The internet was unpredictable. Unfortunately, Farrell had fainted and did not know much about it. He had no idea he had become insanely famous. After all, Europe might not have much, but it definitely had plenty of believers—so many that each of them spitting once could drown him.
That bastard actually dared to mock Benedict V and call him an idiot? Was there anyone in this world more qualified than the old man to talk about Moses?
Farrell had brought this upon himself. Once the post came out and people recognized Benedict V, they began reposting it like mad.
Farrell no longer needed to hype himself up. Before Paris Fashion Week had even begun, he was already outrageously famous. But this was absolutely not the kind of fame he wanted. Compared with Qin Fen's popularity, they were entirely different concepts.
He was sent off for treatment. Grant sat before the table, completely unable to eat. His heart was in turmoil, and he had no appetite at all. He set down his knife and fork, rose to his feet, and said, "No, I should go check on him!" With that, he patted his backside and hurried off in a panic, as though a dog were chasing him.
Female Hooligan looked around. "Look what you did!"
Qin Fen shrugged helplessly. "What the hell does that have to do with me?"
"Do you really not know, or are you pretending not to know? The moment that bastard saw me, he started playing games. He was obviously coming for you. I looked him up—he's your opponent at this Fashion Week. In his eyes, you're just a stepping stone, so he tried every possible way to tear you down!" Female Hooligan was sharp and quickly figured out the truth.
What else could Qin Fen say?