….
It was 11:40 PM on Saturday, November 9th.
"That is an official wrap on principal photography for–
"Train To Catch!"
A huge cheer went up from all eighty exhausted crew members.
Keanu Reeves, covered in fake sweat, dirt, and stage blood, sat down on an equipment box and unstrapped his bruised knee pads with a laugh of pure relief.
Nearby, Rock slowly pulled the thick duct tape off his forearms, giving Regal a quiet nod to show the work was finished.
Regal stood by the director's monitor.
"Lock the drives in the studio vault." Regal told Gavin, patting him on the shoulder. "Everyone go home, and we have less than seventeen hours before we need to be in tuxedos."
….
Sunday afternoon arrived with all the noise and excitement of Hollywood awards season.
By 4:15 PM, Wilshire Boulevard outside the Beverly Hilton was completely packed with black cars, police escorts, and thousands of screaming fans in the bleachers.
When the LIE Studios car pulled up to the red carpet, the crowd went wild.
Regal stepped out first.
He wore a midnight-black bespoke tuxedo tailored with minimalist perfection, his blonde hair styled neat and sharp, looking every bit the sovereign of modern cinema.
He turned and extended his hand into the vehicle, helping Gwendolyn Oulworth step down.
She had skipped a long dragging train and wore flat shoes hidden under her skirt so she could move easily.
Behind them, Keanu stepped out looking handsome in a dark gray suit, followed by director Lena Crawford in green velvet and Ross Oakley looking as dignified as Dumbledore himself.
A blizzard of white camera flashes detonated across the carpet.
–"Regal! Over here!"*
–"Ten nominations tonight, Mr. Seraphsail! Are you sweeping both drama categories?!"
–"Lena, is this the night a female director takes the Globe?!"
–"Keanu! Keanu, one look down the center lens!"
….
Regal kept his pace deliberate and steady. He gave the international press their fifteen-second soundbites, kept Lena centered between himself and Ross for the photographers, and guided the contingent through the glass double doors into the hotel's International Ballroom.
Inside the ballroom, LIE Studios was seated right in the middle at Table One, directly in front of the main television camera crane.
Regal pulled out Gwendolyn's chair, and sat down, checking his watch:
4:52 PM.
Gwendolyn leaned close and whispered. "Samantha checked the back hallway. The security team is keeping the side fire exit unlocked for us until eight-thirty."
"Good." Regal whispered back with a smile. "We will just win some awards and get out of here."
….
At 5:00 PM sharp, the lights dimmed, and the 74th Golden Globe Awards went live to television sets all around the world.
The ceremony moved at a blistering clip, fueled by alcohol and the biting, irreverent monologue from the host that left studio executives laughing through gritted teeth.
The early categories hit fast:
Best Animated Feature Film.
The presenter ripped open the envelope, smiling broadly at the camera–
"And the Golden Globe goes to... Kung Fu Panda! LIE Studios and Unique FX!"
Table One erupted into a roar.
Regal was on his feet instantly, applauding as David Scott and Leo Woert made their way to the stage.
In their speech, the animation team openly thanked Regal for trusting them to build a world steeped in ancient philosophy rather than standard cartoon slapstick, drawing a massive round of applause from the room.
Two categories later, the score nominations arrived:
Best Original Score.
Ludwig Göransson was nominated twice; for both [Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix] and [Kung Fu Panda]. He ended up winning for [Harry Potter], holding up his shiny trophy and pointing happily down at Table One.
By 6:40 PM, the prestige acting categories took center stage.
Best Supporting Actor in a Motion Picture.
When the screen cut to the five nominee boxes, Ross Oakley's weathered, dignified face filled the primary screen for his unforgettable turn as Albus Dumbledore in [Order of the Phoenix].
"And the Golden Globe goes to... Ross Oakley!"
The ballroom gave him a standing ovation before he even cleared his chair. Ross embraced Regal, hugged Lena, and walked up the stairs with effortless grace.
At the podium, the legendary actor raised the golden globe toward the lights, his resonant voice commanding total silence:
"To Regal Seraphsail, who looked at an old man and gave him the words to speak truth to power. This belongs to our entire order."
Regal clapped proudly, but as the clock passed [7:15], the pressure started to build. The wedding ceremony in Glendale had officially started.
Seated right beside Ross across the table, Stephen Hawking Sr. had been observing Regal for the past twenty minutes.
"Is there anywhere you have to be?" Stephen asked quietly.
Regal looked over and caught Stephen's knowing gaze. "Oh... Was I too obvious?"
"No." Stephen replied with a faint, wry smirk. "This old man is too perceptive."
"Haha, you sure are, Stephen." Regal chuckled softly, leaning in closer so his voice wouldn't carry over the banquet chatter. "And yeah, I have a wedding to attend."
