61-65

Chapter 61: A Divine Revelation

*Harvard Courtyard.*

A circle of sofas surrounded a crackling fireplace, resting atop a thick carpet. Flames licked at the blackened logs, sending embers snapping into the air. The stone walls of the room bore the smoky sheen of years of wear.

Neil Rudenstine and Joseph sat by the fire, each holding steaming cups of coffee, seated on armchairs almost as old as Harvard’s storied history. Their voices were low, their words measured.

This was a study, with bookshelves reaching nearly to the ceiling, crammed with thick, weighty tomes.

Nearby, two of Neil Rudenstine’s assistants sat quietly on the perimeter.

Milo wandered by the shelves, occasionally pulling out a book and flipping through its pages.

Joseph took a sip of his coffee, glanced at his son absorbed in reading, and after a thoughtful pause, spoke:

“Neil, they’re trying to curry favor with the oilmen, but I won’t. Besides, you’ve done an excellent job—far better than Lawrence Summers ever could.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Neil replied with a bitter smile. His eyes flicked toward Milo, who appeared genuinely engrossed in the book he held.

“But Lawrence Summers is coming at me with everything he’s got. They’re looking for dirt on me.”

“That won’t be easy,” Joseph said confidently. “Lawrence is too entangled in politics. He’s not fit to lead Harvard. The students don’t like him, and neither do we.”

“But some people do,” Neil said softly, his smile faltering. “I’ve heard… the master of Sleepy Hollow has already met with Lawrence.”

The room grew quiet. Everyone, including Milo, understood what that meant.

“Sleepy Hollow” was an indirect reference to the estate of oil magnate John D. Rockefeller in the small New York town of the same name, about 100 kilometers north of the city.

Joseph chuckled. “This is Boston, not New York. This is Harvard, not NYU or Brooklyn College.”

Neil was about to reply when Milo, his eyes still on his book, suddenly spoke:

“My father’s right. Mr. Rudenstine, Lawrence Summers can’t affect you—not for a few years, at least.”

“Why?” Neil asked, surprised.

Was it because of the Blackburns? Neil owed much of his rise from vice president to president to the backing of the Blackburn family.

But could the Blackburns withstand the Rockefeller-backed Lawrence Summers? Most Americans would find the idea laughable.

*Snap!*

Milo closed his book with a soft sound and smiled. He didn’t mention that his certainty came from a vivid memory—a vision.

In that vision, two months from now, Lawrence Summers, supported by the Rockefellers and oilmen aiming to wrest control of Harvard from Boston’s financial elite, would make an ill-advised public statement.

The backlash from environmentalists, advocates for equality, and women’s rights activists would force him into political obscurity for several years.

Neil Rudenstine’s position as president would remain secure for the time being.

“I’d call it the voice of God,” Milo said, his tone light but his words weighty. “Believe it or not.”

His declaration left the room silent, the other four exchanging uneasy glances. Even Joseph looked momentarily taken aback.

No one said they believed him—but no one dared to say they didn’t, either.

In America, disbelief in God was a dangerous stance. Presidents swore their oaths on Bibles, and Congress began sessions with prayers. To declare oneself faithless was to invite a storm of condemnation.

Milo broke the tension with a smile. “The fire’s too warm,” he said, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. “Carry on without me—I need some fresh air.”

Before anyone could respond, he placed the book back on the shelf and slipped out the door.

The hallway outside was just as warm as the room he had left. A few meters from the study’s entrance, a cluster of bodyguards stood watch—some belonging to Joseph, others from Harvard’s security team.

Milo waved to David and Kenny, then exited through a side door of the university’s administrative building.

Outdoors, he breathed in the crisp, cold air.

As he walked slowly along the campus avenue, Milo’s thoughts turned inward. Neil Rudenstine’s concerns had triggered a cascade of memories—memories tied to Harvard.

It felt like writing one of his screenplays or novels: a strange, vivid sensation overtook him.

In this state, he had “seen” the events of two months hence, as clearly as if they were scenes from a film.

This wasn’t the first time. When Nelson had introduced him to finance, Milo had “recalled” events like the 1997 Asian financial crisis, the 2000 dot-com bubble, and the 2008 recession.

