The Greatest Showman #1247 - Confrontation Again

Normally, a height difference creates an innate sense of oppression. Standing condescendingly forces the seated side to look up, creating an obvious power dynamic. However, sometimes, a cramped standing posture paired with a comfortably seated counterpart can shift the momentum entirely. In this case, the one standing loses their dominance, almost as if they are relegated to a lower status, subject to scrutiny and judgment.

At this moment, Harvey keenly felt the latter.

It was only a brief encounter, yet Renly and Arthur were so at ease, so unhurried, that Harvey couldn't help but feel an intense pressure, like a force he couldn't quite place. Their calmness only accentuated the growing unease in him. A simple "Good evening, Renly," from him felt insufficient, almost breathless.

Harvey attempted to cover his discomfort with a laugh, masking his embarrassment with a semblance of familiarity. "Or should I call you 'Lord Hall'?" he joked, but the attempt fell flat.

The problem was, Harvey couldn't pinpoint the cause of his discomfort. He could sense the weight of their gaze—calm but suffused with an unspoken tension. Every word he spoke seemed measured, as if he were walking a fine line, afraid of saying the wrong thing, lest he reveal more of his vulnerability.

This sense of suffocation reminded Harvey of a previous humiliation he couldn't shake off.

He took a seat on the nearby sofa, trying to regain his composure, to restore his usual air of superiority. He narrowed his eyes, eyeing Renly carefully, attempting to stabilize the scene and the atmosphere. Finally, he raised his chin slightly, casting a polite glance at Arthur. "And who is this?"

"A passerby." Arthur responded without hesitation, sitting upright, "Just passing by, by accident—perhaps entering a dream, a brief glimpse of light. But alas, a dream. I'll savor this brief moment."

Arthur stood then, nodding politely to Harvey and Renly, his gesture as formal and detached as a casual encounter. There was no introduction, no curiosity about Harvey's identity, as if Harvey were no different from any other stranger. Despite the cordiality of his gesture, the boundaries between them were clear. Arthur turned and began to step away.

The whole interaction was devoid of warmth, yet infused with a gentleman's politeness. A surface-level connection, without any real engagement. Harvey couldn't help but reflect on his past encounters with Renly—there was something eerily similar about the two, a sense of emotional distance wrapped in the illusion of civility.

But unlike Harvey, who relied on humor to mask his discomfort, Renly remained calm, composed, and impenetrable.

Harvey couldn't contain his sarcasm. "A passerby? It seems Renly Hall truly is Hollywood's most gracious gentleman. Even a passing stranger receives such a pleasant exchange."

The words slipped out before Harvey could stop them. But as soon as they did, he regretted them. His curiosity had betrayed him, revealing his unease, his anxiety. By asking, he had already ceded ground in this subtle battle for control.

Renly, without missing a beat, responded with a quiet smile. "Mr. Weinstein, I imagine you didn't come here to discuss my social circle."

There was no answer, only an implied rebuke. The words, gentle yet pointed, cut right through Harvey's ego. His smile faltered.

"Of course not," Harvey quickly recovered, his tone steely. He forced a smile, and in a slow, deliberate motion, added, "I came to express my regret. Tonight is clearly not your night, but I wanted you to know that my personal vote was always for you."

As he spoke, his eyes subtly shifted to the side, landing on Jennifer Lawrence in the distance. Renly immediately picked up on it.

Harvey, with a smirk, continued, "Jennifer also mentioned it to me. She expressed great regret over your loss." He paused for effect, then leaned forward, adding with a grin, "She looked especially stunning tonight, don't you think?"

The words were sharp, loaded with intent.

Renly didn't shy away. He followed Harvey's gaze and looked at Jennifer Lawrence, who was standing a distance away, engaged in conversation with Mark Boal. Jennifer wore a pale pink silk gown, and the Golden Man trophy was clutched tightly in her hand. The effortless elegance she exuded contrasted sharply with her playful arrogance. She stood tall, confident, and not inclined to hide her triumph.

Jennifer caught Renly's gaze from across the room, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. The warm smile in Renly's eyes was met with Jennifer's, though hers was briefly tinged with hesitation. She quickly recovered, offering him a nod before turning back to Mark, though a faint trace of discomfort lingered in her expression.

Harvey's smug satisfaction was evident, but it didn't go unnoticed by Renly, whose calm demeanor only deepened as he absorbed the situation.

It was clear that Jennifer's brief, almost nervous reaction had struck a chord in Harvey. The sharp contrast between her public and private moments—her smiles, her nods—seemed to only fuel Harvey's internal gloating.

Renly didn't speak immediately. He simply held Harvey's gaze, his expression betraying nothing. But as the seconds stretched on, the atmosphere thickened with silence. Harvey, unsettled by Renly's quiet control, finally blurted out, "I remember you and Jennifer used to be friends."

The past tense was deliberate—"used to be" resonated with a quiet undertone, an insinuation that implied distance, a rupture.

Harvey, unable to suppress his glee, leaned forward, eager for Renly's reaction. He wanted to see Renly flinch, to feel the discomfort, the humiliation, to see the façade crack.

But Renly, ever the enigma, seemed unmoved. Instead, the slight curve of his lips suggested something else entirely. There was no panic in his eyes—only an underlying amusement.

In the back of his mind, Renly recalled Arthur's earlier words, the hint of satisfaction at the sight of Harvey's frustration. And at that moment, Renly felt a sense of quiet joy. It was, after all, a beautiful moment.