Chapter 451 You Won't Live Long Either
She knew exactly what happened to her friend. Her harsh words weren't out of loyalty—she'd always despised Anne.
The jealousy burned deep; not only had Anne secured Ernest's protection, but she'd somehow landed Willard—the Willard—as a husband.
Why should Anne get such preferential treatment just because she was beautiful? After all, she had known Ernest first and harbored feelings for him for so long. Then Anne appeared and instantly became Ernest's favorite. How could she possibly accept that? But the Larson family was untouchable. With a final insult, she stormed off.
Thora rolled her eyes. "What's her problem?"
Anne never wasted time on people like that. In her view, such people were merely consumed by jealousy. They were cowards, easily dismissed. Willard, however, was a genuine headache. Now everyone knew about her marriage to him. How annoying.
Thora, assuming Anne was upset, tried to comfort her. "Ms. Waverly, some people are just crazy. Don't let them get to you. My grandpa always said, 'Never argue with fools.'"
Anne smiled. "Did your grandfather really say that?"
Thora stuck out her tongue. "Actually, I saw it on TV."
Today's shoot was for a simple magazine feature with a rising boy band. They were cooperative and professional.
After the shoot, their manager invited Anne to dinner. She declined politely, "I'm sorry, I have other commitments."
The manager had pulled strings to book Anne, recognizing her talent as a photographer with a million-strong following.
Taking the opportunity, he asked to connect on Facebook. Anne couldn't refuse—her studio was just starting out and needed the business contacts. After exchanging information, the manager said, "We'll have dinner another time."
"You're too kind," Anne replied, then signaled Thora to pack up their equipment.
As they were leaving, Thora needed to use the restroom. Anne accompanied her. While waiting outside, a man emerged from the men's room. Anne stepped aside to make way, but he moved closer to her. The overwhelming cologne mixed with bathroom odors was nauseating, and she found herself cornered.
"Stop coming closer," she warned, ready to abandon all civility and bash his head in if necessary.
The man gave a sly smile. "Hey, you're so cute."
Anne nearly gagged. Breathing shallowly to avoid the stench, she stated firmly, "We're not acquainted."
He reached toward her, deliberately lowering his voice to sound seductive. "Miss, you just saw all of me in there. How can you say we're strangers?" He leaned in, nearly kissing distance. "If you want, we could get much more... intimate."
Anne snapped. She barely used any force, yet he collapsed dramatically, clutching his ankle. Tears welled in his eyes. "I was just following your signals! Why did you push me? I have a performance in two days with complicated dance moves. Now my foot is injured—how am I supposed to dance?"
His tears fell in large drops as he whimpered, "Since you hurt me, you should take responsibility and care for my every need."
Take care of him? Anne laughed incredulously. He was impossible. If she remembered correctly, this man was the frontman of the boy band.
"You're quite something," she said coldly and then tapped her shoulder. "Camera. I've recorded everything you just did. If you don't want your fans to see this, I suggest you get as far away from me as possible."
The man's expression changed instantly, though he remained skeptical. Who would wear a camera for no reason?
What he didn't know was that Anne had once been in a vulnerable situation, trapped and helpless. Even after being rescued, the trauma lingered.
Without evidence, she couldn't bring her attackers to justice and had to watch them walk free. The thought of them living comfortably while she suffered sleepless nights was unbearable. Since then, she'd made a habit of carrying a micro-camera, especially around celebrities who might try something inappropriate.
"Want to see the footage?" she offered.
Before he could respond, a worried female voice interrupted, "What's going on here?"
Anne explained everything to Thora, who was disgusted by the man's behavior.
"Ms. Waverly, let's go. We shouldn't waste time with such revolting creatures."
Anne was more than ready to leave, but as she passed by, he grabbed her ankle. She tried to pull away, shocked, but his grip tightened. His thumb even slipped beneath her pant leg, touching her skin. The contact made her nauseous, triggering flashbacks of traumatic memories. She trembled uncontrollably, unable to speak.
"Ms. Waverly!" Thora was about to call for help when someone else shouted even louder.
Looking up, she saw Anne being embraced by a tall man. His custom leather shoes were pressing down on the fallen man's wrist, grinding slightly. His voice was incredibly gentle, "It's alright. I'm here."
Thora's gossip radar went into overdrive. She'd suspected these two had something going on. Seeing them together—such a handsome man with such a beautiful woman—was captivating.
"Do you know who I am? Remove your foot or you'll pay dearly!" the man on the floor threatened.
Willard pressed down harder. His voice turned cold. "Whoever you are, tell your father that I'm Willard. If he wants to defend you, he's welcome to try."
The name revelation made the man's eyes widen in terror. "You're Willard?"
Ignoring him, Willard led Anne away. He knew about that year when she was cornered in an alley and nearly assaulted. Quinton had reported to him afterward that her mental state was poor, and even therapy hadn't helped much. He'd almost broken his resolve to check on her himself.
"Ann, I know an apology isn't enough, but I sincerely want to say I'm sorry."
Anne was too distraught to care about anything except escaping to somewhere safe. Willard's familiar pear blossom scent was comforting enough that she didn't push him away or leave his embrace. Instead, she held him tighter.
Sensing her dependence, Willard embraced her more firmly, wishing he could shield her from all harm.
As they approached the car, the man rushed over to block their path. Willard's cold gaze fell on his ankle—the injury had clearly been faked.
