The richest actor in Hollywood.

"Cheers!"

In the grand ballroom of the hotel, a tall Russian man raised his glass and loudly proclaimed, "Let's all congratulate Maria! Congratulations to my daughter!"

"Cheers!"

A dozen people simultaneously raised their glasses, followed by a mix of well-wishes directed at Sharapova.

Winning the US Open Women's Singles Championship is a milestone worth celebrating for any tennis player. Since Sharapova's victory, she has been in a state of euphoria. Upon returning, she had a few drinks as well—who cares about those damned American laws when not in public?

She downed another glass of champagne, and as the alcohol began to take effect, her cheeks flushed.

The ballroom remained noisy, and the crowd around Sharapova gradually thinned. At this moment, her father, Sharapov, approached her.

"I saw you talking with Matthew Horner."

Hearing her father's question, Sharapova not only didn't deny it but instead became animated. "What a great surprise today!"

She grabbed Sharapov's arm, swaying it as she spoke. "The organizers actually invited Matthew to present my award. I'm so happy! This is the most memorable championship I've ever won!"

Sharapov patted Sharapova gently, "You're now the US Open champion; you need to maintain your image!"

Sharapova continued to sway, "You know very well that my favorite star is Matthew Horner..."

"What did you talk about?" Sharapov recalled that Matthew was a top Hollywood star.

"Well..." Sharapova didn't hide anything. "Matthew said he's a fan of mine and wanted my autographed photo. I also wanted his, so we chatted for a while."

Sharapov thought for a moment and said, "If he wants one, give it to him."

He had read some entertainment news recently, and it seemed that Matthew Horner's pay per movie had reached $20 million.

"I already picked one out."

Sharapova pulled out her phone and then took a photo from the pocket of her casual jacket. It was a carefully chosen picture of her during a match, undoubtedly one of the most beautiful photos from all her competitions.

Her phone vibrated suddenly. Sharapova glanced at it—it was an unknown number.

She handed the photo to Sharapov for safekeeping and went to a quieter corner of the ballroom to take the call. As soon as she spoke into the phone, her already excited face lit up even more.

After a short conversation, she hurried back.

"What's up?" Sharapov noticed that his daughter seemed a bit too excited. "Who called?"

Sharapova waved her phone excitedly in front of her father. "It was Matthew! Matthew called! He's coming over!"

She grabbed Sharapov and pulled him along. "Hurry up! He'll be here any minute!"

Sharapov didn't say anything and followed her. Sharapova's voice was loud enough to catch the attention of some people in the ballroom, and they followed suit out of curiosity.

However, they were puzzled as Sharapova and her father didn't head downstairs but instead went to the rooftop.

Why go to the rooftop? The hotel rooftop was a terrace with a helicopter landing pad—who would go up there to catch the night breeze?

Sharapova dragged her father to the brightly lit rooftop, where they saw lights approaching from the sky, followed by the sound of a helicopter engine growing louder.

More people appeared on the rooftop as the last person arrived. A medium-sized white helicopter was descending slowly onto the rooftop's helipad.

"Who is it?" The curious people murmured among themselves.

"Dad! Matthew! It's Matthew!" Sharapova pointed at the helicopter and shouted, "Matthew's here!"

Sharapov raised his hand to shield his eyes from the strong wind stirred up by the helicopter's rotor. Through his fingers, he saw the white helicopter clearly landing on the helipad.

"This Matthew Horner sure knows how to make an entrance," he muttered, though his words were drowned out by the engine's roar.

Sharapova didn't care about anything else. Despite the strong wind blowing in her face, her eyes were wide open, watching as the white helicopter landed on the helipad.

The helicopter's door opened, and someone jumped out—it was Matthew, the same man who had presented her award just hours earlier.

Matthew had spotted Sharapova from the helicopter. As soon as he jumped out, he walked quickly towards her. Sharapova stood at the front of the crowd, her golden hair tied in a simple ponytail, and her casual jeans highlighted her long legs.

Apart from the tall middle-aged man standing behind her, Sharapova stood out in the crowd.

Matthew reached Sharapova and extended his hand to her, saying very gentlemanly, "Maria, may I have the honor of inviting you for a tour around New York?"

Sharapova clutched her chest with one hand, seemingly too excited to speak.

"May I have the honor of inviting Miss Sharapova for a tour around New York?" Matthew repeated.

"Yes!" Sharapova finally responded, nodding eagerly. "Yes! Yes! Yes..."

