The party unfolded like a slow-burn movie. No chaotic crush of bodies, no DJ screaming over bass — just clusters of people in expensive tailoring or artfully casual fits, holding wine glasses as they moved from one conversation to the next. Every room had its own mood. In one, a group was laughing over a story involving a Cannes afterparty gone wrong; in another, two men argued quietly about the future of streaming platforms.
Izaac started alongside Henry, who had a talent for introducing him without ever explaining him. They floated through the living room, then onto the terrace where the city spilled out in gold beneath them. Henry knew everyone here — a veteran cinematographer, a retired Olympic swimmer, a venture capitalist who greeted him with a hug and an inside joke.
When Henry got caught in a deep talk about Southeast Asian cinema with a producer from Netflix, Izaac drifted toward the dining area where Tom Cruise intercepted him with a grin.
"Come on," Tom said, gesturing toward a hallway. "Let me show you around. Some people you should meet."
The next twenty minutes felt like a highlight reel. Tom introduced him to a trio of L.A. names — a director whose last movie had quietly made half a billion, an actor between blockbuster shoots, and a studio exec who gave Izaac a curious up-and-down before smiling.
One of them, a tall screenwriter in a velvet jacket, laughed as he shook Izaac's hand. "You've got the face for it, man. James Gunn's still looking for his new DCU Bruce Wayne — you should throw your hat in."
There was chuckling all around, but Tom didn't join in. Instead, he just gave a small, knowing nod, like the comment wasn't as far-fetched as it sounded. "He'd surprise you," Tom said. "He's not just a face. Knows how to handle himself, too."
The director raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"
Tom shrugged, sipping his drink. "Tokyo. Two years ago. Whole mess. Let's just say… Izaac didn't need any stunt doubles that night."
They left it at that, but Izaac noticed how a few people's eyes lingered on him a moment longer before turning back to their conversations.
In another corner of the house, away from the hum of industry talk, Madison Beer and Madelyn Cline stood near a marble counter, their champagne flutes barely touched.
"You've been quiet," Madelyn said, eyes scanning the room casually before settling on Madison.
Madison's tone was light, but there was an edge under it. "Just watching. Some interesting characters tonight."
"Like?" Madelyn asked, feigning disinterest.
Madison swirled the champagne in her glass. "That guy. The one Tom Cruise keeps parading around like he's the second coming."
Madelyn let out a short laugh. "Izaac? Please. I heard he's just another money guy trying to make himself look mysterious."
"Funny," Madison said, arching a brow. "Tom Cruise doesn't usually waste time on 'money guys.' And Emily Blunt seemed pretty comfortable with him earlier."
Madelyn's smile tightened. "Emily's comfortable with a lot of people."
"And you're saying you're not curious?" Madison tilted her head.
Madelyn took a slow sip before answering. "I'm saying men like that usually have a trail of broken promises and half-finished projects behind them. I've met the type."
Madison set her glass down, leaning a little closer. "Or maybe you're just saying that because you've noticed the way he looks at me."
Madelyn didn't blink. "Or maybe I've noticed the way you want him to."
Their smiles were picture-perfect, two actresses in a scene no one else was watching. Neither backed down, but neither admitted anything outright. It was the kind of conversation where the words were secondary — the real exchange happened in the pauses, the measuring glances, the unspoken calculation over which of them would move first.
Across the room, oblivious to the silent duel, Izaac shook hands with another producer Tom had just introduced him to, unaware — or perhaps entirely aware — that two pairs of eyes were locked on him from across the party.