgery in two months.

Her recovery might take over half a year, meaning she would miss this iconic fashion event.

Thus, she decided to hold the gala early, choosing February 7, 1996, which happens to be tonight.

Zeta-Jones, who is currently riding high as the lead in Angels and Demons, received an invite due to her stunning looks, great fashion sense, and frequent appearances in the news.

The invitation allowed her to bring a guest, and naturally, she chose Milo as her date.

Milo, considering his fame now eclipsed Zeta-Jones', felt he could probably get Monica into the gala if he wanted to.

However, Monica wasn’t interested, so tonight, Milo accompanied Zeta-Jones instead.

Though he wasn’t particularly eager to attend, his image consulting team encouraged him to go.

“At this stage, this will help build your public image,” said Karen Hughes, a consultant on his team.

Karen had been working for Milo's uncle since 1993 and was the PR director for George W. Bush’s campaign team. She had also worked with Herbert Walker Bush in the past.

Milo valued professional advice, so he decided to attend.

The charity gala was being held in Midtown Manhattan, with Hilton Hotel sponsoring the venue.

Entry began at 6 PM, and the event officially kicked off at 7 PM.

Zeta-Jones started preparing as early as 2 PM, beginning with makeup and fitting into the evening gown she would wear.

She also tested various pieces of jewelry to complete her look—a process that took no less than four to five hours.

For Hollywood actresses and fashionistas, such preparations are an essential prelude to grand parties.

As night fell and the lights of Manhattan glowed brightly, the scene outside the Hilton Hotel was a sea of fans and reporters.

A grand celebration of fashion was about to unfold.

Reporters and fans had gathered early, eager to catch newsworthy moments or glimpse their favorite stars for autographs.

They weren’t disappointed. One wave of Hollywood, Grammy, and fashion-world elites arrived after another.

Even among A-list Hollywood stars, there were several notable attendees:

Tom Cruise, Tom Hanks, Bruce Willis, Brad Pitt, and action star Steven Seagal, to name a few.

Of course, the male lead of the blockbuster Angels and Demons, Tommy Lee Jones, also made an appearance.

Female stars, predictably, turned up in greater numbers, showcasing their dedication to this event.

Even legendary directors like Steven Spielberg and George Lucas were in attendance.

From the fashion world, the "Big Four" supermodels—Naomi Campbell, Cindy Crawford, Linda Evangelista, and Christy Turlington—were all present.

These four, once likened to the Beatles of the fashion industry, were among the first to define the "supermodel" concept.

Sports icons included NBA legend Michael Jordan, NFL superstar Leonard Williams, and other major league stars.

As for socialites, elites, and millionaires, they appeared in droves.

But the reporters’ attention wasn’t on them for long.

There was someone far more significant present: Rudy Giuliani.

When the New York City Mayor walked the red carpet hand in hand with his wife, camera flashes went off nonstop.

“Can you believe Rudy showed up?” one journalist murmured in awe. Giuliani, a former lawyer and prosecutor, had won the NYC mayoral race two years ago.

Reporters might dismiss celebrities, but true power players like Giuliani commanded respect.

“It’s not surprising,” another journalist shrugged. “The Met Gala has become a global fashion event, and it benefits New York City. Of course, Giuliani would show support.”

“I hear he’s working on new laws to lower crime and improve the city’s quality of life,” added a colleague.

“That’s dull politics. We’re entertainment reporters. What we should care about is who hooked up with who tonight,” joked another, prompting laughter.

“Hey, look over there—Milo Blackburn is here. I didn’t see his name on Anna Wintour’s official list.”

“Her list isn’t complete. There are hundreds of guests tonight; the list only highlights the most notable ones.”

“That guy is tall and movie-star handsome, but he’s actually a bestselling author and director…”

The journalist lowered his voice. “Guess how many women on tonight’s red carpet he’s been with?”

“Who knows? But Catherine Zeta-Jones is a sure bet. Otherwise, why would she be the lead in both of his films?”

