"Oh, 'Roman Holiday,' Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck, a classic. But I think it should be 'Notting Hill,' Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant."
"Ah, I know that movie, but Hugh isn't a reporter in it, right?"
"No, he's a bookstore owner. But I think this photographer is more contemporary; he likes Julia Roberts and hates g Ryan."
"Haha, that's not necessary; I think it's possible to like both Julia and g."
"Have you ever worked with them? Julia or g?"
"No, but I t them at the Golden Globes. Julia is indeed very cheerful; I enjoy chatting with her. You can feel her energy."
"See? So you're also on Team Julia."
"Oh, no, no, I'm not, really, I'm not."
They laughed and joked around.
Without realizing it, Winona had been swept up in Anson's rhythm, montarily forgetting the presence of the reporters and the paparazzi lurking around.
They were having a great conversation.
The reporters on site: ???
What's going on?
They had already heard that during the runway show, Winona was in so much pain that she nearly lost consciousness, with so backstage reporters even capturing photos of it. Now, it was their turn to capture Winona in her disheveled and exhausted state. Tomorrow's competition for the entertainnt section headlines in major newspapers was expected to be fierce:
Karl Lagerfeld? Anson Wood?
Most likely, Winona Ryder would co out on top; in the news world, it's always the negative stories that grab attention and create buzz.
And now, this?
This wasn't the picture they wanted.
Not only was she composed and calm, without the imagined breakdown; but she was also friendly and charming, with a clean smile and bright eyes showing her in good spirits. Even though there was still a hint of illness and fatigue between her brows, it couldn't overshadow her elegance.
She stood gracefully in front of the dia, so much so that the reporters, who were ready to ambush and aggressively pursue her, all ca to a sudden halt.
One after another, they were left puzzled.
And that wasn't all.
Anson and Winona didn't hurry to leave; they took their ti, strolling leisurely. Clearly, neither of them planned to stop because of the reporters. Amidst the flashes and calls, the two of them laughed and chatted as they walked away—
Yes, walked.
On site: ???
Generally, during Fashion Week, the scene is crowded, with dia packed in layers around each show venue, especially at the Chanel show. Plus, the square near the Louvre was filled with spectators, including guests, busy buyers, and passersby who ca to join the excitent.
Given such a situation, high-profile guests usually get into their cars right after leaving the venue and quickly drive away. Like award ceremonies, the only ti people can get up close to these important guests is during the short walk on the red carpet.
However, Anson and Winona did not get into a car. After leaving the protection of security personnel, they continued walking, just like any other spectators. Casually chatting as they went, it was as if they were really there just to watch the show.
Is this normal?
Click, click, click, click.
---
**Flashbulbs followed closely**, and the reporters reflexively kept up, trailing behind like a long tail, continuing their pursuit. But slowly, they began to stop. The celebrities should have gotten into their cars by now—so why hadn't they?
When they finally ca to their senses, they realized that Anson and Winona had already left the Chanel show venue.
What should they do?
There were two options: return to the show to continue capturing other guests as planned or follow Anson and Winona to see what was going on.
It was just a mont of hesitation, and then soone sprang into action—
The paparazzi.
So say the difference between paparazzi and regular reporters is that the paparazzi are everywhere, watching 24/7, and specialize in revealing secrets.
In reality, that's not quite accurate.
The essence of the paparazzi is their willingness to do anything. Keeping a 24-hour watch is just one of many tactics. Other thods include, but are not limited to, rummaging through trash, breaking into hos, hacking computers, and other illegal activities. More importantly, they aim to provoke their targets.
If the target loses control and attacks a paparazzo, that's a win for them. That's the story they want.
Just like right now.
The paparazzi quickly caught up. The shock was brief, the surprise even shorter. They quickly snapped back into action, like wolves, encircling Anson and Winona again.
Then ca the attack, like a pack of hyenas.
Cara lenses rushed forward, each one getting up close to Anson and Winona's faces, almost as if they were trying to shove the caras into their pores. The lenses beca weapons, creating an overwhelming sense of pressure, and from a physical standpoint, launching an attack. The heat from the flashbulbs and the invasive presence of the lenses ca crashing down without rcy.
Click. Click. Click.
Every shutter sound was like a heavy punch to the stomach, making their muscles spasm.
Facing such a dire situation and such threats, staying calm is not easy. So, it's not just the celebrities; even other reporters despise the paparazzi's despicable tactics. There's no journalistic integrity here, and it's even against the law. Their goal is purely to provoke and anger their targets.
Imagine if Winona broke down right now, or if Anson threw a punch. The elegance of Fashion Week would instantly be overshadowed by these stories, turning into a dia frenzy.
Would anyone care about the truth?
The suffocating blockade, the malicious provocations, and the cutthroat attacks.
No, no one cares.
Even if they knew the truth, the bystanders would make flippant comnts like, "Even if provoked, you shouldn't hit soone," "No matter what, hitting soone ans you lose," or "Public figures should maintain their image," blah, blah, blah.
Only those who are actually on the scene, truly in the thick of it, can feel the sharp barbs of each verbal jab, slicing the skin, with the scent of blood filling the air.
"Winona, do you have anything to say in response?"
"You knew all along, didn't you?"
"Are you going to condemn him?"
"Winona, what's your relationship with Anson?"
"Are you two dating?"
"So, is this your response?"
"Were you with Anson before or after? Can you clarify the tiline?"
"Do you think this is your fault? Have you reflected on your actions?"
"Anson, did you know you beca the third party?"
The confrontation was direct, each question a stab.
The chaotic voices clashed sharply, like nails on a chalkboard, screeching in their ears. The tangled words were split into disjointed syllables, fighting to tear through the eardrums and burrow into the blood vessels and brain.
The world spun around them.
With Anson's rising fa and Winona's story crashing together, the paparazzi completely lost their minds. They bared their teeth, trying to rip the two apart and swallow them whole. The energy at the Louvre was overwhelming, the air around them beginning to burn—
Paris was on fire.
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