Nestled on the west side of Los Angeles, Beverly Hills isn't particularly elevated, yet it offers breathtaking views of Sunset Boulevard and the Pacific Ocean beyond — a place where one can enjoy the luxurious indulgence of a life steeped in glamour and wealth. Celebrated as "the most prestigious residential area in the world," Beverly Hills is surrounded by bustling districts like Wilshire Boulevard, Rodeo Drive, and the Farmers Market, forming one of the most prosperous and iconic regions not just in Los Angeles, but along the entire West Coast.
The area's prime location and exquisite environment have drawn the world's most prominent figures to purchase homes here — Hollywood movie stars, NBA athletes, and international magnates alike. They gather in this haven of opulence to flaunt their fortune and status, expanding their fame while living at the dazzling peak of luxury.
Thus, Beverly Hills has become a symbol of wealth and prestige, where starlight hides behind garden-style mansions. No one knows what lies beyond the high walls — only that every inch of land here represents affluence, fame, and influence.
The trees here are just as impressive — some marked by age, others unnamed. Many can't even identify their species, much like they can't identify the owners of the lavish homes behind them. Towering evergreens and fruit-laden branches line both sides of the winding roads, creating a tranquil, pristine scene that feels like paradise. Yet this is no secluded utopia; it is a sanctuary set in the heart of worldly splendor, where even the cobblestones seem to glimmer faintly with gold.
The winding hillside roads of Beverly Hills twist and intersect like a maze, leading upward toward the crest. From above, Los Angeles stretches out in layers below. The "hill" itself barely rises a hundred meters, yet it stands as a symbolic Everest — proclaiming to everyone who arrives in L.A. that this is where wealth and fame converge.
Often, it's only when power and fortune are displayed together that their full allure is revealed. Hidden success is success unseen sometimes forced into secrecy. Beverly Hills, in contrast, is a grand stage draped in red velvet, flaunting wealth, fame, and status in the open, drawing countless dreamers to it like moths to a flame.
Hugo had lived in Los Angeles for nearly a year, passing this small hill countless times. Yet he had never truly stopped to take in its scenery. Perhaps it was because it felt too distant a world built of wealth and glitter that he never imagined himself part of. Or perhaps it was because he had no friends here, so each time he merely admired its serenity and grandeur from afar before turning away like any other passing tourist.
Tonight, Hugo, Joseph, and Uma stepped out of their car, handing the keys to a valet. Under the gaze of two lines of black-suited security guards, they walked toward an enormous carved gate. The door was so tall and wide that Hugo felt like a hobbit stepping into a giant's realm.
One of the guards raised a hand to stop them, studying Hugo carefully before murmuring into his earpiece, "Hugo Lancaster, accompanied by two guests." In this kind of private gathering, Hugo's face itself served as the invitation — though there was undoubtedly a guest list inside that required confirmation before entry.
Hugo assumed it would take a while since there weren't any computers handy for reference, but to his surprise, within five seconds the guard lowered his hand, smiled politely, and said, "Good evening, Mr. Lancaster."
Hugo returned the smile with a polite nod and stepped forward. Uma linked her arm through his right, walking beside him, while Joseph followed closely on the left.
Beyond the gate stretched a vast driveway centered around an elegant circular fountain. A few guests strolled about, holding champagne flutes, their movements relaxed and unhurried. They weren't chatting in groups but rather enjoying the serene ambiance. Occasionally, two people would exchange quiet words, yet Hugo could clearly feel the shift in attention — almost everyone turned their gaze toward him the moment he stepped in.
Leaning closer, Joseph whispered in Hugo's ear, "Third-tier actors looking for a break." Hugo instantly understood.
These were people like Uma — actors who had come as someone's guest but were now alone, their contacts occupied elsewhere, leaving them without anyone to talk to. Others had likely gained access through private connections but had no one to introduce them around, forced to fend for themselves. When they couldn't find an opening inside, they lingered by the entrance, hoping to bump into a director, producer, or perhaps even a senior journalist or magazine editor anyone who might open a door for them.