As they speculated, Milo walked down the red carpet arm-in-arm with Zeta-Jones, who wore a pink strapless gown, her hair elegantly pinned up to reveal her graceful neck.

With smiles and waves, they greeted the crowd before disappearing into the venue.

*Chapter 83: The Blonde and the Young Beauty*

Milo and Zeta-Jones walked into the hotel lobby under the flashing lights of the paparazzi.

As soon as they stepped inside, a greeter welcomed them, guiding them to a special elevator for the evening that quickly took them to the floor of the event.

When they stepped out of the elevator, another staff member approached. Milo, with his arm around Zeta-Jones’ waist, followed the host into the luxurious, grand, gold-decorated ballroom of the Hilton Hotel.

Anna Wintour, with her long single braid and wearing a fitted, sleeveless pink satin gown, stood at the entrance. Her smile seemed a bit exaggerated to Milo.

“Oh! Mr. Blackburn, welcome, welcome! And Miss Jones, so glad you could come,” Wintour said as she approached, embracing Zeta-Jones warmly and shaking Milo’s hand.

“I happened to be in New York, and although I didn’t have an invitation, I wanted to see what all the excitement was about. In Boston, there’s only the school and research labs, nothing related to fashion,” Milo said with a shrug, greeting Wendi Murdoch with a cheek kiss. “I hope my presence isn’t disruptive, Ms. Wintour.”

“Ha ha, you’re a VIP guest,” Wintour said, her eyes sparkling as she naturally took Zeta-Jones by the arm but kept glancing at Milo’s handsome face. “Mr. Blackburn, has anyone told you that you look like Apollo? If you entered the fashion world or Hollywood, you’d outshine every other male star and model!”

Apollo, in Greek mythology, was considered the most handsome among the gods and often admired in Western art and poetry.

“You flatter me,” Milo replied with a soft smile, unfazed by the fashion mogul’s compliment.

“Please, come in. We have many guests tonight, and I’m sure lots of people would love to meet you. You’ll be the most popular guest here!” Wintour said as she noticed another important guest arriving and wrapped up the conversation with Milo.

Milo nodded with a smile, leading Zeta-Jones, who seemed slightly dazed by the encounter with Wintour, further into the bustling ballroom.

In the U.S., evening parties typically start between 7 and 8 PM. The hour before the main event usually serves as a cocktail reception, meant to warm up the atmosphere and facilitate introductions.

As Milo walked through the crowd, he recognized several familiar faces. Those who caught his eye smiled gracefully and nodded in return.

There was Tommy Lee Jones and Tom Cruise, who hadn’t brought Nicole Kidman tonight. Too bad she wasn’t here; Milo had been hoping for a little fun with the famous couple.

Just then, he saw Tommy Lee Jones and Murdoch approaching with their dates.

“Good evening, Milo, and Catherine,” Jones greeted warmly as he approached.

“It’s no surprise Catherine is here, but I didn’t expect you, Milo.”

Milo chuckled and gave Tommy a light shoulder bump, as the Texan was somewhat of an ally.

“I was just telling Ms. Wintour that I’m here to get a taste of the scene. Good evening, Rupert, Tommy. And Maria. And this is…”

He glanced at Murdoch’s date, who was not Asian. At this time, Milo figured Murdoch probably hadn’t met Wendi Deng yet, given that it was only 1996.

“This is Anna, my wife,” Murdoch said with a smile, introducing Milo. “Anna, this is Milo Blackburn—the genius writer, rising star of publishing, Hollywood’s prodigy director, and the world’s youngest billionaire.”

Milo was about to shake hands with Murdoch’s wife when a lively voice came from the left.

“Hey, Milo! Good evening. Didn’t expect to see you at this party!”

Everyone turned to look, and Milo instantly recognized the blond real estate mogul who had helped him buy the penthouse at 251 W 91st Street in Manhattan.

