Chapter 1351: Night Walk

Leaving Lincoln Center, Renly and Rooney strolled through the straight streets toward the lower city. The night air carried a crisp chill, and the damp pavement released a faint earthy aroma, weaving through the towering steel and glass structures. The city that never sleeps exuded a different kind of charm after dark—subdued, intimate, alive in its own way.

Renly could feel Rooney's gaze lingering on him—not exactly sneaky, but bold and persistent. However, since he was keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead, it created the illusion that her gaze was flickering intermittently. Despite being aware of it, Renly remained composed, walking with his usual unhurried confidence.

Finally, Rooney couldn't hold back any longer and chuckled softly.

"Your Excellency Renly, your self-restraint is truly extraordinary."

"You now understand how much effort the title 'Your Excellency' requires—just like 'lady,'" Renly replied without breaking his stride. Though his words were formal, a hidden smile betrayed his amusement.

Rooney raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "So every time you call me 'lady,' you're actually teasing me?"

Renly simply shrugged, refusing to confirm or deny.

Rooney bit her lower lip playfully. "In that case, should I keep calling you 'Your Excellency' from now on? Tit for tat?"

Renly's lips twitched slightly. "A truly free-spirited person understands when to respect boundaries and when to break free from them."

Rooney smirked. "Is this tonight's dose of philosophical wisdom?"

"The Oprah Winfrey moment," Renly quipped without missing a beat.

Rooney laughed, then her expression turned more curious. "So, how does it feel? Being the most sought-after man in Hollywood—and maybe even all of North America?"

Renly raised an eyebrow at the phrase.

She elaborated, "What I'm really curious about is whether you've ever had someone knock on your hotel room door in the middle of the night. I mean, with all the attention you get, surely someone has."

At this, Renly finally turned his head, his light brown eyes locking onto hers. "Are you curious, or do you mind?"

Rooney was caught off guard. Her cheeks warmed as she instinctively averted her gaze. But almost immediately, she forced herself to meet his stare again, determined to remain composed. "Do you care?"

The words hung between them, suspended in the night air. Their gazes held, studying each other, reading between the lines of an unspoken dialogue.

A flicker of amusement danced in Renly's eyes. "I thought I made my point."

Rooney's heart pounded in response. A dryness crept into her throat, leaving her momentarily speechless. For the first time, she felt flustered. Desperate to shift the focus, she blurted, "So, what do you plan to do?"

Yet even as she asked, she realized that her own curiosity—or perhaps jealousy—was giving Renly his answer.

The real issue here was Melissa.

Melissa had been blatantly obvious tonight, making her intentions clear for all to see—except, perhaps, for Damien, who remained blissfully oblivious. With their upcoming collaboration, similar situations were bound to arise. So how would Renly handle it?

Still, Rooney wanted to know. Even if she regretted asking the moment the words left her lips.

Renly's mouth curled into a faint smirk. "I don't intend to be a stumbling block for anyone. But I also don't intend to be anyone's stepping stone."

He paused before adding, "I am not a blank slate living in an ivory tower."

Rooney nodded, sensing the weight behind his words. This wasn't just about Melissa. It was about the industry, about power plays, about people using each other to climb higher.

She arched an eyebrow. "You mean, like a vampire?"

Renly's expression remained neutral. "I strongly doubt it."

His tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of meaning beneath his words. He wasn't denying it—rather, he was implying that he could be worse than a vampire, if necessary.

Rooney recalled the moment earlier in the evening when Renly had been surrounded by reporters. He had exuded an air of cool detachment, a calculated distance, masking something deeper beneath his gaze. She thought of the Telluride Film Festival, the intimate "One Man's Concert," and the quiet intensity on the set of Gravity.

Perhaps no one had ever truly understood Renly. Not the media, not the audience, not even those closest to him. They saw the actor, the enigma, the rising star—but not the man behind the name Renly Hall.

Well, someone had understood once. But she had left.

Heather Cross.

A strange ache settled in Rooney's chest, but she wasn't sad. Instead, a soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips, warmth flickering in her gaze. "I don't doubt it."

Even if the whole world stood against him, she would choose to stand beside him.

Renly was momentarily taken aback. His eyes searched hers, and for once, his carefully controlled composure faltered.

He quickly masked it, lowering his gaze with a small, amused smile. "Are you flirting?"

Rooney's smirk widened. "Oh? You noticed? I thought you were immune to human emotions."

"Haha." Renly chuckled, his laughter rich and genuine. But then, in an instant, his demeanor shifted. His gaze darkened, his voice dropped into a low, husky warning. "Don't play with fire."

The intensity of his tone sent heat rushing to Rooney's ears. Flustered, she snapped her head forward, focusing rigidly on the path ahead, her neck suddenly feeling impossibly stiff.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.

Then, deliberately breaking the tension, Rooney cleared her throat. "So, when does filming begin? You've been practicing the drums for a while now. I'd say you're ready."

There was a pause, then a low chuckle beside her. "If all goes as planned, next week. Damien still has to finalize the shooting locations. I'll keep practicing until then—there's always room for improvement."

Rooney sighed in relief. The normal rhythm of their conversation had resumed.

Mental note: Do not provoke Renly Hall unless fully prepared for the consequences.

Now, more than ever, she pitied Melissa. The poor girl had no idea what she was getting herself into.

"You know," she mused, "if it's just technique, then practice is the only way. Kind of like when you first learned piano—didn't you push yourself with difficult pieces?"

Renly shook his head. "Not really. The piano was always about expression for me, not technical showmanship. People who show off for the sake of it—now that is the true definition of a peacock fanning its feathers."

Rooney laughed. "I like that. But the problem is, you don't even need to show off. You attract attention without trying."

Renly smirked. "So you admit it."

"I admit nothing." She rolled her eyes. "Let's change the subject—how did you feel about tonight's concert? Specifically, the drum solos?"

And just like that, they slipped back into easy conversation. Walking through the Manhattan night, they talked about anything and everything, unhurried and weightless, as if time itself had slowed down to match their pace.

The night was beautiful and alive.

But somewhere else, for someone else, it was anything but.

Tonight was not a good night for Vin Diesel.