Thud.
A hand pried open the elevator doors, followed by rapid, heated breaths, reminiscent of a zombie. Just before the doors could close, the air froze for a brief moment.
Wait, was it the bellboy?
It was Anson's first time at the majestic Barrière Hotel in Cannes, and he wasn't sure if he needed to check in at the front desk before visiting a guest.
The next moment, a youthful face popped in, beaming with a radiant smile. Without even glancing inside the elevator, they quickly apologized.
"Sorry, I thought I could make it."
The slightly husky voice carried a hint of sunshine, easily leaving a lasting impression.
Anson lifted his chin slightly, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "No need to worry, I'm in no rush. I think, on the Côte d'Azur, everything can slow down a bit."
Light, bright, lazy, and casual.
A voice can be someone's business card. Some are unique, some are ordinary, and some leave a deep impression.
Scarlett Johansson blinked in surprise: Is this…?
She quickly looked up.
Then Scarlett saw Anson's refined, handsome face. His lips still curved in a familiar soft smile, and his eyes shimmered faintly.
A completely unexpected encounter.
Clearly, it wasn't just Scarlett who was caught off guard; Anson was too.
Their eyes met. After a brief moment of surprise, they exchanged knowing smiles, with soft laughter reverberating in their chests.
Scarlett straightened her posture, stepped into the elevator, nodded slightly at Anson, pressed the floor button, and retreated to another corner. Both of them stood in opposite corners, leaning against the walls.
Their gazes met briefly, quietly observing each other.
Neither spoke, as if they were filming a spy movie. Whether it was more like The Bourne Identity or Mr. & Mrs. Smith was anyone's guess.
Scarlett, now seeing Anson, slowly began to understand. It wasn't that surprising after all—
The news that The Elephant had been selected for the Cannes main competition had already spread online. However, the world premiere of The Elephant was supposed to be on the third day. Anson's early arrival in Cannes indicated that he had more than just the movie promotion on his agenda. Could it be that Anson had other events or commitments?
Meanwhile, Anson was trying to figure out the real reason Scarlett had come to Cannes—
If he remembered correctly, Scarlett didn't have any films in the Cannes selection—not in any category. Could it be because of Lost in Translation? Anson thought Lost in Translation had been in the Venice Film Festival. So, there had to be another reason for Scarlett's presence here.
As their eyes briefly crossed, thoughts swirled, possibilities collided, and neither had spoken yet.
"You…"
Scarlett finally broke the silence, just as she was about to ask.
Unexpectedly—
Ding.
The elevator stopped again, interrupting the conversation. They were only on the second floor.
Anson and Scarlett both turned their heads toward the doors, the atmosphere becoming slightly awkward.
Though nothing had happened, being in the Barrière Hotel during the Cannes Film Festival, surrounded by celebrities, journalists, colleagues, and industry professionals, even the slightest thing could be interpreted in countless ways. Suddenly, they both grew wary, their nerves a little tense.
The newcomer was a woman.
Around her mid-thirties, with shoulder-length light chestnut hair, neatly cut, wearing a white T-shirt under a dark gray plaid blazer, and carrying a small, square designer bag.
One look was enough to know she wasn't a journalist.
The woman barely glanced at Anson and Scarlett, politely nodding in greeting, before turning to face the elevator doors, standing directly in front of them.
The doors slowly closed.
Nobody spoke, and it felt as though they could hear the cables whirring in the elevator shaft.
Ahem.
Anson cleared his throat. "Someone was following me again last night."
Woman: ???
Scarlett: ???
Where did that come from? What was Anson doing?
In just one second, the woman connected the dots—this was Cannes, and during the film festival, countless stories circulated, including romantic scandals.
So, is this one of them?
The woman's curiosity was piqued, and her shoulders tensed slightly. Although she tried not to react, it was clear her attention was focused, her ears straining to catch every detail.
Anson noticed, and so did Scarlett.
A flash of insight hit Scarlett as she realized Anson was pulling a prank.
Ha.
Scarlett's lips twitched into a smile, but worried about giving herself away, she quickly reined it in, adopting a serious demeanor. She turned to look at Anson, maintaining her composure.
"Stop being so paranoid," Scarlett said, her back pressed against the elevator wall, putting on an exaggerated look of vigilance.
Scarlett knew the woman in front of them wouldn't turn around. The more someone eavesdropped, the more obvious it became. Trying to act nonchalant would only make them more conspicuous.
But Scarlett decided to play along, mimicking the spy-movie vibe.
Anson caught the performance—
And played right along.
He too leaned against the wall, keeping his eyes forward, his lips barely moving as he muttered under his breath in a ventriloquist-style whisper.
"I'm telling you, they've got their eyes on me."
Scarlett, lowering her voice, grew curious about where the story was headed. "Come on, who would recognize you? You've had so much plastic surgery."
Anson: ???
Anson shot a look at Scarlett, a silent question: Me?
Scarlett, looking completely unbothered, fought to keep her lips from twitching upward. "How many times was it? Three?"
Anson tilted his head slightly. "Seven."
Scarlett nearly burst out laughing but clenched her fists to maintain control. "The surgery was a success. Has anyone ever told you that you look like a movie star?"
In front of them, the woman's eyes widened, her jaw nearly dropping.
Thump. Thump.
Her heart pounded in her chest.
She thought she was being calm, but had no idea her upper body was slowly leaning backward in astonishment. To Anson and Scarlett, it looked like she was performing a move worthy of Michael Jackson.
Anson glanced at Scarlett. "Oh, those stupid Hollywood stars?"
Pfft.
Scarlett almost lost it, just barely managing to maintain control. "Yes, those arrogant, foolish Hollywood stars. This is Cannes, you can blend in perfectly here. No one will notice. It was definitely your imagination last night."
Anson chuckled. "Yeah, just like Elizabeth thought. And what happened to her?"
The woman: Elizabeth? Which Elizabeth? Elizabeth Taylor? Elizabeth Shue? Elizabeth Moss? Elizabeth Banks? God, there are too many Elizabeths in Hollywood!
Scarlett: "Elizabeth was careless. She never should've gone back to Zurich."
Wait, Zurich? Was this about seeking asylum or some spy operation?
Anson let out a soft sigh. "Damn it, I just don't want any more bloodshed. I've had enough. They better not push me any further."