The man, very outgoing, came up to shake Milo’s hand. “We just met a few days ago, and here we are again! Hello, everyone. I’m Kemp Donald, owner of the Kemp Group!”

Indeed, the man had been of assistance recently, and as someone reborn, Milo had already recognized him long ago.

The blonde hair and his habit of gesticulating while speaking were unforgettable traits.

However, compared to the “Emperor’s Return” twenty-eight years later, Kemp was currently just a well-known New York real estate and TV mogul who had bounced back from bankruptcy several times.

“Good evening, Kemp,” Milo greeted while shaking hands and hugging him, introducing him to the group while looking at the young girl with a smile who was standing behind him.

She was a beautiful blonde, around 14 or 15 years old, tall and graceful despite her youth, with a slight baby face that hinted at future charm.

Given Kemp’s well-known preferences, she was definitely not a girlfriend or lover.

Milo knew this was Kemp’s daughter, who would later be adored by netizens as the “First Daughter” on the Chinese internet.

“This is my daughter, Ivana. Don’t let her age fool you—she’s already a model! And she’s a fan of yours, Milo. She bought ten copies of your The Da Vinci Code, handing them out to friends and classmates!”

“Hello, Ivana. I’m glad you enjoy my books…” Milo said, smiling and lightly shaking the excited girl’s hand.

With Milo’s introduction and Kemp’s natural charm and public relations skills, the small circle quickly became acquainted.

Kemp, particularly animated, soon began discussing the feasibility of hosting a program on Fox with Murdoch.

At this time, the U.S. real estate market wasn’t as booming as it would be in the future. Milo’s uncle hadn’t taken office, and the era of major monetary easing hadn’t begun yet.

Kemp’s strategy was to combine television and real estate. Last year, he had bought the rights to the Miss Universe pageant from California-based Pacific Mills and was now gearing up for this year’s event.

For Kemp, Murdoch was an ideal business partner given his status as a media tycoon. But Murdoch seemed uninterested—Kemp’s reputation and strength were still developing, and pageants weren’t that lucrative. Plus, Fox was already collaborating with the Miss International pageant, so there was no need for another similar event.

Even Kemp’s enthusiasm couldn’t change Murdoch’s disinterest.

Listening to their conversation, Milo suddenly spoke up.

“I actually have an idea for a TV show.”

“Oh?” Kemp spoke four or five sentences for each word of Murdoch’s, but the moment Milo spoke, Murdoch’s interest was piqued. “What type of show?”

The difference in how people are treated can be stark.

---

Chapter 84: Ariana, Long Time No See

“A singing idol talent show?”

In the golden banquet hall of the Hilton Hotel, Murdoch mulled over the new term Milo had just mentioned.

Murdoch understood "singing idol."

Icons like Michael Jackson and Madonna were undoubtedly considered singing idols.

And he understood "talent show" as well.

Beauty pageants themselves are a form of talent competition.

But combining the two—especially since no such program existed globally at the time—made this new term coined by Milo somewhat hard to grasp from the perspective of English alone.

“When I return, I’ll have my team draft a concept and detailed process for such a TV program,” Milo said with a smile. “I’ll send it to you then—if you’re interested, we can collaborate.”

Milo didn’t elaborate on the specifics.

After all, someone like Murdoch, a media tycoon, and even Kimpo, who wasn’t an ordinary individual, were unlikely to steal his idea outright.

But better safe than sorry.

So Milo used the excuse that he hadn’t fully worked out the details to deflect for now.

He planned to finalize the concept upon returning and have Wendy secure global copyrights first.

Then he’d register it with the Writers Guild as well, as their copyright protection extends worldwide.

Consider it a double insurance policy.

The variety show Milo suddenly thought of was none other than the future American Idol.

American Idol wasn’t an original American creation—it was based on the British ITV program Pop Idol, which debuted in a parallel timeline in 2001.

It was an instant hit, with its "idol frenzy" quickly spreading worldwide.

