Jack was furious.
His emotions finally spiraled out of control.
He couldn't understand—nor did he want to—why chasing a role and seizing an opportunity had to make him the villain.
"I thought you always prided yourself on being honest and aboveboard."
Jack looked at Anson, unable to hide his disappointment.
Anson simply laughed.
The one who stabbed him in the back was now accusing him of lacking integrity?
Had he misheard?
But looking at Jack's expression, Anson realized he was serious. That realization made Anson's smile even brighter. He hadn't planned to respond. Jack had his views, and Anson had his stance. There was no need to convince each other. They could stick to their respective perspectives and move on.
However, now Jack had the nerve to shift blame and accuse him of wrongdoing. Twisting the facts so blatantly, Anson wasn't about to take the fall for this. He wasn't that noble.
"Yes. I was worried about you getting the role," Anson said, his smile unwavering.
He admitted it. Just like that?
"When I was lying in the hospital, uncertain of my condition and unsure of what tomorrow would bring, I had no idea that an on-set accident could cost me this role. So, shouldn't I be worried?"
"Remember, I have my career to protect too. I know what an outstanding actor you are. I know how perfect you are for this role. And I worried I'd lose my leverage."
"But you're my friend. I know you're also searching for opportunities, seeking a breakthrough in your career. So, I couldn't and wouldn't ask you to decline Columbia Sony's invitation."
"I don't mind you competing. Show your charm. I'll show my skills. Let's leave the final decision to Columbia Sony."
"What I mind isn't your choice, but your secrecy. You didn't even have the courage to look me in the eye and tell me directly."
"That's not how it should've been."
Jack's eyes still burned with anger and frustration. "I don't see the difference here."
"You're saying that I tell you or don't tell you—what then?"
"What changes? If you don't mind me auditioning, what's the difference?"
"In Hollywood, there are a thousand and one auditions happening every day. Am I supposed to check every time if my friends are competing for the same role?"
"Ridiculous."
Was this argument meaningful?
Not at all.
Because Jack stubbornly ignored the critical context—Anson's injury and hospitalization—and cherry-picked facts to twist the narrative.
They were going in circles, like a ghost hitting a wall, endlessly returning to the same point.
This conversation only made them seem foolish.
Communication could solve most problems—but not always.
Anson looked at Jack. "If you truly believe you did nothing wrong, why do you feel guilty?"
Jack: "I don't."
Anson: "While I was in the hospital, you never showed up. Not even a phone call. I thought it was because of guilt. I thought deep down, you still considered me a friend. That you realized Columbia Sony's audition offer wasn't so innocent. But now, it seems I was just deluding myself."
Jack froze.
Staring blankly, he looked at Anson. Anson's smile remained bright and dazzling, but there was a trace of bitterness and resignation beneath it.
Jack hadn't expected this.
He opened his mouth, trying to argue, but no words came. His thoughts were empty, and his voice lingered in his throat, unable to find an outlet.
Anson shrugged lightly, shifting his gaze to the other three people present. Exhaling, he said, "Now I can confirm with absolute certainty—I really am that egocentric Hollywood star, convinced the world revolves around me and that my thoughts should be everyone's thoughts."
"Well then, I've made a fool of myself. Time to reflect."
Sarcasm, wit, and sharp humor—fully unleashed.
Claire, who had remained silent throughout, couldn't help herself. A soft laugh escaped, her smile blossoming like a flower.
However, not everyone shared her amusement.
Ryan gave Claire a reproachful glare, seemingly scolding her for laughing at the wrong time. But clearly, Claire didn't care.
Annie, meanwhile, kept her focus on Anson and Jack, unable to conceal her concern.
Anson appeared unusually at ease as he turned back to Jack.
"I think it's time to wrap this up. I've said everything I wanted to say. After stating our positions, we should learn to move on, right?"
"Jack, don't worry. I'm fine. Didn't Ryan just say? I kept the role, and my latest release is a success. I have nothing to be concerned about. So, we're good now."
"How about it, friend?"
As he spoke, Anson even patted Jack's shoulder in a friendly, Hollywood-esque gesture, showcasing his maturity and poise like a seasoned player.
But Jack couldn't smile.
Anson didn't wait for a response. "Well then, I won't intrude on your gathering any longer. I have a show to prepare for later. Enjoy yourselves."
Turning, he walked away.
Anson's departure was smooth and unhurried, with time to bid farewell to Jim, Rebecca, and others in the bar—
The scene in the corner hadn't escaped their notice. Jim and Rebecca both approached to check on Anson.
Anson reassured them repeatedly, insisting he was fine and there was no need to worry. He promised to see them at tomorrow's show before finally pushing open the bar door and leaving.
The snow had stopped.
Outside, the sky had cleared. Even at night, looking up through the steel jungle, thick clouds had dispersed, revealing faintly twinkling stars amid Manhattan's dazzling lights.
Even the once-relentless wind had softened, becoming gentler.
The temperature seemed to have risen slightly.
Standing by the street, Anson looked left and right. Traffic was busy, cars zipping by, but every yellow cab was occupied. Not a single empty one in sight.
Indeed, when you needed a taxi in Manhattan, you could never find one.
As Anson prepared to walk, the door behind him suddenly swung open.
With a bang, a rush of warm air spilled out, along with a stream of golden light.
Annie rushed out in a hurry, her scarf loosely draped around her neck, dragging on the ground like a tail. She didn't care, fumbling with her coat as she anxiously glanced around.
Anson turned and immediately saw her frantic state. Following her gaze, he called out, "Can I help you with something?"
Annie: "I'm looking for someone—tall, with a beard, carrying a guitar."
Anson: …"He just got into a cab."
Annie froze, her busy movements coming to a halt. She finally turned toward the voice and saw the "helpful stranger." Her expression and body froze as if hit by a Medusa spell.
Anson, looking serious, said, "That's New York for you, right? When you need a cab, they're nowhere. When you don't, they're everywhere."
"Such is life."
(End of chapter)