He could explain remembering major events like the 1997 crisis or the 2008 crash. But obscure incidents—like Venezuela’s oil surplus in 1996, Korea’s currency crisis in 1997, and Russia’s ruble collapse in 1998—had surfaced in his mind with startling clarity, despite his previous life lacking any knowledge of them.

At first, he dismissed it as a byproduct of his rebirth—an enhanced memory, allowing him to “copy” movies and novels he had seen before. But today’s vision involving Neil and Lawrence Summers was different.

It wasn’t memory. It was something far more profound.

Milo wanted answers.

He had just resolved to test his abilities when a familiar voice called out from behind him:

“Mr. Blackburn?”

Milo turned to see five figures—a middle-aged white man and four others—approaching him.

The man at the front smiled warmly.

“Bertrand Irwin?” Milo recognized him immediately as the head of Harvard University Press’s Los Angeles office, one of the editors involved in publishing The Da Vinci Code.  

“Yes, Mr. Blackburn!” Bertrand greeted him enthusiastically, extending a hand.

Milo returned the handshake with a smile.

(To be continued...)

Chapter 62: Marriage Alliance

"Congratulations, Bertrand. Welcome back to Boston for work."

In the Harvard Yard.

Milo stood chatting with Bertrand Irwin and others on a campus pathway.

Bertrand Irwin had previously been one of the key managers on the West Coast for Harvard University Press.

Perhaps due to the massive success of The Da Vinci Code or because Bertrand's capabilities and experience were sufficient, he had recently been transferred back to the Boston headquarters.

He had been promoted from being one of the West Coast managers to becoming the CEO of Harvard University Press.

Harvard University Press, under Harvard University, is a publisher of high academic prestige.

Many of those exorbitantly priced American university textbooks come from this very press.

Additionally, Harvard has another publishing house, the Harvard Business School Press, which is even more well-known than HUP.

Both publishing houses are under the umbrella of Harvard University, and Bertrand Irwin's promotion to CEO of HUP was undoubtedly a step up.

Thus, Milo congratulated him.

"Thank you, Milo. Thank you."

Noticing Milo addressing him warmly by his first name instead of formally with his last name, Bertrand responded in kind, switching to Milo's first name.

"You’re here… oh, tomorrow’s Christmas. You’ve come back to spend time with your family!"

"That’s right. I just got back last night," Milo replied with a smile.

At the same time, his gaze moved past Bertrand Irwin to the four people behind him—two men and two women.

One man appeared to be of a similar age to Bertrand, both middle-aged. The other was younger, perhaps in his thirties.

As for the two women, one looked about fifteen or sixteen, while the other seemed closer to thirty. All were white.

Following Milo’s gaze, Bertrand smiled warmly and introduced the group behind him.

"Ah, everyone, let me introduce Mr. Milo Blackburn. He is the creator of The Da Vinci Code, the most outstanding young bestselling author in America."

Milo smiled and nodded politely to the group. "Hello, I’m Milo Herbert Blackburn."

Bertrand began introducing them to Milo.

"This is Glendon George, my colleague and the editor-in-chief of HUP."

"This is Mr. Charles B. Griffiths, head of the high school program and vice principal of Brooklyn Friends School in New York."

Milo shook hands with both men.

Although unfamiliar with New York, Milo deduced from the school’s name that it was likely a private high school there. He was curious about why the vice principal of a private school in New York had come to Harvard.

Could it be that the school had a partnership with Harvard, allowing its students to enter Harvard directly?

"Mr. Blackburn, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Charles B. Griffiths," the man said.

Next was the older woman. "Milo, this is Alice Blanche. She is the homeroom teacher for the high school."

Milo shook her hand as well but grew even more curious.

A private school vice principal being here was one thing, but why bring along a homeroom teacher?

Then, his gaze shifted to the young woman who had been staring at him intently since she arrived.

"Milo, this is Miss Arianna Rockefeller. She’s a student at Brooklyn Friends School."

When Bertrand mentioned her last name, he deliberately paused, seemingly observing Milo’s reaction to hearing the name Rockefeller.

However, Milo maintained the same demeanor he had with the others, reaching out to shake Arianna’s hand.

"Hello, Miss Rockefeller. I’m Milo Herbert Blackburn."

