America: The neighbor's wife is so incredibly hospitable!

A voyage through the Mediterranean is a moving feast.

The journey from Sardinia to Cannes is not long.

But aboard the Leviathan, the journey felt exceptionally long and enchanting.

Because all the women on the ship were busy with one thing:

Trying on clothes.

"This won't do! It's too revealing! The media will say I'm just some internet celebrity trying to crash the red carpet!"

In the master bedroom's walk-in closet, which rivals those in a top-tier shopping mall, Jessica was facing the mirror.

He angrily threw a Chanel haute couture dress on the ground.

"And this one?" Katie emerged from a pile of clothes, holding up a short dress with exaggerated puff sleeves. "I think this looks like something out of a fairy tale."

"More like Disney's runaway employees," Jessica retorted scathingly.

"you!"

The two girls started fighting again, of course, amidst the pile of silk and lace worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Chen An leaned against the doorway, holding a glass of freshly decanted Madeleine red wine, leisurely admiring this "beautiful girl changing clothes" picture.

Sarah and Madeline, on the other hand, seemed much more at ease.

As mature women, they know that on the red carpet, elegance is more important than showing skin.

Madeline chose a black velvet gown, paired with her family's heirloom emerald jewelry, exuding a noble and aloof elegance.

Sarah chose a silver-gray satin dress, which was elegant and sophisticated.

"Ann, do you really think we should walk the red carpet?"

Sarah walked over with some concern and helped Chen An straighten his collar.

"That's Eileen's territory. Bringing so many people... won't it look like a protest?"

"A protest?"

Chen An smiled and casually pinched her waist.

"No. We're going to 'protect' the emperor."

He picked up his phone; a text message from Erin Wayne had just appeared on his screen.

There was no flirting as usual, only a short line of text:

If it's convenient, please come as soon as possible. I think I've run into some... French arrogance trouble.

……

3 PM. Cannes Old Port.

As the core area of ​​the film festival, the sea here is already filled with various luxury yachts.

On this special day, even if you are a Saudi prince, you can only have your boat adrift outside the Gulf if you don't book six months in advance.

But the Leviathan is clearly not subject to this rule.

"beep--!!!"

A deep, resonant whistle rang out, startling the seagulls in the harbor into flight.

The 80-meter-long black behemoth ignored the small flag waved by the dispatcher.

Like a moving obsidian castle, it slowly approached the berth opposite the most central "Cinema Palace".

"Are they crazy?! What is that ship trying to do?"

"That berth is reserved for the organizing committee chairman and the famous French producer Pierre Dupont!"

On the pier, a group of reporters wearing media passes and tourists who came to watch the spectacle exclaimed in surprise.

A white, medium-sized yacht was moored there. Although it wasn't small, it looked like a Chihuahua meeting a Tibetan Mastiff next to the Leviathan.

In the bridge, Captain Andrei held a walkie-talkie, his face cold.

"This is the Titan. We request permission to dock. If you don't let us through, we'll try to squeeze in."

"You're breaking the rules! I'm calling the police!" came a roar in French-accented English over the walkie-talkie.

"Whatever. But my boss said that if he scratches your boat's paint, he'll buy you a new one."

"But if it prevents him from disembarking for dinner, he'll buy the entire dock."

This is utterly unreasonable and domineering.

But that's just the style of the ship's owner.

After the white yacht had to sheepishly move aside, the Leviathan docked smoothly.

The gangway was lowered, and two rows of burly men in black suits and sunglasses came down first, quickly clearing a passage on the dock.

Next, Chen An made a dazzling entrance with his "harem," a harem that could outshine any movie poster.

The flashes of light instantly merged into one.

……

Martinez Hotel, penthouse suite.

Erin Wayne was sitting on the sofa, looking somewhat pale.

Standing in front of her was a portly French man with a small mustache, arrogantly blowing smoke rings.

"Miss Wayne, you have to understand. This is Cannes, a temple of art. Not a place like Hollywood, full of the stench of money."

The French man, Pierre Dupont, spread his hands, his tone full of arrogance.

"Your film, The Call of the Wild, is too commercial."

"I have a few close friends on the jury, and they think this is an insult to the art of film."

"If you want this film to even get a nomination, or just to have a good screening at the main venue..."

He moved closer to Eileen, the strong scent of cologne making her nauseous.

"Come to my yacht tonight. We can have a deeper discussion... about what true 'French art' really is."

Unspoken rules.

Moreover, it was a blatant threat.

Eileen clenched her fist. She was a powerful actress in Hollywood.

But here, in this so-called European art and culture circle, this group of self-important old white men still hold the power of life and death.

"What if I refuse?" Eileen asked coldly.

"reject?"

Pierre laughed. "Then your premiere tonight might encounter a 'technical glitch'."

Or, tomorrow's newspapers might carry some "devastating comments about your acting."

"You can give it a try."

A deep, magnetic male voice suddenly rang out at the doorway.

"But I guarantee that your tongue may not be in your mouth by tomorrow's newspaper."

Pierre turned around abruptly.

The suite door had been pushed open at some point.

Chen An stood there leisurely with his hands in his pockets, followed by a group of beautiful women with different auras.

"Who are you? How did you get in? Where are your bodyguards?" Pierre roared.

"Your bodyguard? He looks like he's sleeping in the hallway."

Chen An waved his hand, and security guards came up from behind, carrying two unconscious French men, and threw them on the ground like trash.

"install!"

When Eileen saw Chen An, her forced strength crumbled instantly.

She jumped up from the sofa and threw herself into Chen An's arms without hesitation.

"They bullied me..." she said, her voice trembling with tears, like a wronged little girl.

"I know."

Chen An patted her back, the touch warming his heart. "That's why I came. To support you."

He looked up at the French producer who was completely terrified.

"Pierre DuPont?"

Chen An walked up to him and looked down at this so-called bigwig in the art world.

"I heard you think my story... is tainted with the stench of money?"

"Is that your story?" Pierre stammered.

"I was the inspiration for the screenplay for 'The Call of the Wild.' I was also the biggest investor."

Chen An pulled a checkbook from his pocket and slapped it across Pierre's face.

"Since you find the smell of money unpleasant, I'll use a more direct method to shut you up."