"Quinton."
Quinton appeared instantly, pinning the man to the ground. Yet the man showed no fear. "How could Willard possibly be here, dressed so casually? You don't look anything like the famous head of the Larson family. Using Willard's name will get you killed."
When Willard was in a good mood, he might have toyed with such a fool. But with Anne in distress, rage was building in his chest. He had no patience for dealing with an insect.
"Clean this up," he ordered.
"Yes, Mr. Larson," Quinton responded, dragging the man away and gagging him to prevent further stupidity.
Hayes opened the car door, shielding Willard's head as he entered with Anne in his arms. Just as Hayes was about to close the door, a shrill voice called out, "Wait!"
Thora bent down to speak to Willard. "Oscar, where are you taking Ms. Waverly?"
Willard gestured, and Hayes closed the door before telling Thora, "I'll take you back to the hotel."
Looking at the line of luxury cars, Thora congratulated herself on her deduction. Oscar wasn't just experiencing ordinary life—he was here for Anne! And they even shared a surname. What a coincidence!
She couldn't help asking Hayes, "I've heard of many prominent families. Which one does your boss belong to?"
Hayes remained politely distant. "It's better if you don't inquire about such matters."
Oh my. A mysterious powerful family she hadn't even heard of. Well, she wouldn't worry about Anne then. Seeing how Oscar's eyes had reddened with concern, it was clear he loved Anne deeply.
Halfway through the journey, Anne had composed herself. Today's incident was different from her past trauma. Once that moment passed, she felt better.
"Stop the car," she said.
Willard poured her a glass of warm water. "I'm heading to the hotel too. We're going the same way."
Anne ignored him and the water.
"You can ignore me completely, treat me with absolute coldness—I accept it all because I once treated you the same way. You can repay me a thousand times over. But please take care of your health."
Anne still didn't take the water, just turned to stare out the window, presenting him with an unforgiving profile.
Willard's lips curved slightly. He wasn't asking for much now—just to share the same space with her peacefully.
"If you don't want water now, that's fine. Tell me, how do you want to handle this?"
Anne touched her shoulder where the camera was. There were many ways to get revenge. She chose the most devastating: uploading the recorded footage online. That man would be ruined, his entertainment career over. Such people shouldn't remain in the industry where they could harm other women. But that alone wasn't enough—she needed Willard's help.
"You already have your methods. Why ask me? I don't want to talk about this anymore."
Hearing her choked voice, Willard immediately ordered his people to deal with the bastard who had frightened Anne. He deserved worse.
Having achieved her goal, Anne fell silent again, thinking that Willard wasn't so clever after all. He didn't even realize she was using him.
Willard knew perfectly well what she was doing. But he was just happy she was speaking to him at all, regardless of the reason.
Anne had no intention of staying any longer. At the hotel, she washed her face with cold water to compose herself, then checked out to return to Seaside City.
When Willard found out, he intercepted her at the door. "What's the rush? Rest for a couple more days before going back. Besides, don't you want to see the results?"
Anne didn't care about the results. She only wanted to return to her grandfather's old house, sleep properly, and in her dreams, talk to her grandfather and find comfort in his embrace—if only in memory.
Unwilling to force her, Willard ordered a private jet prepared.
Anne refused, booking two economy seats for herself and Thora instead.
"Ms. Waverly, what's really going on between you and Oscar?" Thora asked. "I can't figure it out."
Not understanding was for the best. Anne didn't want to be labeled as Willard's wife for the rest of her life.
"There's nothing between us. Stop prying."
Thora was perceptive enough to notice Anne's discomfort and dropped the subject. Just as she was about to take out her tablet, a shadow fell over her, accompanied by a familiar melodious voice she'd heard earlier.
"Oscar, what are you doing in economy class?"
Willard, now practically colleagues with Thora, patiently replied, "Just experiencing it."
Thora took the hint and asked no more.
The tray table in front of her was tapped. She looked up, confused.
"Take the window seat, please."
It was the first time Thora had heard "please" sound like a command. But she was happy to create an opportunity for them and quickly moved to the outer seat.
Anne didn't bother protesting. Willard was headstrong and wouldn't listen to her anyway.
As Thora settled into her new seat, she wondered where the original passenger had gone.
The original passenger had been upgraded to first class and was enjoying every luxury possible. Money really did make life better.
Meanwhile, after takeoff, Anne fell asleep against her seat. Despite the stable flight, she kept nodding off awkwardly, nearly hitting the seat in front. Willard quickly caught her head and guided it to rest on his shoulder.
Thora couldn't even focus on her show anymore. No TV romance could compare to what was happening right in front of her.
Throughout the entire flight, Willard didn't move once. After several hours, half his body was numb, but he never complained.
During this time, Thora tried multiple times to suggest he adjust his position, but to no avail—further proof that Oscar loved Anne to his very core.
In the airport bathroom later, she urged Anne to date Oscar. "It's a rare opportunity, Ms. Waverly! Oscar is tall, handsome, and now I've discovered he comes from an important family. You must seize this chance!"
When Anne first fell in love, all she wanted was to marry Willard. To be his wife, iron his suits, cook his meals. Back then, even her photography dreams came second to Willard. She never imagined how things would change, becoming what they were now.
"Thora, stop talking about this. Otherwise, I really won't be able to keep you working here."
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