Murdoch’s Fox Broadcasting Company recognized its potential and acquired the rights for over $70 million, making some adaptations.

Starting in 2002, it became Fox’s spring-season ratings juggernaut, consistently ranking atop viewership charts for 11 consecutive years and earning the title “King of American Reality Shows.”

Shows like America’s Got Talent and China’s Super Girl later drew heavily from this concept.

Fox even filed an international copyright infringement lawsuit against Mango TV, though it ultimately didn’t succeed.

Milo decided to drop the subject for now.

After chatting for some time, the group naturally didn’t remain standing in one spot.

They found a seating area near the fireplace in the hall, where the men gathered to enjoy some drinks.

Meanwhile, the ladies, led by Murdoch’s wife, Anna, tactfully moved a bit further away to mingle with other socialites.

As the evening progressed and the banquet hadn’t yet officially started, many attendees formed small clusters, chatting in groups of two or three.

At this moment, Milo and Murdoch lounged comfortably on the sofa.

Actor Tommy, with his lower social standing, appeared noticeably reserved, while Kimpo maintained his usual boisterous grin.

Each man held a crystal-clear Glencairn glass filled with an amber whiskey tinged with a reddish hue. On the table stood a bottle of Dalmore 62, valued at £30,000, freshly opened.

It was sent over by the "devil in Prada," Anna Wintour, after noticing Milo and Murdoch sitting together.

The reason? It had to do with Murdoch. The Australian media mogul had a penchant for whiskey.

In 1943, Dalmore Distillery in Scotland’s Highlands released 12 bottles of top-tier single malt, each with its own unique name—this bottle was one of them.

Truth be told, Milo wasn’t particularly fond of strong liquor, partly due to psychological reasons.

While his predecessor had a habit of heavy drinking, Milo himself did not enjoy it.

Since his rebirth, he only indulged in some wine on occasion.

He held the whiskey glass in his hand but barely drank from it, unlike the other three men, who seemed quite satisfied.

After taking a sip of whiskey, Murdoch started wooing Milo again.

“Disney has employed many tactics. I’m sure they spent no more than $20 million on promoting Angels & Demons!”

“Let’s collaborate!” The old man’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Milo. The amber liquid in his glass shimmered under the lights.

“Our cooperation on Shakespeare in Love went well. Tommy is here too. If we team up for The Da Vinci Code, I can guarantee it’ll gross over $600 million worldwide!”

“Six hundred million dollars?!” Kimpo played along, feigning shock. “Wouldn’t that mean Milo could earn another five or six hundred million?”

Murdoch smiled faintly at Kimpo, finding him somewhat less dull.

At least he knew how to play the sidekick role—it showed some social awareness.

Murdoch’s gaze burned as he looked at Milo. However, Milo didn’t seem to be listening to him at all.

Milo’s attention was fixed on something ahead, his expression distant.

Murdoch felt a twinge of dissatisfaction.

It had been years since anyone dared to ignore him while he was speaking.

But Murdoch hid his annoyance, speaking while following Milo’s line of sight.

“Hey, Milo, are you listening? I’m telling you, Disney isn’t playing fair. If we collaborate, it’ll definitely be better than your partnership with Disney.”

As he spoke, Murdoch noticed two people walking toward them.

He recognized one of them—Arthur Ochs Sulzberger Jr., the fifth-generation head of The New York Times.

Seeing Sulzberger, Murdoch couldn’t help but frown.

When he first came to the U.S., Murdoch was quite daring.

He had approached Sulzberger’s father, Arthur Ochs Sulzberger Sr., in an attempt to purchase the family’s shares in The New York Times.

Murdoch had made an enticing offer, with a 50% premium. In theory, this should’ve secured him at least a minority stake.

But not only was his offer rejected, he was also mocked by Sulzberger Sr.

Murdoch had felt humiliated and even planned some retaliatory moves against the Sulzberger family.

However, he was ultimately persuaded to back down by his American associates.

