Half of the flirtatious glances he sent were blocked by the other party’s straight-man wall. This initial setback didn’t make him feel discouraged; instead, it ignited a fire in his belly. It was probably similar to a hunter chasing deer—the more agile the prey, the more fitting the gun feels in your hand.

He didn’t really listen to their Q&A; he just brazenly yet discreetly observed the lines and contours of his body with his eyes, as if admiring a perfect sculpture in an art museum—full of longing, full of imagination.

The press conference lasted two hours. After it ended, William Carter went to the restroom. The venue was a high-end hotel with a rather complex layout. William Carter wandered around but couldn’t find it. On the way, he ran into a staff member and smiled, “Hi, do you know where the restroom is?”

The staff member was a young girl. Seeing William Carter, she seemed a bit shy. “Turn right—oh no, turn left and go to the end, there’s a VIP restroom…”

“Thank you.” William Carter tilted his head and gave her a sweet smile, hands in his pockets as he headed in the direction she indicated.

As soon as he walked in, his phone rang. William Carter glanced at the caller ID, his brows furrowing.

Calling all night, really not tired, huh.

“If I remember correctly, we never even started, did we?” William Carter held the phone between his shoulder and ear while washing his hands. “I don’t think I did anything wrong… Did I? You want to date me?”

He let out a soft laugh, shook the water off his hands, pulled a few tissues from the box nearby, and carefully wiped his fingers. “I remember the first time we met, I said I don’t do relationships. It’s just that you’re my type, and I was bored, so I went out for a drink. Who knew after a few words I’d realize you…”

He dragged out the last syllable, as if hesitating over his wording.

He hesitated so long that his tone turned completely cold, and he said slowly, word by word, “Ut-ter-ly-worth-less.”

The person on the other end kept talking, to the point that William Carter was getting annoyed. “Are you serious? Don’t make me laugh. The thing I hate most is hearing someone say they’re serious. It’s all bullshit. Do you think you’re the tragic heroine in some melodrama?”

Just last night you were flirting with someone else at the bar, practically ready to hook up right there. And now you have the nerve to come here and profess your feelings.

“We’re all adults. If you keep your dignity, maybe next time we run into each other we can still have a drink together. None of us are saints—if you had the time, you’d already be hooking up with someone new. Why waste your energy on me?” He shook his hand, and the voice on the other end suddenly got much louder, making his ears ache. He frowned, took the phone in his hand, and the smile vanished from his face.

Even his voice changed.

“I’m warning you. Stay the hell away from me.”

He crumpled the tissues he’d used to dry his hands and tossed them in the trash. “Say one more word and I’ll find someone to ruin that thing between your legs. You’re just lying in bed getting fucked anyway, so what’s the point of keeping it?”

The person on the other end suddenly went silent.

William Carter laughed, looked at himself in the mirror, adjusted his expression, and smiled softly.

“Don’t be nervous, I’m just joking. How could I bear to?” His voice turned gentle to the extreme, leaning against the restroom wall as if soothing an intimate lover. “So be good, and disappear from my sight, okay?”

After hanging up, William Carter was about to go into a stall when, unexpectedly, someone came out from inside.

Gray-blue shirt, tall build—it was the male lead James Turner, who had just been shining on stage.

Shit, busted.

Caught in his “true colors,” William Carter didn’t panic. He remained calm, even graceful, and gave James Turner an angelic smile.

“What a coincidence.”

James Turner’s brows furrowed slightly, and there was an undisguised look of disgust on his face as he looked at William Carter. No, it wasn’t that he couldn’t hide it—actors are best at hiding their emotions.

He simply couldn’t be bothered to hide his disgust.

James Turner’s gaze dropped, noticing the silver badge pinned to William Carter’s chest, symbolizing his status as a fan. William Carter noticed the look, glanced down himself, touched the badge, and smiled, “Mm… you’re not mistaken, I’m your fan.”

James Turner ignored him, walked around him to the sink, and turned on the faucet.

William Carter shrugged, went into a stall, and closed the door with his foot.

Got hated by his idol. Miscalculation, miscalculation.

Normally, he’d never slip up at a first meeting. Pretending to be close and friendly was second nature to him. After all, the so-called “little angel” persona is more approachable—people are always so quick to hand over their trust to those who seem kind. This time, luck just wasn’t on his side. William Carter irritably added that clingy nuisance to his blacklist.

Whatever, he was never a real fan anyway—just used him as a sex fantasy.

To be hated by your own idol—does that count as a special kind of attention? William Carter mocked himself, slammed the door shut, walked to the huge mirror for a look. The gentle, kind person in the reflection wasn’t him at all. Leaving the restroom, he exited the venue directly.