Stephen raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. "Oh, that sounds exciting. May I know whose wedding it is?"
"I believe you have met him too." Regal said, a small, nostalgic smile gracing his lips. "But I doubt you remember him."
"Now don't make me more curious."
"You remember our first meeting at the convenience store, right?" Regal reminded him quietly. "He was the owner of it."
Stephen blinked, a warm flash of recognition broke across his face. "Oh, I of course remember it. His name is Jordan, if I am not wrong, right?"
Regal stared at him, genuinely stunned. "...You remember his name? He will be thrilled to know it."
Stephen tilted his head, a mischievous glint touching his wrinkled eyes. "Would he be thrilled if I attended it too?"
Regal's jaw nearly dropped. "W-what?"
"I would like to join too." a deep, gravelly voice cut in smoothly from right beside Stephen.
Ross Oakley was leaning back in his chair, his newly won Golden Globe sitting casually next to his bread plate.
Regal turned to him. "....You too?"
"Tsk." Ross scoffed softly, adjusting his lapels with an air of complete boredom toward the surrounding Hollywood crowd. "I would like to be anywhere other than here."
Regal looked back and forth between the two living legends of cinema, then glanced at Gwendolyn, who had her hand over her mouth, trying to suppress her laughter.
...This is going to cause a scene, isn't it?
Still, he couldn't help feeling a little excited about it. Years from now, he could brag to Jordan's kids that he had managed to bring two of the biggest names in cinema to their parents' wedding.
He shook his head with an incredulous grin. "Of course you both can join. But you have to follow me when I give the signal, no questions."
Stephen Sr. and Ross exchanged a brief, amused glance, nodding in silent agreement like two conspirators plotting a prison break.
….
Right on cue, at [7:35], the screen lit up for one of the most fiercely contested races of the evening:
Best Screenplay – Motion Picture.
Regal held two separate nominations in the same field: the intricate, politically charged adaptation of [Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix], and the bone-cracking, minimalist action poetry of [John Wick].
The presenter sliced the envelope.
"The Golden Globe goes to... Regal Seraphsail, for John Wick!"
The ballroom roared. Writing a hard-boiled hitman thriller into high-art prestige was unheard of, and the room recognized the sheer audacity of it.
Regal kissed Gwendolyn, patted Keanu on the shoulder, and took the stage. He took the heavy statue, adjusted the microphone, and looked out over the crowd of industry peers.
"Action needs writing." Regal declared. "I repeat, action needs writing. I say this after winning this award for an action film like [John Wick]. Treat your action scenes just like you treat a drama. Write your action pieces, before completely relying on the stunt director."
He looked down toward Table One, meeting Keanu Reeves's eyes.
"A script like this only works when the lead actor gives it everything, and Keanu has stood by me through thick and thin, just as he always has. This award belongs to you, as much as it belongs to our stunt team, editors, and every member of the crew who worked tirelessly to make every second count. Thank you."
He delivered the speech in forty seconds flat, and walked back down to his seat, deliberately preserving the television broadcast schedule.
At 7:55 PM, the energy in the ballroom reached a fever pitch.
Best Actor in a Motion Picture – Drama.
The room held its breath.
When Keanu's name was announced as the winner, the entire Beverly Hilton practically came unglued. The star looked genuinely stunned, his hands shaking slightly as he stood.
He pulled Regal into a tight, brotherly embrace, whispering. "Thank you, brother." before taking the stage to deliver a humble, deeply moving speech that brought half the room to tears.
Then came 8:08 PM.
Best Director – Motion Picture.
Lena Crawford sat frozen as the nominees were read.
When the envelope opened and her name echoed across the global telecast, beating out three veteran studio titans, she buried her face in her hands, weeping tears of pure catharsis.
The former sitcom director had just become one of the few women in history to claim the Golden Globe for Best Director.
Regal stood beside her, guiding her toward the stairs with a broad, triumphant smile.
Finally, at 8:16 PM, the room fell into complete, suspended silence.
The broadcast host walked out to introduce the night's crowning honor:
Best Motion Picture – Drama.
Both [Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix] and [John Wick] sat on the ballot, competing against Hollywood's finest legacy dramas.
The presenter broke the seal, unfolded the card, and smiled directly into the primary crane camera:
"And the Golden Globe for Best Motion Picture... goes to John Wick! LIE Studios!"
The International Ballroom exploded.
It was a total, unprecedented sweep. A modern, relentless action masterpiece had captured the crown of American cinema.
The entire Table One surged onto the main stage. Keanu, Regal, Darren, and the production team stood under the blinding white spotlights as the orchestra played Ludwig's driving synth anthem at full volume.
Regal stood at the center of the stage, surrounded by his collaborators, holding the heavy golden globe high into the air as hundreds of photographers flashed relentlessly from the foot of the stage.
