The Greatest Showman #1243 - Pretending to be Noble

Scarlett was visibly frustrated with herself.

In the "Avengers" crew, surrounded by a group of men like Robert Downey Jr., Chris Hemsworth, Mark Ruffalo, and Chris Evans, she never lost control. She always held her ground, deftly navigating every unexpected situation.

But with Renly Hall, she found herself consistently out of her element. It was as though he effortlessly stole the upper hand, and she could never quite regain it. That feeling of helplessness was infuriating, but it was undeniable that every interaction with him sparked a unique intellectual tension—one that was exciting yet left her feeling off-balance.

"God, you are really a devil," Scarlett said, her teeth flashing in a grin, clearly protesting.

Renly, however, simply shook his head with a slight frown. "Scarlett, this isn't your style."

Scarlett, puzzled by his words, watched as Renly raised his right hand into a clenched fist, his posture tough and unyielding.

With a sudden realization, Scarlett understood: the playful grins, the carefree exchanges—those were too childish for her. She preferred the confrontation, the straightforwardness, the confidence that Renly's gesture represented. She was more accustomed to directness, to power, to a fight.

"Renly Hall!" she groaned in frustration.

Reacting impulsively, Scarlett clenched her fists, ready to strike, but then stopped herself. She had fallen right into his trap. He had predicted this—how helpless she felt, how helpless she was.

Unable to help herself, she chuckled softly.

Renly, sensing her narrowed gaze, smiled elegantly. "Careful, Scarlett, your eyes are dangerous."

The implication was clear—was he worried she might fall for him?

Scarlett, ever defiant, lifted her right foot and kicked him playfully in the calf through her flowing skirt. Then, she tilted her chin up with pride, as if to say: "Not a punch, huh? Didn't see that coming, did you?"

"And don't worry," she added coolly, "You're not my type. Honestly, I don't understand what's so attractive about you."

Renly raised an eyebrow. "You like Ryan Reynolds, don't you?"

Scarlett, taken aback, felt a subtle jab. "How do you know?" she responded quickly, then added with playful suspicion, "Wait, do you like him too?"

Amused, they both fell into a moment of easy laughter, their earlier tension dissolving.

But it was Oscar night. Time was ever-changing, and the dynamic around them was shifting rapidly. Even though Renly and Scarlett had stepped aside, hiding near the long buffet table, they were far from unnoticed. They were like beacons in a darkened night, slowly drawing the attention of the room.

Soon enough, the two of them were surrounded by people, splitting off to join their respective circles. The party continued, moving at its grand pace.

The crowd around them was growing more diverse—directors, producers, actors, screenwriters, photographers—industry heavyweights and rising stars, each with their own agendas. The air was thick with conversation, and it felt as though there was no space left to breathe.

A nearby conversation caught Renly's attention:

"...For such works, more and more people will invest in the future, but it will be harder to come up with new ideas. Personally, I'm willing to invest, but I'm not interested in watching. But that's the market, right? We can't control it."

The confident words flowed with an air of superiority. The speaker, Jon Philtimer, CEO of Lionsgate, was clearly trying to project an image of insight, but to Renly, his words revealed little understanding of the artistry behind the industry—just a businessman trying to capitalize on the film market.

Jon had been in the industry since the 1980s, but his track record as a producer was underwhelming. Yet as a businessman, he had led Lionsgate to new heights, guiding the company to survive financial crises and making bold moves with the "Hunger Games" and "Twilight" franchises.

Despite Jon's successes, Renly found himself a bit skeptical of the CEO's approach. Jon seemed intent on creating another "Hunger Games"-style adaptation, with Renly as the young, heroic lead—a role less mature than James Bond or Ethan Hunt, but more grown-up than Harry Potter.

Renly's mind wandered to "Fifty Shades of Grey," not necessarily because it was related to Lionsgate, but because it fit the exact type of character Jon seemed to be envisioning.

"Jon, Lionsgate is on the right track now, and it looks like you've got a firm hold on the market," Renly said, with a smile that was polite yet distant. "But for actors, the ever-shifting market is hard to understand, which is why some people are just actors and others are executives."

Jon smiled broadly, clearly pleased by the flattery.

Renly continued, "Now, I need to clear my head. I'm going to grab a glass of whisky. Let's catch up later."

Jon nodded, and before Renly could leave, other actors approached to join the conversation. The social dance resumed, seamlessly continuing.

Renly moved through the party, stepping into the garden, where the soft glow of yellow and mint lights bathed the space in a dreamy hue. The air was cool, and the setting sun bathed everything in a soft glow, offering a quiet escape from the chaos of the party inside.

Inside the hall, the golden light made everything shimmer with an almost surreal brightness, blurring the figures and faces, obscuring reality in the rush of fame and celebration.

Renly paused, his gaze lingering on a man across the room. The man's attention was fixed on the amber whisky in his hand, seemingly unaware of Renly's presence. But Renly wasn't bothered; he walked over, settled into a chair, and relaxed in the moment's tranquility.

"Andre's sincerity isn't enough," Renly said with a slight frown. "And the whisky served here... it's disappointing."

Though the whisky was from a prestigious Scottish brand, the quality varied. Renly's taste didn't quite align with the offerings.

"True sincerity," Renly added with a knowing smile, "needs to be more than just a show of wealth. It needs depth."

He chuckled softly. "But don't worry, some people will appreciate the finer things. They just don't realize that the one they're chasing is sitting quietly right here."

Renly's words were filled with an understated irony as he took another sip of his drink. "Forgive them, they don't know what they're after," he said, his tone nonchalant. "They can't see me."

He looked up at the man across from him and asked, "Did you come here just to shift the focus?"

"Maybe," the man replied with a smirk. "Though I'd say Andre and Eaton have taken their time."

Renly nodded thoughtfully. "I hope it's not just because of me."

Sitting in front of Renly was his brother, Arthur Hall.