The color tone of the villa was primarily off-white, which made it seem a little cold—just like Nicole's temperament. Both of their bedrooms were on the second floor, but whether intentionally or not, they were separated by quite a distance.
Ryan's bedroom was three times larger than his previous one. It was connected to a large walk-in closet. Although the new piano, desk and bookshelf, and the glass display case for his Oscar filled up a good amount of space, the room still felt a bit empty.
After organizing his manuscripts and musical instruments, Ryan placed a photo of him and Nicole in the most prominent spot. He hung the platinum necklace over the picture frame. For other orphans, this necklace might carry extraordinary significance, but for him, it was just an extremely beautiful necklace. He had no interest in knowing who his parents were in this life.
The room was also equipped with a separate phone line, which would make arguing with Natalie easier in the future—no longer would every call end with Nicole assuming they had just had another fight.
Thinking of Natalie, Ryan dialed the New York number. After hearing Mrs. Sherry calling out, a flurry of footsteps followed, and then Natalie's voice came through.
"Ryan? Why haven't you been answering your phone?"
"Nicole and I just moved. This is the new number and address. Write it down."
"Oh, that explains it." There was the sound of Natalie asking for a pen and paper, then she said, "And congratulations, Mr. Best Supporting Actor!"
Even though it was a congratulatory remark, the sour tone in her voice was unmistakable—even from thousands of miles away, Ryan could sense it.
"Come on, Nat. Didn't you read the papers today? They're all saying Joe Pesci was robbed. Some even outright say I didn't deserve the Oscar, that I only won it through PR."
"Those tabloids always love to attack you. That's nothing new, right? Didn't you see the three major newspapers? They're all praising your achievements from last year." Rarely, Natalie actually comforted him for once.
Ryan was just joking anyway. After every Oscars, such voices always emerged. People naturally sympathize with the ones who didn't win. Even someone as revered as Lao Yanjing couldn't please everyone—let alone him.
"Nat, if I write a script for you, would you star in it?" After a bit more small talk, Ryan tentatively asked. After all, Natalie had her own pride and ambition, and before making a move, he had to test the waters. If he miscalculated, it could backfire.
"Hmm..." The other end of the line seemed to be pondering. After a long pause, Natalie finally said, "If it's something like Home Alone, then count me out."
"I promise, absolutely not."
It was rare that they didn't argue on the phone. After hanging up, Ryan quietly recalled everything. Natalie was still too young, and even in his previous life, her early works had sparked significant controversy. It would be better to wait a bit longer.
Still, if this work came from him, it would undoubtedly attract a wave of criticism. But that was okay—he could at least take some of the flak off his idol from his previous life.
Alright, he admitted it. He had been a total fanboy in his past life. He had seen every movie she'd ever been in more than once—even the ones where she had just a minor role, even the artsy films he usually despised. At one point, her image was like a recurring nightmare, haunting his mind until the day she stood on the Oscars stage, holding that little golden statue. When he saw her bloated figure and the Frenchman next to her, the dream shattered.
Of course, while he had been obsessed and a bit crazy, he wasn't the type to go full John Lennon fan and shoot his idol, nor was he going to pull a Hinckley and try to assassinate a president for attention.
Despite the new furnishings, the villa felt somewhat empty with only Ryan and Nicole living there. But there were benefits too. For one, Ryan's piano practice wouldn't draw neighbors' complaints anymore. And most importantly, those pesky paparazzi had a harder time getting close.
The villa was equipped with a surveillance system at the front gate. If anyone dared trespass, they could expect jail time. Besides, this was Beverly Hills—home to countless rich and famous people, meaning the heat would be spread around.
...
When facing foundations and capital, reporters and paparazzi tread carefully. They knew well the power of money in this country. But if their opponent was a welfare home director—or a Black director at that—the amount of pressure they could bring was staggering.
If it were the government or police taking action, they'd have to worry about legal procedure. But these journalists, willing to dive into hell for a story, wouldn't hesitate to use bribery, disguise, manipulation—any method necessary. Besides, anyone with eyes could see the state of most welfare homes in America.