The television monitors showed the final graphic:
[74TH GOLDEN GLOBES: LIE STUDIOS CLAIMS 6 WINS].
At 8:21 PM, the broadcast announcer's voice boomed over the speakers: "Thank you for watching the 74th Golden Globe Awards! Goodnight from Beverly Hills!"
The end credits began to roll across television screens worldwide. The house lights came up, and absolute chaos descended upon the stage.
Every entertainment journalist, network camera crew, and competing studio executive swarmed toward the stage steps like a surging tidal wave.
Flashbulbs went off at fifteen frames per second.
Representatives from Variety, Deadline, and The Hollywood Reporter fought their way through the front tables, microphones extended, desperate to capture the first post-sweep interview with the twenty eight year old who had just conquered the industry.
The primary broadcast crane swung low, sweeping across the center of the stage, hunting for the defining hero shot of Regal Seraphsail.
The camera lens zoomed in–
And captured nothing.
Regal was nowhere near the center of the stage, the stairs, or even the press barricade.
In the middle of all the hugs, noise, and flying confetti, Regal had quietly handed his golden trophy to Darren, whispering in his ear:
"Hold the fort. Tell them I had bad food."
"I should have waited for a week and come back."
Before Darren could even finish his bickering, Regal caught Gwendolyn's wrist. He turned his head and gave a sharp, decisive nod toward Stephen Hawking Sr. and Ross Oakley.
The two older titans didn't hesitate for a second. With surprising agility that defied their age, Stephen and Ross fell in right behind them.
Moving smoothly, Regal guided them past the backstage monitor banks, ducking cleanly beneath the heavy black velvet curtain hanging along the western wall of Ballroom B.
While seventy camera crews shouted his name at the front of the stage, Regal, Gwendolyn, Stephen Sr., and Ross slipped through the double swing doors of the hotel's banquet service kitchen.
The sudden silence of the back hallway was shocking, and the change in atmosphere was instant.
Instead of celebrities and blinding flashes, the room smelled of soap, clean steam, and cooking garlic.
A few line cooks stopped washing dishes and stared with wide eyes as the most famous director in the world, dressed in a tux and holding hands with a woman in an evening gown, jogged past their cutting boards.
"Evening, gentlemen." Regal grinned over his shoulder. "Food was fantastic."
"Hurry up, you slowpokes." Ross muttered behind them, thoroughly enjoying the sheer absurdity of running through a hotel kitchen like a rebellious teenager.
They reached the service elevator.
Regal pressed the down button, and the metal doors slid shut just as the voices of confused security guards echoed down the hall.
The elevator dropped to the basement loading dock.
The doors opened onto the concrete service bay, where an unmarked black Chevy SUV sat parked beside the laundry carts with its tinted windows concealing the interior and its engine quietly running.
The passenger door snapped open from the inside.
Rock was behind the wheel in a dark suit with a security earpiece in his ear. "Right on time, Boss."
Regal helped Gwendolyn into the middle row, while Stephen Hawking Sr. and Ross Oakley climbed into the back. Regal climbed in right behind Gwendolyn and pulled the heavy door shut with a thud.
The chaotic roar of Hollywood, the screaming press, and the golden trophies vanished into thin air.
"Glendale." Regal said, stripping off his tuxedo bow tie and tossing it onto the seat with a victorious breath. "Take the back roads through East Hollywood. Don't touch the freeway."
Gwendolyn leaned back in her seat and shook her head. "Jordan isn't going to pass out, right?"
"I hope not. That would be terrible," Ross grunted comfortably, resting his chin in his hand before adding, "Although, at the same time, if he did pass out, it would be hilarious and serve the old bastard right for thinking he could get married in peace."
For a moment, Regal forgot that he was talking about his own fiancée.
Gwendolyn slowly turned her head toward him, one eyebrow raised.
"Your sympathy is touching," she said dryly.
Ross gave a careless shrug. "I am just saying, the man spent half his life waiting for the right woman, and now that he finally found one, he gets to discover that his wedding is being invaded by half of Hollywood."
"Invaded?" Gwendolyn repeated, narrowing her eyes.
Stephen Hawking Sr. immediately corrected his choice of words. "Visited. Respectfully visited."
Before Gwendolyn could respond, Rock quietly put the SUV into drive and glanced at them through the rearview mirror. "Hold on."
The SUV pulled smoothly away from the loading ramp and slipped into the quiet alley behind the hotel before accelerating into the cool night air, leaving the chaos of the event behind.
Back inside the brightly lit ballroom, hundreds of reporters and camera crews were left standing around the now-empty stage, their cameras still pointed toward the spot where Regal had been only moments earlier as confused voices began spreading through the crowd.
Where the hell did Regal go?
.
….
[To be continued…]
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