Chapter 117: Go to Hollywood
After that night, Harvey Weinstein never said a word.
He didn't complain, didn't retaliate, didn't even mention what had happened.
Still, Aaron Anderson wasn't one to leave loose ends.
He asked Jack Wells to quietly keep tabs on Miramax — and on the Weinstein brothers in particular.
"Relax," Jack said, half-grinning. "Those two clowns are nothing compared to you now. One of Dawnlight's films makes more at the box office than their entire slate over two years."
Aaron stretched lazily and replied, "I don't lose sleep over them. Just… keep an eye on their female employees, and the actresses they work with. Harvey's the type who can't control himself. That might be useful later."
Jack chuckled. "At this rate, you won't need leverage. You'll steamroll them before long."
---
By early September, Sleepless in Seattle officially began production.
Aaron signed a new distribution deal with TriStar, who would take only 10% of the box office as a distribution fee — a clear sign of respect for Dawnlight's growing influence.
Meanwhile, Ghost had become a phenomenon.
Its domestic box office had crossed $170 million, while international sales soared past $250 million — cementing Dawnlight's rise as a Hollywood powerhouse.
But Aaron wasn't in Los Angeles to celebrate.
---
Venice, Italy — The Floating City
The Venice Film Festival had just opened, drawing filmmakers from every corner of the world.
Aaron arrived under the pretense of attending as a producer — but his real goal was to find the next gem for Dawnlight's international division.
He had another reason to be there, too:
Dawnlight's partner company, Legacy Entertainment, had a film — My Own Private Idaho — competing in the festival's main selection.
From his suite at the Monaco Grand Canal Hotel, Aaron sat by the window, a folder spread open on the table before him.
Outside, gondolas drifted across the moonlit canals, their reflections swaying like silver ribbons on the water.
He flipped through the official competition list:
The Mongolian Spirit, A Big Catch, Mississippi Masala, My Own Private Idaho, and Raise the Red Lantern.
Each one represented a different world, a different voice in cinema — and Aaron was here to decide which one was worth betting on.
He closed the folder, leaning back thoughtfully.
The sound of church bells echoed across the water, faint and solemn.
Then — a sharp knock on the door.
Aaron looked up.
"Come in," he called, standing as he crossed to the entrance.
When Aaron Anderson opened the door, standing before him was Sophie Marceau, dressed in a simple but effortlessly elegant outfit.
"Well?" she said, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "You called me here, aren't you going to invite me in?"
Aaron laughed softly and stepped aside, pulling her gently into his arms. The next moment, their lips met — urgent, unrestrained, as if months of distance were collapsing into that single breath.
Later, in the quiet of the hotel bedroom, Aaron brushed a strand of her chestnut hair from her face, studying her with a familiar warmth.
"You haven't changed, Sophie," he murmured. "Still dangerously charming."
She smiled and kissed him lightly. "And you… you've become quite the legend yourself. Ghost moved everyone. Even in Paris, people still talk about it."
Aaron grinned. "Then maybe you should stop hiding in Paris and come to Hollywood. You belong on the big stage."
She gave him a playful look. "Do you really think I should?"
"Why not?" Aaron leaned closer. "Your talent deserves more than French art-house films that nobody outside Cannes remembers. North African Front, Blue Symphony — both flopped. Beautiful, yes, but empty. You deserve better stories… and a better audience."
Sophie sighed, her expression softening. "So you're saying I should go to Hollywood — to be your muse?"
Aaron smirked. "More than that. You'd be my leading lady — and yes, only mine."
"Possessive as ever," she whispered, laughing as she rested her head against his chest. "Now hush… we're in Venice, not Hollywood."
---
For the next few days, Sophie accompanied Aaron to the festival's screenings and events — her presence turning every walk along the canals into a small scene from a film.
Outside a grand theater, Sophie looped her arm through his.
"They're showing a Chinese film," she said, glancing up at the poster. "Do you want to see it?"
Aaron adjusted his sunglasses, smiling. "Already did. Raise the Red Lantern. Dawnlight's in the middle of buying the North American rights."
"Oh? Really?" Sophie blinked, impressed.
"Yeah," Aaron continued. "The same director and actress made Ju Dou last year — it was nominated for the Palme d'Or at Cannes and even the Oscar for Best Foreign Film. Miramax handled the U.S. release. It only made two million, but it's still the highest-grossing Chinese film in North America."
"Interesting," Sophie said. "So now Dawnlight's venturing into foreign cinema?"
Aaron nodded. "We have to. I spent a fortune setting up Dawnlight's distribution arm — now I need content to keep the pipeline running. And world cinema is the next frontier."
Sophie smiled faintly, tugging his arm. "Then let's watch it together."
---
They entered the darkened theater and stayed through most of the film — the muted colors, the quiet despair, the beauty trapped within ritual and lantern light.
But before the credits rolled, Sophie slipped her hand into his and stood.
Moments later, they were walking along a bridge over the Grand Canal, the city glowing gold in the sunset. Sophie rinsed her mouth with a bottle of water, glancing back with a sly grin.
"Back to the hotel?" Aaron asked, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.
"Not sightseeing anymore?" she teased. "You said this was your first time in Venice."
"It is," Aaron replied, smiling. "That's why I called you here — to make it memorable."
Sophie laughed softly. "Then let's go. You were incorrigible in that theater."
Aaron's eyes glinted. "And I can be worse. But first… think about what I said. You and Hollywood. With me, you could go further than ever before."
Sophie sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused. "You're impossible. Let me think about it."
---
Meanwhile, Brad Grey, Dawnlight's head of distribution, had arrived in Venice to oversee My Own Private Idaho's promotion and negotiate new acquisitions.
Both Dawnlight and Orion Classics were bidding for Raise the Red Lantern's U.S. rights. But Orion's financial troubles made it a weak contender.
Dawnlight, flush with profits from Ghost, had the upper hand.
When the festival concluded, the Golden Lion went to The Mongolian Spirit, directed by Soviet filmmaker Nikita Mikhalkov.
My Own Private Idaho earned River Phoenix the Best Actor award,
while Raise the Red Lantern and two others shared the Silver Lion for Best Film.
As the applause faded and the lights dimmed, Aaron sat beside Sophie in the crowd, clapping quietly — his eyes already calculating the next move.
The future wasn't in Hollywood alone anymore.
It was in the stories the world hadn't yet seen — and Dawnlight would be the one to bring them to light.