In just three days, everything about Norston Orphanage's shady past was dug up and plastered across newspapers, displayed before the American public.
To put it simply, before 1986, the orphanage had few problems. But after the old director retired and the new one took over, it became a living hell for orphans.
Child abuse, embezzlement, violation of adoption and child protection laws, unauthorized use of others' property—one by one, the charges all landed on the head of Director Macy, the woman whose heart was as black as her skin. In an instant, she became infamous across the nation.
As more and more reports were published, some people recalled the California Reading Post's article and immediately understood why Ryan Jenkins hadn't thanked that director. If he had expressed gratitude after experiencing all that, he wouldn't be a super-genius, but a super fool.
At the same time, the California Reading Post became the target of widespread criticism—even from media outlets that had previously been allies.
On this blue planet, no matter the country, political correctness is essential—especially when it comes to topics like "freedom" and "human rights."
The reporter who wrote the article was quietly dismissed from the paper, and the California Reading Post's editor-in-chief personally issued a front-page apology to Ryan.
Police quickly took Director Macy and a few of her Black assistants into custody. This was no longer just a matter of apologies—they now faced multiple felony charges.
And the story didn't end there. Major media outlets began exploring the state of America's orphanages and adoption laws, calling for more compassion for orphans and urging the Supreme Court to revise the existing laws to close loopholes and prevent future abuse.
At this point, it wasn't just print media anymore. The big three TV networks joined in, and the issue became a nationwide focus.
Though Ryan had set off the explosion, he never expected it to develop like this. What had seemed like a simple matter triggered a national discussion—and brought him unexpected benefits.
Most directly, his fame skyrocketed. If previously his influence was limited to film and literary circles, he was now a national celebrity—his spotlight even outshining the U.S. military fresh off its Gulf War victory.
Under immense public pressure, the revised Adoption Law was quickly introduced. To distinguish it from the old version, the media and public simply dubbed it the Jenkins Act.
And so, the "unruly boy" etched his unique mark into the history of America.
After the dust settled a bit, Ryan had Ms. Kingsley donate a million dollars to the American Orphan Charity Foundation in his name. It wasn't a huge amount, but it earned him a good reputation. Why not?
Sitting at the piano in the living room, Ryan's long fingers touched the black and white keys. Moonlight Sonata sounded unusually joyful—just like his mood.
He admitted he had never been a magnanimous person. He was grateful to those who treated him well—like Nicole—but when it came to those who crossed him, he could be ruthlessly vengeful, willing to wait years if needed.
In this country that so highly values individual freedom, there was no room for that half-quoted saying: "Repay kindness with kindness, but how to repay resentment?"
The media was abuzz with talk of orphanages and adoption laws, and he was at the center of it all. He could only hide at home for now—if he stepped out anywhere in Los Angeles, he'd be mobbed in minutes.
This semester had been even more absurd than the last. At least he had spent over a month on campus last time; this semester, he could count his school days on one hand. If not for the donations and sponsorships he'd given, the school might have already sent him a warning of expulsion.
Last year had been hectic, but also hugely rewarding. Not just for himself—even Nicole Kidman, through her association with him, had shed her "flower vase" label and established herself as a serious actress in Hollywood.
Of course, no one overlooked her cool, stunning looks. With a Best Supporting Actress nomination and the success of Sleepless in Seattle, many advertisers came knocking with checks in hand. While she hadn't yet reached the exaggerated level of earning millions for a four-minute ad like in his previous life, her bank account had certainly fattened, and her salary was approaching that of Hollywood's top actresses.
"Ryan, are you ready? We should go." Nicole, dressed in a bright red evening gown, walked into the living room.
"Nicole, I've been ready for an hour." Looking at the glammed-up Nicole, Ryan sighed. Women always took forever to get ready—this time wasn't too bad. On Oscars night, he'd waited four full hours for her.
They were heading to a charity gala hosted by Gerald, the Warner Bros. executive in charge of film. Most of the attendees were from the entertainment and media circles. As two of the hottest figures of the past year, they had naturally received invitations.