"Hello, Mr. Blackburn. I’m Arianna Astor Newell Rockefeller."

Arianna smiled radiantly, her lips red and her brown eyes fixed on Milo without blinking.

Seeing Milo’s lack of a strong reaction, Bertrand’s expression remained warm, though his thoughts were unreadable.

"Miss Rockefeller is the student representative of her school. She’s here on a winter study tour, visiting us before heading to Yale and MIT," Bertrand explained.

"Since I previously worked in New York, the school entrusted me with hosting Miss Rockefeller, along with Mr. Griffiths and Ms. Blanche."

Milo released Arianna’s hand, which lingered in his grip a bit longer than necessary.

With a calm tone, he praised Harvard, smiling. "Harvard is a beautiful school. One of my greatest prides is being a Harvard alumnus. Though I was only here for a few months, I deeply love this place. Believe me, Miss Rockefeller, this will be your best choice, bar none."

"Glory to Christ, for Christ and the Church!"

Milo concluded with Harvard’s historical motto.

In its early days, Harvard’s motto was the Latin Veritas (Truth).

But over time, religious influence altered it to Glory to Christ and later to For Christ and the Church.

After the founding of the United States, the motto reverted to Veritas.

Nonetheless, many locals, especially descendants of early settlers, still preferred the religious mottos.

The Blackburn family, being one such lineage, never acknowledged Veritas as the motto.

"Your recommendation is truly compelling, Mr. Blackburn," Arianna said sweetly. "I will certainly give it serious thought."

At that moment, Milo noticed his father and Neil Rudenstine emerging from the administrative offices and glancing in his direction.

He spoke up, "Well then, goodbye, Miss Rockefeller, Bertrand, Ms. Blanche, and Mr. Griffiths. I must join my father; we’ve been out long enough."

"Tonight is Christmas Eve, a time for family. May the love of Jesus be with you, giving you strength, comfort, and hope."

With that, he waved and strode toward his father.

---

Ten minutes later, Milo and his father sat in a Lincoln sedan.

The car did not leave Harvard immediately, instead circling the yard’s roads.

"I saw you talking with Bertrand Irwin. I also noticed Arianna Rockefeller, that old vampire’s eldest granddaughter… What were you discussing?"

Milo’s father, Joseph, spoke softly, glancing at his son.

"Bertrand Irwin was the one who initially approached me about publishing my book."

"As for Rockefeller, I’d call it a chance encounter."

Joseph was silent for a moment, then shook his head. "Bertrand Irwin is a Lawrence Summers man. Rudenstine can’t stand him."

Milo shrugged, gazing at the passing Harvard buildings. "You never told me. Besides, we’re not tied at the hip with Rudenstine."

Hearing this, Joseph chuckled.

"True enough. Our interests and Rudenstine’s don’t always align. Still, there’s something I’d like to tell you—just to see your reaction."

"Hmm?"

"What do you think of that Rockefeller girl?"

"What do I think? Oh, come on, she’s just a kid."

Joseph smirked mischievously. "Well, what if I told you the Rockefellers are considering a marriage alliance—with you?"

"A marriage alliance? With who—wait, what?!"

Milo turned to his father in shock, his voice rising.

*(End of chapter)*

Chapter 63: Have I Become the Weak Link?

“Weren’t you talking about connecting with the Adams family last time?”

After a moment of silence, Milo broke it by addressing his father.

Joseph shrugged lightly and shook his head.

“Marrying into the Adams family was an internal consideration, but that doesn’t stop others from speculating. Let me tell you—besides the Rockefellers, those who have approached us about an alliance include the Morgans, the Mellons, and even the Wilsons, among others. Do you know why?”

*What the hell? Have I become the golden goose?*

Or could it be these old-money families have figured out I’m a reincarnator and see me as a high-potential stock?

Is that why everyone wants to invest in me early, everyone wants me to be their son-in-law?

How generous of them.

Seeing his son remain silent, Joseph repeated the question:

“Do you know why?”

Milo had some guesses, but he shook his head, wanting to hear his father’s explanation.

“Let me explain, my dear,” Joseph said in a calm tone. “Since last year, J.P. Morgan has been plotting a merger with Chase Manhattan Bank. The only thing standing in their way is the Glass-Steagall Act.”

