Chapter 173: An Antique-Level Home

Chapter 173: Chapter 173: An Antique-Level Home

Irene started the car, glanced sideways at him, and grumbled,

"You’re worried about this now? Why didn’t you think of it when you took the script? You knew war romances don’t play well in summer blockbuster season, but you insisted on taking it, going on about ’challenging yourself with an art-house film.’

And look what happened? Box office and reviews both tanked. Now you’re afraid of what reporters will write? Lisa has weathered every kind of storm. If she could date a divorced man like you, she knew what the papers would say."

Nicholas bristled for a moment, then shot back, unconvinced.

"At least I dare to try different genres! Unlike you, locked into commercial films, even mixing your love life with work. Loren is the son of Fox’s president, and Mean Girls, The Italian Job, and Pirates of the Caribbean all had Fox investment. When you were with him, don’t tell me you weren’t ’mixing business with pleasure.’ Getting cheated on is your own fault."

"When I met him, I didn’t even know who his father was!" Irene frowned, impatience edging her voice.

"Besides, Fox picks my films because they have potential, not because I begged for investment. If anything, they should worry I won’t give them the film! Unlike you—you only look at the director’s name when you take a role. That thriller last time? So what if the director had an Oscar? The script was full of holes. It still flopped."

"That’s different!" Nicholas straightened his neck. "I’m an actor. The director’s style matters! Still better than you. You’re a director who doesn’t know how to date. Being kept in the dark is one thing, but getting cornered by reporters after a breakup? Isn’t that embarrassing?"

"You’re great at dating! You’re in your thirties, got divorced just like that, and a few months later you’re with someone new. No wonder people talk about your ’seamless transition’!

You’re impulsive with roles, but hesitant with everything else. You can’t even finish a sentence with reporters, and I have to bail you out." Irene rolled her eyes.

"If you’d been decisive at the airport and left with me, would we have been photographed so much?"

Nicholas fell silent, leaning back against the seat dejectedly. He reached out and touched the suitcase beside him.

"I was just worried about my ’babies’... By the way, what really happened with you and Loren? Is it really what the reporters said? Did he cheat?"

At the mention of Loren, Irene’s tone softened. "It’s nothing. Incompatible personalities. A peaceful breakup." She didn’t want to discuss her private life further, so she changed tack.

"You should worry about yourself. Your cousin-in-law just had surgery, and instead of staying home to take care of her, you insist on bringing this box of ’babies’ to Los Angeles, talking about ’finding inspiration.’ I think you just want to avoid playing nurse."

"I was afraid of disturbing her rest!" Nicholas defended himself. "Besides, L.A. has a lot of film and TV resources. I might find a good script. By the way, is casting for your Pirates of the Caribbean set? Who’s playing Captain Jack? Why didn’t you ask me to audition? That role is interesting."

Irene glanced at him. "Your taste is normal for once, but didn’t you say you weren’t interested in my kind of commercial film? So I didn’t call you. Right now we’re deciding between Jim Carrey and Johnny Depp. We’ll see after the makeup tests. The new actors start training next week. If you have nothing to do, don’t come to set to bother me. And in the future, get someone else to pick you up for small things like this, okay?"

Nicholas pursed his lips. "Who wants to go to your set? I’m busy looking for new scripts! But... if there’s a cameo that suits me, like a pirate captain or something, I might consider it. I haven’t played a pirate yet. Cameo appearance, no fee."

Irene: "Then don’t take any roles for the second half of the year. Stay home and be on call for me."

Nicholas: "Wow, it’s just a cameo. Do you have to take my whole second half of the year? I could lead a film in that time!"

Irene: "So you don’t get bored and take some messy, pointless movie and waste your life."

Nicholas opened his mouth to argue, but thinking of his recent box office numbers, he swallowed the words.

Irene parked smoothly outside the carved iron gate and looked around with curiosity. The mansion in front of her was medieval in style.

Its blue-gray limestone exterior had weathered the years, giving off a warm, matte glow. Deep green ivy covered the corners of the walls, the leaves twining around retro cast-iron window frames and outlining the elegant silhouette of the pointed attic.

Pushing open the heavy oak door, the hinges let out a low creak, thick with history.

The foyer was high and spacious. A brass chandelier hung from the dome, its vine reliefs polished bright by time. Warm yellow light spilled onto the dark mahogany stairs. The banister’s wood grain was delicate and warm, worn smooth by years of hands.

Several classical oil paintings hung on the walls, their frames slightly oxidized at the edges. The stone fireplace in the corner wasn’t lit, but it radiated a heavy sense of history. The silver candlesticks on the mantel were dusted with a thin layer of age, everything speaking to "aged but still exquisite."

"My god," Irene said, following Nicholas inside, her fingertips brushing the banister’s carvings. Her tone held unconcealed envy.

"This house is incredible, isn’t it? Medieval-style stone walls, pointed windows, even the furniture is antique-level. Classical and grand. It’s like a movie set."

She turned to look at the spacious living room, where heavy velvet curtains hung at the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, and the old oak floorboards creaked slightly underfoot.

"But it really shows its age. The patterns on the wallpaper have faded, and the tassels on the curtains are frayed. Living in a house this big all by yourself—isn’t it wasteful? Upstairs and downstairs, there must be at least a dozen rooms. You’d need three servants just to clean it. Don’t you feel lonely coming home at night to all this empty space?"

Nicholas leaned against the stone fireplace, watching her mix of envy and irrepressible grumbling, and took the chance to fire back.

"Wasteful is still better than some people, right? You’re an adult, yet you still live with your parents, without even the courage to live on your own. Are you still not weaned?" He raised an eyebrow, eyeing Irene, his tone full of provocation.

At that, Irene’s eyebrows shot up. She retorted sharply, with a hint of mockery:

"Not being weaned is still better than you. When you divorced Patricia, why didn’t you give her this house? You had your wedding right here in this living room, and your wedding photos used to hang by the fireplace.

She was with you from nobody to now, and after the divorce she didn’t even get a decent house. How do you have the nerve to lecture me?"

The smile on Nicholas’s face froze instantly. A flicker of discomfort crossed his eyes, and he instinctively avoided Irene’s gaze.

"That’s our private business. Don’t meddle in it."