Urban System in America-Chapter 256 - 255: Skin Thicker Than Him

The man’s jaw tightened as he watched Monica and Rex, their close proximity gnawing at his ego. To him, every shared smile, every whisper between them was a deliberate insult, a slap to his pride. His eyes, already small and cold, darkened further.

Finally, unable to bear another second of watching what he interpreted as shameless flirting, he turned on his heel and left the ballroom with a stormy expression. The dangerous gleam in his eyes, however, promised that this wasn’t over.

Monica caught the moment out of the corner of her eye, and only when his shadowy figure slipped out of sight did, she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her shoulders eased slightly, though her hand still clung to Rex’s arm as if needing that steady presence.

"He’s gone," she murmured, almost to herself. Then, glancing at Rex, she managed a wry smile. "You have no idea how much I hate seeing his face."

Rex gave a small shrug, his expression calm but his voice teasing. "Oh, I can tell. You looked like you were going to stab him with your heel if he got any closer."

Monica chuckled under her breath, the sound a little shaky but real. "Don’t tempt me. I’ve come close before."

"You’ve got good aim?" he asked, pretending to be impressed.

"Better than most people think," she shot back, her diva mask slowly sliding back into place, though the faint tremble in her fingers gave away that her nerves were still raw.

Finally, the dance session drew to a close. The last notes of the waltz lingered in the air like a sigh before fading completely. The couples on the floor began to drift apart, laughter and soft chatter returning as everyone caught their breath.

But then, the entire room shifted.

The crowd slowly focused their attention towards the center stage as the host stepped onto the stage.

He wasn’t flashy, no sharp suits or over-the-top presence. Instead, he was an old man, his posture slightly hunched, but his aura commanded attention like a general walking into a barracks. His hair was a mix of silver and white, neatly combed back, and the faint lines etched into his face told the story of someone who had seen decades of power plays and scandals and survived every single one of them.

Even among this room full of big shots and power players, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The chatter softened into murmurs and then silence, like someone had turned down the volume in the room. Even the people who, five seconds ago, were flirting or gossiping over champagne, were suddenly standing a little straighter. Respect was visible on their faces, the kind that isn’t faked, as they looked at him with a quiet kind of respect.

It was clear that this man had influence, real influence, the kind that could make or break careers with a single phone call.

Rex raised an eyebrow. This guy... he’s not just some old fossil, he thought. Whoever this guy was, he clearly held more power than your average Hollywood executive. Snippets of conversation buzzed around him, and from the murmurs he managed to catch.

Apparently, this old man was the chairman of one of the top seven Hollywood studios. Which one? He wasn’t sure, but judging by the way even the sharks in the room acted like obedient goldfish around him, it had to be one of the biggest.

The man moved to the center of the stage, the spotlight cutting across his sharp suit. His wrinkled face softened into what was probably meant to be a warm, grandfatherly smile, and he began to speak.

"Welcome, my friends." he said, his voice low but commanding enough that the room stayed hushed. "It is truly an honor to see all of you gathered here tonight. Tonight, we celebrate not just another year of success, but the incredible people gathered here—the backbone of Hollywood. Without your vision, your dedication, this industry would never have reached the heights it has today..."

"It is truly an honor to see all of you gathered here tonight. You

At first, Rex also listened intently, thinking there might be something worthwhile to hear. But the longer the man spoke, the more it turned into an endless monologue of self-congratulation and hollow praise. It was like watching a politician give a speech after a few too many glasses of wine.

By fifth minute, Rex’s brain had checked out, the guy was still going on about the "golden age of cinema," about "Hollywood reaching heights never imagined," and "legacy."

By the sixth minute, Rex’s eyes started wandering.

By the eighth, he was mentally checking how many exits the ballroom had and how long it would take to bolt if this turned into a hostage situation.

By tenth minute, he was wondering if this guy had secretly taken an oath never to stop talking until someone dragged him off stage.

Man, Rex thought dryly, I used to think I had a thick skin, but this old man’s shamelessness makes me feel like a saint.

After a full fifteen minutes of non-stop boasting, the speech finally wound down with nothing particularly meaningful, only because of the nudging of people close to him. There was no real announcement, no grand reveal. It wasn’t about anything specific. Just... bragging and patting backs. A glorified networking event, dressed up in fancy words.

Yeah, yeah, a "gathering," Rex muttered in his head. More like a congregation of perverts. He sneered inwardly, his mind briefly flashed back to the scenes he’d witnessed earlier when he’d accidentally wandered deeper into the private lounges. The memory left a sour taste.

The so-called "icons" of the industry, people whose faces were plastered on magazine covers and movie posters, were sprawled across expensive leather couches like lifeless dolls, pupils blown wide with drugs. He had glimpsed an actual orgy taking place behind half-closed doors, the air thick with the stench of alcohol, smoke, and something far uglier. The hollow, empty eyes of those who should’ve been at the top of the world haunted him for a second.

His gaze flicked back to the old man on stage. For all his gentle, harmless appearance, Rex didn’t buy it. This wasn’t some naive grandpa hosting a polite evening tea party, he was the one who had literally organized this entire event.

And if he had already stumbled onto the filth happening deeper inside: the drugs, the flesh trade, the hollow-eyed celebrities, then there was no way the host didn’t know. In fact, it was obvious that he knew every disgusting detail. Maybe he was even in cahoots with that dirty bastard Stanton, pulling strings behind the scenes like some smug puppet master.

(End of Chapter)