He continued, “But since the 1990s, everyone has wanted the Glass-Steagall Act repealed. It’s the biggest obstacle blocking Wall Street’s progress. So, the merger of J.P. Morgan and Chase Manhattan—it’s inevitable, just a matter of time.”

“And why are the Morgans cozying up to the Rockefellers? Or rather, why are the Rockefellers gradually being swallowed by the Morgans?”

“And then there’s Cleveland, which is essentially becoming Mellon territory.”

“How do you think the Morgans and the Mellons manage this?”

Joseph’s explanation was clear, and anyone in America’s upper echelons would understand these dynamics.

But understanding and being able to act on them are two different things.

Milo responded:

“Through marriage alliances, gradually infiltrating and taking control.”

Joseph laughed heartily and nodded.

“Exactly. They want to replicate Morgan’s approach with Rockefeller or Mellon’s infiltration of Cleveland with Blackburn. But it’s not just us—other families like the Lodges, the Lawrences, the Lowells—they’ve all been infiltrated over the years.”

Milo stayed composed.

“It seems only the Adams family remains independent. But precisely because of that, they find it hard to claim center stage.”

“Correct,” Joseph said, pleased with Milo’s understanding.

But then he sighed, looking at Milo as if weighing his words carefully.

The Blackburn family of old wouldn’t have feared such tactics.

Back then, they had an outstanding heir in Paladin Blackburn.

The Morgan and Mellon method of infiltrating through marriage had a key weakness:

It only worked if the infiltrated party was weaker than the infiltrator.

The person married into the family needed to hold an important position but possess average ability.

For example, David Rockefeller’s son, Edward David Rockefeller—Ariana’s father.

Edward was average at best and far less capable than his father, which made him a prime target for infiltration.

If the person married into the family was highly capable, however, they could turn the tables and influence the infiltrator instead.

Milo’s uncle’s family was a prime example.

His grandfather, Herbert, and great-grandfather successfully used marriage alliances to strengthen their family, even overtaking their original allies.

During Paladin’s era, no one dared to use such tactics on the Blackburn family, fearing they would be outmaneuvered instead.

But now?

With Paladin gone, the next heir of the Blackburn family was Milo, known among the elite circle as a typical spoiled second-generation.

Milo had become the family’s weak link.

To the upper echelons, he was the perfect target for a marriage alliance.

Compared to Edward Rockefeller, Milo appeared even less capable.

And the Blackburn family didn’t hold the same weight as the Rockefellers in financial and commercial circles.

Joseph sighed again, his hesitation evident.

Milo’s presence had made the family a tempting target.

Although the Blackburns held little influence in finance, their impact in religion and the military was substantial.

Here’s an interesting fact: the U.S. military doesn’t have political commissars, but it does have chaplains.

At the time of America’s founding, the military had only 15 chaplains. As the military grew, so did the chaplain corps. Today, there are about 3,000 active-duty chaplains across the armed forces, with some even holding ranks as high as major general.

For example, John Blackburn, a World War II chaplain, served with U.S. forces landing in Europe and retired as a major general. Paladin himself had also served as a chaplain, though he only retired as a lieutenant colonel.

---

“Can’t we just reject them?” Milo suggested. “I’ll marry that Adams girl and put an end to any thoughts of other alliances.”

“That’s not impossible,” Joseph said with a smile. “But if we do that, I’ll probably never even get close to a Senate seat in my lifetime. And you, my boy, you might struggle to even reach the House of Representatives. New England is in decline; the Morgans have been infiltrating us for decades. We fought back, even allying with old Catholics, but we failed.”

Milo frowned, muttering, “Damn bloodsuckers!”

---

As their car approached the Blackburn estate, Joseph switched to another vehicle to reduce risk.

By changing cars, they ensured that in case of an attack, the family wouldn’t lose both father and son in one blow.

---

By 4 p.m., the Blackburn estate was in sight. The overcast sky had given way to a rare patch of winter sunlight.

Inside, Milo sat by a heavily curtained, bulletproof window, smoking a slim cigar as sunlight streamed through the glass.

His desk bore the financial section of the Boston Post. He had spent the afternoon conducting an experiment to test an idea that had struck him earlier at Harvard.