Reflecting on this later, Murdoch realized the Sulzbergers had powerful backing, which sent chills down his spine.

This made him wonder—was Milo collaborating with Sulzberger Jr.?

Otherwise, why would The New York Times consistently publish flattering reports about him?

Murdoch turned to look at Milo, only to realize that Milo wasn’t focused on Sulzberger Jr. at all.

Milo’s attention was fixated on the young girl beside Sulzberger Jr.—a girl who appeared to be about the same age as Kimpo’s daughter, whom Murdoch had met earlier.

She had golden-brown hair and a pair of beautiful hazel eyes. She was smiling as she walked toward them.

Murdoch thought to himself, I don’t recognize her. Maybe she’s Sulzberger Jr.’s daughter? Just like Kimpo and Ivana.  

“Good evening, Rupert, Tommy, and dear Milo!”

Sulzberger Jr. greeted the group cheerfully, deliberately skipping over Kimpo, who had been the first to rise to greet him.

Perhaps it was because Kimpo still owed The New York Times millions in unpaid advertising fees—a matter that had even gone to court recently.

Milo, who had never met Sulzberger Jr. before, stood up with a smile.

The Blackburn family owned a 3% stake in The New York Times, and the paper had always treated him favorably.

“Good evening, Mr. Sulzberger. And…”

Under the curious gaze of Murdoch and the others, Milo turned his attention to the young girl who had been staring at him without greeting anyone else.

“Long time no see. Good evening, Ariana.”

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 85: Miss Hilton’s Infatuation*

Night had fallen over Manhattan, where neon lights were few and far between. The vibrance of New York didn’t need the embellishment of neon signs.

The bustling streets and illuminated buildings were true witnesses to the city’s vitality.

In Midtown, inside the golden ballroom of the Hilton Hotel:

As Arianna Rockefeller and young Arthur walked over to Milo, Murdock, and the others.

Among the ladies, Ivana, daughter of Kemp, was there.

She was nibbling on a piece of exquisite cake while curiously glancing toward her father.

Standing next to her was a beautiful girl with long blonde hair, around the same age as Ivana—likely fourteen or fifteen.

She was shaking Ivana’s arm excitedly, pointing toward Milo’s direction. “Ivana, isn’t that man handsome? Did you see him? Wow, it’s Blackburn! He looks way better in person than in the newspaper photos!”

Ivana, being jostled, said hurriedly, “Stop shaking me, I can’t even eat my cake! Paris, if you want to meet him, just go over there yourself. This is your family’s hotel, after all; you’re basically the host tonight!”

As it turned out, this girl was none other than the future trendsetter and socialite, Paris Hilton, whose tabloid appearances would one day outnumber her actual achievements.

Paris and Ivana had been close friends since childhood because their fathers were good friends.

Unlike the diligent and studious Ivana, Paris was more mischievous and full of energy, but somehow, the two got along well.

At least, at this age, that was the case.

“Ugh, my grandfather and father aren’t over there. How can I just walk up with so many adults around? I see Arthur, Murdock, and even your dad. Who’s that woman? She looks familiar, but I don’t recognize her,” Paris muttered.

The “woman” she mentioned was, of course, Arianna, who was actually a year younger than Paris. Arianna had spent most of her time in a parochial school and, due to family reasons, rarely appeared at social events.

Paris glanced at Ivana’s figure with a hint of envy and said, “Ivana, you’re developing really well; you must be a C-cup!”

As she spoke, Paris cheekily reached out and grabbed her friend’s chest.

Ivana let out a soft squeal and quickly stepped back to avoid Paris’s mischievous hand. Blushing, she covered her chest with her hands and scolded, “Paris! We’re in public!”

Though they were the same age, Ivana was far more mature than Paris.

A few years earlier, one of Kemp’s mistresses had shown up to confront Ivana’s mother.

Unable to endure the humiliation, her mother decided to divorce him.

