The-Greatest-Showman

"I think I heard my name."

Amid the looming confrontation, a light, bright voice interrupted, cutting through the tension between Renly and Harvey. The surrounding world—the noise, the excitement of the Oscar night party—suddenly came rushing back, reminding everyone of the spectacle of the evening. Both men turned to see Steven Spielberg.

In this moment, Steven looked like a mischievous old rascal. His cheeks were flushed, evidence of too much champagne, and his gray beard reminded one of Santa Claus with its warmth and kindness. His slurred speech added a playful tone to his words, making even the most mundane phrases sound endearing.

Stepping forward, Steven walked with a slight unsteadiness. When he finally sat down, he let his body relax completely, as though gravity had surrendered to him. His hands dangled by his sides, and he adjusted his posture until he found comfort—clear signs he had indulged in a bit too much to drink that evening.

"So, what were you two talking about?" Steven glanced back and forth between Harvey and Renly, flashing a mischievous smile. "Harvey, aren't you staring at Renly? Well, let me tell you, I've already booked him."

In Hollywood, few dared to speak to Harvey with such casual confidence. Steven, however, was one of those rare figures who could.

Harvey laughed heartily, slapping his knees. "Steven, which actor in Hollywood would dare refuse your call? Honestly, I can't think of a single one. Maybe you could tell me who you haven't booked yet, so I can save myself some effort."

"I'll make a list," Steven replied seriously, the humor in his voice unmistakable.

Harvey smiled, as if humoring the younger generation. "Then I'll wait patiently. But don't make me wait too long—otherwise, we might not be able to start the next project, and I'll be helpless."

Facing Steven, Harvey's posture softened, revealing a completely different side than the confrontational one he'd shown with Renly.

The truth was, Harvey never truly saw Renly as a formidable figure—just a young upstart who dared to challenge authority. But Steven was in an entirely different league. Even Harvey had to play along when it came to him.

After a few more pleasantries, Harvey got up and left without a second thought. It was as if the confrontation with Renly had never happened.

As Harvey exited, Steven leaned closer to Renly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He's a ruthless character. Be careful, Renly. Before you secure your place here, don't provoke him too easily. Hollywood runs on interests, and if Harvey's got a foothold, he's a smart collaborator to have."

Harvey glanced back just as Steven spoke, and the two exchanged polite nods. Harvey's eyes twinkled briefly before he turned and walked away, this time for good.

Steven's words lingered in the air as he added, "He's a smart one."

That single word—"smart"—was an interesting choice. In Hollywood, survival requires intelligence, even if one wears the mask of being harmless. Paul Walker, for instance, excelled in understanding his limits, while those who failed to adapt—like Hayden Christensen—quickly faded away.

But Steven's assessment of Harvey seemed to hit deeper. True heroes are often those who understand moderation and balance, who can control their ambition with finesse. And, more importantly, they know when to compromise and when to fight. These, Steven seemed to suggest, were the weapons of true intelligence.

As Harvey left the banquet hall, he stepped into the cool embrace of the navy-blue night. The refreshing air, mixed with the unique excess of Vanity Fair, filled his lungs—a sensation both addicting and unnerving, like a drug that everyone knows is dangerous, but no one can fully resist.

But as Harvey took a step forward, something caught his eye—a figure standing near the entrance, neither entering nor leaving, yet never quite blending in. The person, holding a glass of whiskey, paced in tight circles, peering out the door and casting an envious gaze at the chaos of the party inside. There was no curiosity in the stare, only a quiet jealousy.

The moment the figure stopped, his posture became rigid. He fixed his gaze on the room, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. A cold, negative energy seemed to radiate from him, hidden beneath a controlled exterior, as though he were a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

This aura felt completely out of place amidst the festivity of the night. Harvey's curiosity piqued, and almost unconsciously, he found himself walking back to the door, lingering behind the stranger's shadow, his eyes following the figure's line of sight.

And there it was: Renly Hall and Steven Spielberg, caught in conversation, surrounded by a crowd of top Hollywood names, all drawn to the sofa where the two were seated. But the figure's focus—his attention—was on something else.

Harvey quickly glanced back at the stranger, now noting the profile of his face. The eyes were filled with conflict, confusion, and a tinge of bitterness, yet they weren't full of malice. There was an elegance and self-control to this figure—no sense of violence, only cold scrutiny.

It took Harvey only a moment to recognize him—Eddie Redmayne, the actor who had played Marius in Les Miserables.

A sudden spark of realization struck him. All the emotions, all the confusion, now made sense. A plan began to form in Harvey's mind, one that quickly took root and began to grow rapidly, consuming all of his thoughts.

With a sly grin spreading across his face, Harvey leaned in close to Eddie, whispering softly into his ear like a devil tempting a soul. "I know what you're feeling. All the attention, the lights, the praise—it should all be yours, right? But Renly? He's just a fraud, a pretty face who fooled the audience. He doesn't deserve it."

Harvey's voice, low and seductive, spoke in such a way that it was impossible to ignore. The words twisted around Eddie's mind, turning his frustration into something darker. The fire Harvey lit in his ears was enough to drown out any doubt.

"You could take it all back. Tear off his mask and let the world see him for who he really is. Then everything that's yours can be yours again—just reach out, and take it."

The whispers grew louder, more persistent, until Eddie's emotions swirled uncontrollably. The anxiety and desire built within him, breaking his composure. But then, just as quickly, Eddie snapped back to reality. He spun around, eyes wide with fear, his hands instinctively raised in defense.

Harvey took a quick step back, maintaining the illusion of innocence. His smile remained unchanged, his demeanor relaxed, almost amused.

Seeing Eddie's panic still evident in his eyes, Harvey couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction. But his smile never faltered as he extended his hand in a friendly gesture. "Good evening, Eddie Redmayne. I'm Harvey."