Matthew slightly lifted his outstretched hand, and Sharapova, with evident excitement, placed her hand in his.

"Wait!"

Through the wind and the engine noise, a man's voice could faintly be heard. Matthew saw the tall middle-aged man walking towards them.

Sharapova also turned and saw her father approaching quickly.

She turned back to look at Matthew and the helicopter, then back at Sharapov, suddenly worried that her father might stop her...

Sensing the situation, Matthew took a couple of steps forward, creating a bit of distance between himself and Sharapova. Judging by the height, he could guess who the middle-aged man was.

Helicopters weren't just for romantic gestures.

Sharapov handed the photo to Sharapova, glanced at the helicopter and then at Matthew standing by it, and gently patted Sharapova's back. "Go ahead."

"Yes!" Sharapova beamed with joy. She handed Matthew her autographed photo, took his arm, and said eagerly, "Let's go."

Matthew led Sharapova onto the helicopter, gestured to the pilot, and then took out a pair of headphones, placing them on Sharapova's ears. Amidst the loud engine noise, the helicopter ascended into the night sky.

This was a luxury passenger helicopter. After the initial takeoff phase, the noise inside the cabin decreased significantly, allowing for normal conversation.

Matthew was the first to remove his headphones, and Sharapova followed suit.

"Here..." She handed Matthew the signed photo. "This is for you. You wanted it."

Matthew glanced at the photo and said, "Maria, this is the most precious gift I've received this year." He carefully tucked the photo into his suit pocket. "I'll treasure it."

Seeing how much he valued it, Sharapova smiled brightly.

"Sorry..." Matthew suddenly said, "I left the photo I prepared for you at the hotel. After our tour of New York's nightscape, how about we go pick it up together?"

He patted the helicopter's door and said, "With this, it won't take long."

"Okay." Sharapova nodded, "I trust you."

"Maria, sit over here." Matthew pointed to the seat near the window, "You can see New York's night view from here."

As the helicopter flew steadily, Sharapova moved to sit opposite Matthew. Looking down from the window, she saw New York illuminated, the city aglow with neon lights.

"I've never seen New York like this before," Sharapova said with great interest.

Matthew knew that some things couldn't be rushed. In recent years, he had learned that with the right groundwork, everything would fall into place naturally.

He stayed by Sharapova's side, admiring the night view. For a nineteen-year-old girl, especially one who had been in intensive training, her resistance would quickly wear down.

"It feels special," Sharapova said.

Matthew leaned in a little closer and asked, "Doesn't it feel like all of New York is beneath your feet?"

Sharapova didn't quite grasp what Matthew meant by this, and she looked back at him in confusion. Matthew pointed towards the direction of Arthur Ashe Stadium. "Today, you conquered New York."

"You're exaggerating," Sharapova said modestly, but inside, she was delighted.

Today had been a day of two exhilarating events: winning the US Open Women's Singles Championship and meeting Matthew Horner.

The helicopter flew along the Hudson River towards the mouth of the sea, then turned around near the Statue of Liberty and headed towards Manhattan. Sharapova curiously asked questions about the buildings below.

"That's the tallest nightclub in all of New York," Matthew pointed to the top of a skyscraper. "You're not old enough to drink yet, but when you turn twenty-one, I'll take you there."

Sharapova nodded enthusiastically. "Okay! It's a deal."

Matthew smiled and agreed. These professional athletes were much simpler compared to the women of Hollywood.

"We're almost at my hotel," Matthew said, testing the waters. "Why don't we go there first and pick up the photo? You gave me yours, but I haven't given you mine. I feel a bit guilty."

During the flight, Sharapova's fondness for Matthew had grown steadily. She had no intention of declining and said, "Sure."

Matthew picked up the intercom and instructed the pilot to head back to the hotel. The helicopter gradually descended, and within ten minutes, they landed smoothly on the rooftop helipad of a Manhattan hotel.

After getting off the helicopter, Matthew led Sharapova into the elevator to the floor where his suite was located.

"This is it," Matthew said, standing in front of the luxurious suite's door.

Sharapova, still holding his hand, looked up

 at him curiously. "Why aren't you opening the door? Did you forget your key card?"

Matthew smiled. "I have a surprise for you."

With that, he pushed open the suite's double doors.

As the doors opened wide, Sharapova's eyes widened, and she instinctively covered her mouth in astonishment, unable to contain her excitement.

The entire room was filled with flowers, all red roses, her favorite.

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