Boss Tang left surrounded by four bodyguards, and Titus Zane put away the Gold Card.
This was his own tip, and he didn’t need to turn it in.
It was still early, so he turned and leaned on the railing to continue enjoying the scenery.
During Fashion Week, the rendezvous spot in Paris was teeming with people of all skin colors, but Asians with yellow skin were the main characters, of course.
People from back home are really fools with too much money, flying all this way just for an item of "handmade" craftsmanship!
Actually, in the era of Grandmother’s grandmother, there was no machine processing at all, and everything one ate, wore, or used was "handmade"!
Standing for a long time had made him a bit tired, so Titus Zane turned around, ready to leave.
A gust of wind blew over, messing up his hanging wavy hair and obstructing his view.
Titus Zane raised his hand to fix his long hair, but just then—
He bumped right into a man rushing past.
"Oh, I’m sorry!" Titus Zane quickly apologized; since he was on the streets of Paris, he subconsciously spoke in French.
Felix Shaw looked down, his hands steadying the shoulders of the woman who had bumped into his chest. When the face, familiar yet greatly changed, came into view, Felix was momentarily startled, then furrowed his brow.
"Ah?" Titus Zane instinctively responded, and when he saw Felix Shaw in front of him, his lips curved into a smile, "It’s me."
"You’re not dead?" Felix’s brow furrowed more tightly, but Titus Zane playfully tilted his head, "Did someone say I was dead?" It must have been that man.
"Oh, no, no," Felix Shaw replied dismissively, his peach-blossom eyes looking around. He pushed Titus Zane back slightly, "Sorry, I’m in a hurry!"
"Not seeing you!" Titus Zane said in French. Felix Shaw was startled, mistaking it for a farewell due to his limited French, turned to wave indifferently, and even copied Titus Zane to say "Not seeing you" in French!
Watching Felix Shaw’s hurried retreat, Titus Zane cocked his head and raised his eyebrows; by now, he and Mia Foster must be married after three years.
Titus Zane felt he could become a fortune-teller, seeing whoever he was thinking about.
Carrying a small backpack and strolling the streets of Paris, familiar with the city, he didn’t worry about getting lost and thus needed no ride anywhere.
Walking along the cobbled path, he hadn’t gone far when a familiar silhouette caught his eye.
Titus Zane stopped, watching a man and a woman holding hands, walking unwittingly towards him, his eyes widening with surprise or perhaps... panic.
"Mia Foster?" When Mia Foster was only five meters away, Titus Zane exclaimed in shock.
Three years ago, if he had encountered Mia Foster, he would have turned and left before she could see him.
But today, he was no longer the proud and aloof Titus Zane who lived for art; now, for the sake of survival, he could shamelessly sell his charms.
On the foreign streets, hearing someone calling her name in her native language, Mia Foster’s conversation with the blonde, blue-eyed handsome man came to an abrupt halt. She looked up at Nelly Brown standing within five meters, first stunned, then letting go of the handsome man’s hand and running over.
"Titus Zane..." Mia Foster plunged into Titus Zane’s arms, and he opened his to catch her.
"Are you okay? How come you’re here? How are you doing now? Did you know, when I flew back from abroad, you had already left the hospital, and I’ve been searching for you for a long time..." After the hug, Mia Foster bombarded him with a stream of questions.
Titus Zane knew that although they were not close friends, Mia Foster was indeed a friend worth making.