Surrounded by smoke, he looked out at the pale sunlight, a smile spreading across his face.

*So they think I’m the weak link? The perfect target? A pushover?*

*Well then, let’s see who infiltrates whom. Let’s see who gets the last laugh!*

Chapter 64: Late 1995

After a warm Christmas Eve and a joyful Christmas Day, Milo didn’t rush back to Los Angeles.

During the time from Christmas Eve to New Year’s Day, much of the U.S. essentially goes on pause. Many industries shut down, and people take vacations.

For example, TV shows in the U.S. mostly go on hiatus. American TV series typically have two major breaks: one around Thanksgiving and another from Christmas to early January, often referred to as the winter break.

Of course, the main reason is that most American shows are filmed and aired simultaneously. After all, networks, actors, writers, and directors also need time to celebrate and relax!

Milo stayed home until the 28th before finally boarding a flight back to the relatively warm Los Angeles.

---

#### Los Angeles International Airport, Private Tarmac

Dressed in a casual athletic outfit, Milo stood at the steps of a Gulfstream private jet. He looked down at a recently parked Cadillac SUV.

David, dressed in a black suit with sunglasses and a cool expression, stepped out of the car and nodded at Milo.

Only then did Milo descend the plane steps and enter the Cadillac SUV.

“Boss~”

In the spacious back seat of the Escalade, Monica was already waiting gracefully.

Her sparse bangs partially covered her fair forehead. Her large, glistening eyes met Milo’s gaze, naturally glimmering with moisture.

Her rosy lips resembled blooming roses, while the first button of her translucent white blouse was provocatively low, revealing a generous expanse of creamy skin.

The deep cleavage and ample curves beneath her fitted blazer left nothing to the imagination.

“Oh, Monica, you look perfect for a secretary. That outfit of yours—very good!”

Monica offered a subtle smile, pulling out a black leather notebook and placing it on her pale knees.

“Boss, would you like me to summarize the activities of your companies during your absence?”

“OK!”

Monica elegantly opened the notebook and began her report.

Her notes were thorough, but she summarized the key points succinctly for Milo. She elaborated only when he had specific questions.

Monica took pride in her abilities as an exceptional secretary.

Milo was impressed, even looking at her in a new light.

During the report, Monica adeptly distilled the main points and answered Milo’s queries in detail.

“Let me see your notebook,” Milo said, extending a hand.

Monica obediently handed it over, and Milo flipped through it.

He was very satisfied with his stunning new secretary’s work ethic—it seemed she was more than just a top-tier beauty in Hollywood.

Milo patted his lap and said, “Come sit here and explain these notes to me.”

Monica bit her lip and glanced at the driver’s seat, where David sat, and the passenger seat, occupied by Kenny.

After a moment of hesitation, she pressed a button to raise the divider. Then, she shyly climbed over the center console and sat on Milo’s lap.

---

#### Beverly Hills Mansion

By the time the car arrived at the villa in Beverly Hills, Monica, looking flustered, exited the car first, covering her mouth like a startled deer.

Her blouse was now properly buttoned, entirely different from earlier, leaving no skin exposed. Her delicate, pale face flushed deeply with a captivating blush.

She hurried toward the villa with slightly unsteady steps, her petite heels clicking quickly against the pavement.

Inside the car, Milo wiped his hands with a piece of lace fabric and casually stuffed it into his pocket.

A faint smile appeared on his lips—his secretary’s “training” was progressing steadily. The thought of her in the office promised to be... delightful.

---

#### Afternoon at the Film Studio

That afternoon, Milo brought Monica to his film company.

He had a final closed-door meeting with the real director of Angels & Demons, the promotional team, and representatives from Disney to prepare for the film’s release.

Angels & Demons was set to premiere on January 1st, a date neither too competitive nor too quiet.

Thanks to its quality—or perhaps because of Milo’s influence—Disney had treated it as an A-grade production, promoting it for nearly a month.

Now, it was time to see the results.

---

“Alright then, I’ll be there on time for the premiere in a couple of days,” Milo said, flashing his signature charming smile.

“Boss, no problem,” replied Wally Pfister, grinning as well.

Milo nodded slightly and waved at everyone. “That’s all. I won’t hold you up any longer. I’ll be on time; I’m heading out now.”

