The success of his sports betting had bolstered Leon's cash flow, but the end-of-year vibe was growing thicker by the day.
The air was thick with the sweet, heady mix of holiday champagne and the ambitions of the elite.
Parties, galas, and charity dinners popped up endlessly, as if determined to burn through the last sparks of the century.
The "Millennium Night" party, hosted by a luxury brand giant at a top-tier Beverly Hills hotel, was the glitziest of them all.
A dazzling swirl of elegance and excess—glasses clinking, glamorous figures mingling.
Socialites, Hollywood A-listers, music superstars, supermodels, and business tycoons… it felt like half the city's elite had gathered here.
Leon Donaldson, holding a glass of champagne, stood slightly apart from the crowd, observing the glittering chaos with a touch of detachment.
He could've skipped this invite—The Princess Diaries was about to start shooting, and he needed to keep a clear head.
But his agent, Greg, had insisted, arguing it was a prime chance to network and boost his visibility in elite circles, especially after the success of Final Destination and the buzz around The Princess Diaries.
Leonardo and Tobey were here too, but they'd already been swallowed by the crowd, probably charming their way through some corner.
Just as Leon was feeling bored and ready to make an excuse to leave, a commotion erupted at the entrance, accompanied by a frenzy of camera flashes and excited murmurs.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea.
It was Britney Spears.
At the tail end of 1999, "Baby One More Time" Britney was at the absolute peak of her global fame and influence.
Her hit song had taken the world by storm, and she shone like a perfectly cut diamond—pure yet radiating an effortless, world-captivating allure.
Wearing a sparkly mini-dress that perfectly highlighted her youthful energy, her blonde hair tied in her signature ponytail, she flashed a smile that was equal parts shy and confident as she entered, flanked by her manager and bodyguards.
Her arrival instantly made her the center of attention.
People swarmed to greet her, eager to get close, surrounding her in a whirlwind of adoration.
Britney handled it with practiced grace, her smile radiant, but Leon's sharp eye caught a flicker of exhaustion and claustrophobia beneath her polished facade.
Their eyes met briefly across the room.
Unlike the others rushing toward her, Leon stayed back, raising his glass in a subtle, friendly gesture. His smile was warm but not fawning, his gaze appreciative but not fanatical.
His calm, understated vibe stood out, catching Britney's attention.
Her eyes lingered on him for a couple of seconds, a spark of curiosity flickering as she noted this handsome stranger who didn't pounce like the rest.
The party rolled on.
After some brief small talk with a few producers and magazine editors who approached him, Leon slipped away to the quieter terrace area to catch his breath.
To his surprise, a few minutes later, the terrace door swung open, and the petite figure who'd just been the center of the crowd slipped out, holding what looked like a glass of juice.
She spotted Leon, hesitated for a second, then broke into a smile far more genuine than the one she'd worn inside. "Oh, hey. It's… a lot quieter out here."
Her voice carried that signature Southern drawl, soft and slightly husky.
"Yeah, feels like the oxygen inside's been sucked up by fame and perfume," Leon quipped, stepping aside to give her space.
Britney laughed, moving to the railing and taking a deep breath of the cool night air. "You're so right. Sometimes I wish I could sneak out and breathe like a normal person without a crowd tailing me."
Her words carried a hint of weary complaint, more like an instinctive confession.
"The price of fame—a sweet but heavy crown," Leon said understandingly, his tone even. "Your music's incredible, Britney. It makes a lot of people happy."
"Thanks." She turned to look at him, her curiosity deepening. "You're…? You look kinda familiar."
"Leon Donaldson. Screenwriter, sometimes producer," he said simply, not leaning into the success of Final Destination, keeping his demeanor grounded.
"Leon…" Britney repeated, then her face lit up as it clicked. "Oh! I know! Final Destination! My assistants were talking about it the other day, saying they're too scared to fly now! You wrote that?"
"Guilty as charged," Leon said with a grin. "Hope I didn't traumatize your team too much."
"Wow!" Britney's eyes sparkled like she'd discovered something exciting. "That's so cool! You don't… look like someone who'd write scary stuff."
She sized him up, thinking he seemed more like a low-key model or actor.
"Maybe I've got a little gremlin inside me that likes to spook people," Leon said with a shrug.
They started chatting on the terrace.
Unlike others who fawned over her or pried into her personal life, Leon treated her like a regular yet special person, talking about music, movies, and the funny or absurd moments fame brings.
His wide knowledge, witty humor, and knack for steering the conversation made Britney feel unusually relaxed and at ease.
With him, she could briefly shed the "Britney Spears" persona and just be a young woman—barely an adult, thrust to the top of the world, still figuring it all out.
"Sometimes it feels so crazy," she said softly, gazing at the city lights. "Everyone's telling me what to do, what not to do, like I'm not Britney, but… a product called 'Britney.'"
Leon paused, then said gently, "Remember who's driving that 'product.' It's you, Britney. Never hand over the wheel completely, even to people who mean well."
His words hit home.
She turned to him, her eyes complex—grateful, resonant, touched by being understood.
In this world of ambition and agendas, his sincere, clear-headed words felt rare and precious.
The terrace door opened again. Her manager appeared, reminding her she needed to mingle with some VIPs.
A flicker of irritation crossed Britney's face, quickly masked.
She glanced at Leon, then quickly pulled a lipstick from her dainty purse, scribbled a number on a napkin, and pressed it into his hand.
"Call me," she said in a hushed, hurried voice, her eyes bold and teasing. "If you… want to keep talking about that 'steering wheel' stuff."
With a wink, she slipped back into her perfect pop-star smile and returned to the buzzing party.
Leon held the napkin, still warm with her touch and faintly scented, staring at the number with a mix of surprise and a complicated smile.
This was… unexpected.