After a year-long drama-filled lawsuit that made headlines on major American media outlets multiple times, Ivana’s mother left Kemp with over $20 million in compensation.

At that time, Ivana was barely over ten and felt lost and helpless over her parents’ separation.

Not long after, her father went bankrupt!

During their toughest times, Ivana, still under fifteen, even had to model to earn pocket money and support herself.

These experiences—her parents’ divorce, her father’s financial ruin, and her modeling work—forced her to grow up quickly and realize the importance of self-reliance.

This laid the foundation for the smart and beautiful girl to one day become a successful businesswoman.

Of course, her poor taste in men was another story entirely.

Paris, realizing Ivana might really be angry, quickly changed the subject. She looked over to where Mrs. Murdock, Tommy’s girlfriend, and two other women were chatting, now joined by Catherine Zeta-Jones.

“Ivana, do you think that woman has slept with handsome Milo?” Paris asked slyly.

Ivana sighed at Paris’s whimsical nature.

She thought, Do you even have to ask?

Her father’s behavior had taught Ivana a fundamental truth: no man could resist temptation.

That English woman was stunning, with an impressive figure and charming aura. Any man would be attracted to her.

If Milo hadn’t slept with her, why else would he have cast her as the lead in two consecutive movies?

“Paris, can we talk about something else? Something about us?” Ivana asked helplessly.

“Fine.” Paris agreed quickly and then said, “So, Ivana, do you want to sleep with Milo? Look at him, he’s so handsome and tall! You can tell he’s in great shape under that suit.”

Ivana: …

“Paris!” Ivana couldn’t take it anymore and whispered, “You’re even younger than me! Please, stop talking about things like this!”

“Pfft…” Paris giggled. “Stop acting innocent. I know you too well! Come on, even though neither of us has had a boyfriend yet… don’t tell me you’ve never, you know, done that by yourself! It’s normal, after all. Remember two years ago, at your house, what we did?”

In America, these topics were considered relatively normal.

And access to certain types of media wasn’t particularly difficult. At eleven or twelve, the two privileged girls had already watched such things, nervously.

But Paris noticed that Ivana seemed genuinely upset now.

So, she stopped pursuing that topic and looked back toward the ladies.

There, she saw a young man with dark hair who had joined Catherine Zeta-Jones and was chatting with her and the other women.

“Who’s that?” Ivana asked.

Paris wasn’t sure, so she took another look. “Dark hair… I think that’s Rudy Giuliani’s nephew. His name is… oh, he visited my house with Giuliani once. I think his name is Rudolph, but I don’t remember exactly. You know how long Italian names can be.”

Ivana thought, Even though the Giulianis are of Italian descent, they’ve been here for decades.

Besides, calling them just Italians isn’t fair.

If you want to get technical, my family is German, and yours are Norwegian fish oil merchants!

But she had to admit that Italian names could be quite long.

Then, she heard her friend lower her voice and whisper mischievously, “I heard that Rudolph is the Giuliani family’s enforcer. He’s connected to the Mafia! My dad told me to stay away from them and even turned down their offer to invest in Hilton Hotels.”

Ivana was momentarily taken aback but then felt somewhat relieved.

Well, Italians linked to the Mafia isn’t exactly surprising.

Her politically active father once told her that Rudy Giuliani, the new mayor of New York, was part of a family that immigrated after World War II.

His early life story, if disregarding his current accomplishments, resembled a member of the Corleone family in The Godfather—one who successfully turned legitimate without being forced down a criminal path.

He’s what Michael Corleone would have been if Don Corleone hadn’t been killed and Sonny hadn’t died.

Suddenly, Ivana remembered what Rudy Giuliani had been talking about in the media recently.

The Italian-American mayor was now waging an aggressive war on the Mafia and trying to lower the city’s crime rate.

Ivana felt a bit dazed.

After all, the idea of an Italian-American leading a fight against the Mafia in the U.S. did sound a bit strange.

---