Wally Pfister and the others quickly stood and saw the dashing young boss off to his car.

---

#### Outside the Studio

After the black Cadillac disappeared from view, Disney’s liaison, an accomplished producer, turned to Wally and said softly, “Wally, are you sure you don’t want to come to Disney?”

Before Wally could respond, the producer added, glancing thoughtfully at Milo’s departing car:

“After all, he’s just a young man. Considering his history, he’s more of a playboy. Look, it’s only his second movie, and he’s already completely hands-off. Are you sure you want to stay at Paladin Films?”

To be honest, Wally was tempted.

This was Disney, after all!

In the past—especially before Robert Downey Jr.’s troubles—Wally wouldn’t have hesitated to join Disney.

But now…

“That’s impossible,” Wally declared firmly.

“My boss gave me the opportunity to showcase my talent. Without him, I’d still be a cinematographer on low-budget films. So, Andre, understand this: I will never leave Paladin Films!”

The Disney producer smiled wryly. He understood Wally’s loyalty but still had his doubts.

The truth was, he was also under pressure from higher-ups.

Wally Pfister was just that good.

The Disney team had already seen the final cut of Angels & Demons.

Its powerful themes of destiny, religious undertones, seamless narrative, and pacing convinced everyone it would sell exceptionally well.

The film was outstanding!

Disney wanted to poach Wally Pfister, seeing him as the real talent behind the movie.

They doubted Milo had much to do with it—even questioning whether he had written The Da Vinci Code himself.

For them, the real credit belonged to Wally Pfister.

“Fine,” the producer relented. “Wally, we understand. But know this: Disney will always welcome you.”

Wally smiled politely, though he didn’t believe it for a second.

If Angels & Demons became a hit, Disney’s offer might be genuine.

If it flopped, however, Disney’s supposed sincerity would evaporate faster than spilled soda.

In Hollywood and the broader U.S. entertainment industry, numbers were king.

Forget big-name directors, stars, or bestselling authors—none of that mattered if the numbers didn’t back it up.

If the data showed failure, no amount of fame could save you.

For now, Wally was more invested than anyone in the success of Angels & Demons.

If it tanked, Milo could return to being a wealthy heir and bestselling author.

But for Wally, who had finally stepped into the director’s chair, it could mean the end of the line.

(End of Chapter)  

*Chapter 65: The Premiere*

Time marches on. After Milo returned from Plymouth, he spent two more hectic days.

The New Year was just around the corner.

Amid the clicking of cameras, Milo stepped out of the limousine.

Wearing a tailored black suit that perfectly accentuated his 6'7" frame, he exuded a warm, refined charm with a gentle smile that made him stand out in the crowd.

Stopping in front of the promotional poster, he posed for a few photos and answered several questions from the reporters.

Then Milo entered the theater.

This was the premiere of Angels and Demons.  

Given Disney’s involvement and the $40 million budget for this mid-sized film, skipping a premiere would have been unthinkable.

Not only was there a premiere, but many notable figures were invited to attend—arrangements all handled by Disney.

Realizing his unique abilities extended beyond simply recreating literary works, Milo found himself losing interest in the modest earnings from films and novels.

But since the movie was already made and the novel was written, the fame and accolades of being a well-known writer and prodigy were things he wanted to amplify as much as possible.

With this in mind, Milo stepped into the theater lobby.

He wasn’t feeling sentimental—he just thought it was only natural. After all, this was merely the beginning.

“Ah, there you are, Mr. Blackburn!” Disney’s Robert Iger called out from a distance.

Iger’s meteoric rise within Disney’s ranks was astonishing.

Since joining Disney alongside ABC, he had quickly climbed to become one of the company’s senior executives.

If nothing unexpected happened, this man would eventually succeed Eisner and become Disney’s next "Mouse Tyrant."

In the parallel timeline, it was under Iger’s leadership that Disney dominated Hollywood, largely thanks to its acquisition of Marvel.

After his retirement, however, Disney began to decline, embroiled in politically correct projects like “Catfish Princess,” “Black Prince Charming,” and “Black Romeo.”

“It’s great to see you at the premiere, Iger,” Milo said, approaching with a warm smile.

