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Seeing that Charlize was still wearing a conflicted expression, Katharine raised another question.
"Do you know, in the era I lived through, who the most attractive man was?"
The sudden shift in topic caught Charlize off guard. She froze for a moment, then thought seriously before answering,
"Charlie Chaplin?"
"That detestable, womanizing, irresponsible man?" Katharine snorted. "He's nowhere close."
"Then who?"
"JFK—John Fitzgerald Kennedy."
"The President of the United States?"
Katharine nodded.
"Yes, that unlucky man who was assassinated. He was charming, witty, and carried himself with ease. His family possessed wealth beyond what ordinary people could imagine, and he himself wielded tremendous power.
"You can't imagine how many actresses were infatuated with him in that era. If you'd spoken to him face to face, you wouldn't have disliked him either—on the contrary, you might have fallen for him."
"Even I found it hard to resist his charm. But I understood very clearly just how dangerous young John was. I seriously warned my friends who were drowning in that tenderness. Some listened. Some didn't. As for the outcome…"
Katharine shook her head regretfully.
A name suddenly surfaced in Charlize Theron's mind, and she blurted it out.
"Marilyn Monroe?"
"She was an innocent girl, a little foolish even. She never should have entered Hollywood," Katharine said with a sigh.
"Wasn't Monroe killed on Kennedy's orders?"
Katharine shook her head again.
"Among the many conspiracy theories, there is such a claim. But John would never have laid hands on a woman, and Jacqueline would never have done something so crude.
"That was precisely why people felt safe entrusting themselves to him. But everyone overestimated John's ability. He couldn't even protect himself—how could he protect others?
"I'm more inclined to believe that Marilyn knew too much and could no longer extract herself. Others wanted to send John a warning, so they chose someone significant enough to matter, yet insignificant enough not to affect the bigger picture.
"John was a gentleman. That didn't mean his enemies were."
Seeing the worry on Charlize Theron's face, Katharine smiled.
"Alright, it seems I used too extreme an example and frightened you. I just wanted to tell you that sometimes, letting a man keep certain secrets isn't necessarily a bad thing."
"But what if he uses our willful ignorance to betray us?" Charlize asked softly.
"That's a different matter altogether," Katharine replied calmly.
"But isn't that life? There are no correct answers—only one choice after another, followed by one result after another. And those results aren't always what we like."
Charlize Theron, after all, was no Katharine Hepburn. She was only nineteen years old. Though her experiences had already stripped away her naïveté, compared to the life experience of an eighty-seven-year-old woman, they weren't on the same level at all.
Many things weren't so easy for her to accept or fully comprehend.
Katharine didn't need to ask to know what the girl was worried about.
"You're thinking about Henry, aren't you?"
Charlize said nothing—she simply nodded.
"That boy has secrets too. I'm sure you've noticed."
Charlize nodded again. As someone who slept beside him, how could she possibly know nothing? She wasn't some foolish ingénue.
Katharine voiced her judgment.
"But that boy is more afraid of death than even I am. I think that if you stay by his side, you don't need to worry too much about that."
—Afraid of death? He raises a tiger and treats it like a house cat!
The future South African diamond screamed internally.
"—In many cases, he actually needs someone to give him a push before he takes a step forward. But you don't need to push him deliberately. The fact that he's willing to help you already urges him onward.
"You should focus on your own path. Don't worry about him falling behind. If no one dragged that boy along, as long as he didn't starve to death, I suspect he'd never even leave the house."
If Henry weren't too busy to hear what the two women were saying about him, he would have been shocked at how thoroughly Katharine had seen through his homebody nature.
At this moment, he was alone, facing one of the greatest geniuses in the universe. Even though his X-ray vision showed no gemstone embedded in Tony's skull, Henry still didn't dare relax.
Talking with Tony wasn't about lofty, abstract ideals. But this man—using Buddhist terms—carried overwhelming karma. All superheroes and supervillains did, no matter their rank.
Just coming into contact with someone like this made Henry uneasy. That was why he'd always been sharp-tongued and abrasive—partly to keep his distance from this young master.
Now that he had decided to cooperate, there was no way he could shoulder all the karma that might come with Tony Stark.
If he could reap the benefits without touching the karma, that would be ideal. But even thinking with his knees, he knew such a thing was impossible.
So Henry had to listen carefully—and think carefully. Every request Tony Stark made could have far-reaching consequences.
Yet after entering the study and sitting down, Tony said nothing at all. He simply locked eyes with Henry, as if the two of them were competing to see who could hold out longer.
Before long, there was a knock on the closed door.
Henry merely glanced over. Tony spoke instead.
"Come in."
It was one of Tony Stark's attendants—a strikingly beautiful female secretary. She wore a tailored business suit that accentuated her curves, with certain parts so pronounced they seemed ready to burst forth.
The secretary carried a silver tray holding a bottle of high-end whiskey and two empty glasses, placing them in front of Tony Stark. She never touched the bottle or glasses herself, then turned and left.
Throughout the entire process, she threw flirtatious glances and showed off her figure—but this young master behaved like an ascetic monk with no interest in women, which struck Henry as strange.
Could it be that this world's Tony Stark had, for some unknown reason, switched teams—abandoning red skirts for chrysanthemums?
The thought made Henry clench involuntarily, a sense of crisis rising within him. Perhaps he should consider ending the Iron Man legend before it even began.
"You look like you're thinking something extremely disrespectful," Tony said dryly.
"Maybe I should go grab a gun. Whenever I feel annoyed, I'll shoot you a few times. By the way—your skin can't be pierced by bullets, right? Does it hurt?"
"Whether it hurts or not is a rather metaphysical question," Henry replied calmly.
"Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't. Which answer do you want?"
"Forget it," Tony waved him off. "Don't tell me. I'm not interested. In any case, I've saved myself the cost of bullets. That's what you're saying, right?"
Henry shrugged, unwilling to pursue the topic further. Tony truly wasn't interested either—otherwise, he would have pressed relentlessly.
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