Though Hugo already had two well-received films to his name, in Hollywood he was far from influential. He wasn't a director, writer, or producer which meant to these hopefuls, he wasn't worth approaching. Once they realized who he was, they simply glanced his way and returned to their idle poses, waiting for a more valuable opportunity.
Hugo didn't know how effective this "waiting game" was, but he had to admit — in a party like this, opportunities were everywhere. The real question was who had the courage and timing to seize them.
They crossed the driveway and entered through the open doors of the villa. Bright light flooded over them, instantly pulling Hugo into another world. Warm air brushed against his cheeks, making them flush slightly as his eyes adjusted to the glittering scene before him — guests laughing in small groups, champagne flutes sparkling under chandeliers, roses blooming in vases, antique furniture gleaming under golden light, ornate paintings and plush carpets completing the lavish tableau. It was dazzling to behold.
Standing at the entrance, Hugo felt momentarily out of place. This was his first time attending such a grand Hollywood gathering. He knew, in theory, that parties like this were all about confidence, composure, poise, and the ability to start conversations about simple things like food or weather, gradually forming connections. If someone could introduce you, all the better; if not, act naturally and engage anyway. Still, knowing that and doing it were two different things — his palms were already starting to sweat.
"I'll go find Sydney," Joseph whispered, following their prearranged plan. He would look for Sydney Pollack, while Hugo stayed in the main hall to meet people and search for potential opportunities. They'd work both angles and hope one of them managed to get a word with the director.
After watching Joseph disappear into the crowd, Hugo turned to Uma. They exchanged a glance — he could see the same nervous energy flickering in her eyes. She tightened her grip on his arm slightly, and Hugo smiled reassuringly, offering silent encouragement.
Before he could take a step, a familiar voice called out, "Hey, Hugo!"
Hugo looked up and to his surprise, standing right in front of him was Tom Cruise.
"Good evening, Tom." Hugo quickly suppressed the jumble of thoughts flashing through his mind—like how Nicole Kidman was standing right beside Tom, the two of them looking every bit the perfect couple; or how, by Hugo's estimation, Tom was at most five-foot-five (around 1.68 meters)—definitely not the five-foot-seven listed in the press. Hugo smiled politely and greeted him before turning to Nicole. Notably, she wasn't wearing high heels tonight. "Good evening, ma'am."
"Please, call me Nicole." Her beauty had that cool, refined air that carried a hint of pride, even when she smiled but there was no denying how breathtaking she was, a true movie star. "And this lovely lady is...?"
"Uma Thurman, ma'am. You can just call me Uma." Uma introduced herself with grace and composure—polite, but neither humble nor overbearing. Hugo could feel the faint tension in her arm where she held onto him, yet her voice remained calm. "Good evening, Mr. Cruise."
"You make me feel old, young lady. Please—Tom," he said warmly, shaking Uma's hand with the practiced charm of a gentleman. Though his stature was modest, Tom was at the height of his charisma—handsome, confident, and effortlessly magnetic. "Not long ago, Nicole and I watched your performance. You and Jack were simply outstanding. We told each other that if we ever met you, we'd have to say hello."
Hugo hadn't expected Tom to bring up A Few Good Men so casually. In Hollywood circles, Tom had a reputation for being something of a perfectionist—"a big name," as people put it but not in the sense of being arrogant or difficult with crew or press. On the contrary, he was known for his professionalism and courtesy. His "ego," if one could call it that, came from an unshakable pride in his craft.
After all, A Few Good Men had originally been a role intended for Tom before Hugo landed it instead. By all logic, Tom should have felt slighted—any actor in his position would have but here he was, smiling sincerely.
Whether that smile was genuine or simply well-practiced civility, Hugo couldn't tell. Still, the fact that Tom had not only remained cordial but had gone out of his way to greet him earned Hugo's respect. That kind of grace was rare in this industry.
"Thank you," Hugo replied with an easy smile. "I just tried to do my job as an actor. Working opposite Jack wasn't exactly easy—you can't afford to slip up, or you'll ruin the whole film. I put in every ounce of effort just to keep up."
He finished with a playful grin, pretending to wipe sweat from his forehead, an endearing gesture that drew laughter from Tom, Nicole, and even Uma. The tension in her arm eased instantly.
...
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