“The pleasure is mine.” Iger looked somewhat flattered. Milo’s friendliness seemed a bit excessive.

Unbeknownst to Iger, Milo was already considering poaching him from Disney.

To lure someone over, one had to be approachable.

After shaking hands with Iger, Milo was introduced to several others.

Premieres are, in essence, networking events, though smaller in scale compared to cocktail parties or galas.

The attendees were mostly from the entertainment industry.

And these people seemed somewhat apprehensive around Milo, a reaction he understood perfectly.

He had “killed the chicken to warn the monkeys.” Naturally, those who knew the truth were fearful.

He could sense their unease and subtle aversion to him.

This was understandable. The entertainment industry had its established rules, and everyone followed Hollywood’s unspoken codes of conduct.

But Milo? He didn’t just break the rules—he obliterated them.

The kicker? He emerged unscathed, as though nothing had happened.

Those who had pieced together the truth couldn’t help but regard him with a mix of reverence and fear.

After exchanging a few pleasantries with Disney representatives, Milo wandered around the lobby while waiting for the movie to start.

As he walked along the edge of the room, he suddenly bumped into someone.

Both let out a soft exclamation and instinctively reached out to steady each other.

Looking up, Milo met a pair of vivid green eyes. They were so close their noses almost touched. A delicate fragrance filled his nostrils.

After a slight twitch of his nose, he mused, Lily, sunflower, peach blossom, lemon... While I can’t identify a few other notes, this is definitely Lancôme’s Trésor series.  

“You are... Wait, how did you know that?!” The woman asked in surprise, though she quickly realized the awkwardness of the situation. Letting go of Milo’s hands, she stepped back a few paces.

Milo now got a good look at her.

She had radiant, voluminous blonde hair, a high-bridged nose, and deep-set eyes, but her most striking feature was her porcelain skin that seemed almost luminous.

It was none other than Nicole Kidman, currently one of Hollywood’s top stars and newlywed wife of Tom Cruise.

“I didn’t expect you to be one of the guests tonight, Ms. Nicole Kidman,” Milo said with a smile, extending his hand as if the earlier awkwardness hadn’t occurred. “I’m Milo Blackburn. You can call me Milo.”

“Hello, Milo. Please call me Nicole.” Kidman seemed to regain her composure before replying. “Wait a moment, did you say you’re Milo Blackburn? As in…”

“Yes, tonight’s film is one of my works,” Milo confirmed with a nod.

“Wow, you’re really Mr. Blackburn!” Nicole looked him over in astonishment. “I heard you were young, but this... this is too young!”

“If I’m not mistaken, we’re about the same age,” Milo said with a chuckle, amused by her surprised expression.

Though he couldn’t tell how much of her reaction was genuine.

Nicole Kidman was one of those beautiful women with a distinctive allure.

There’s a difference between being pretty and being beautiful.  

While pretty is surface-level, beautiful encompasses charm, demeanor, presence, and more.

Currently in the prime of her beauty, Nicole lacked the mature appeal she would develop years later.

But her unique aura was complemented by a black evening gown that accentuated her figure, making her appear poised and elegant.

“Is that so? How can you be sure?” Nicole asked, her expression turning slightly awkward.

Milo stifled a laugh, realizing it was unwise to bring up age around women.

He remembered Nicole was born in 1970, making her just shy of 26—three years older than him.

Quickly shifting the topic, he asked, “Are you here alone, or did Mr. Cruise accompany you?”

“Tom couldn’t make it; he’s busy filming. I came alone with Disney’s invitation,” Nicole replied, her tone neutral.

Noting her indifferent attitude when mentioning her husband, Milo recalled that Nicole and Tom would divorce in the early 2000s.

Tom Cruise, as he remembered, had joined Scientology even before achieving fame.

The controversial organization, labeled a cult even in the U.S., had played a role in propelling his early career.

This entanglement with Scientology explained why he could never break free from its influence, eventually becoming one of its figureheads.

It seemed the cracks in their marriage had long since formed.

Reflecting on his past, Milo realized he’d never tried to “poach” anyone before—let alone someone as stunning as Nicole Kidman.

With a mischievous grin, he thought, Maybe it’s time to wield the shovel. After all, I can’t leave Hollywood without digging up a gem.  

(End of Chapter)