Negotiations with Augustus went smoothly. After all, they'd been talking for three months.
There was no fated theatrical encounter—it had all been carefully arranged in advance.
When Leo returned to his private box, Act III was just beginning.
Grace Kelly's performance stunned the entire audience. Everyone was impressed by this beautiful, talented young girl.
But it was clear to all that the lead actress seemed jealous of Grace's excellent showing. In one confrontation scene, where the slap was supposed to be staged, she actually hit her for real.
Grace finished the scene with tears in her eyes, her professional dedication earning thunderous applause.
After the curtain, the cast came to the VIP boxes to greet patrons. When they saw Leo, their eyes lit up—actors of any era need sponsors.
But Grace's face went pale the moment she saw him.
She had thought tonight's opportunity was won by her own merit. Seeing Leo here, she realized it was all orchestrated by this man!
The jealous lead actress immediately sensed the unusual link between Grace and this wealthy, handsome patron.
She realized Grace must have him as her backer.
She stole a glance at Leo—so young, handsome, rich—then thought bitterly of the old, sweaty, bald, flabby man she'd have to climb onto that night.
Comparison was cruel.
She looked down at her own curvy, seductive body, then at the fresh-faced, clueless Grace.
A wicked idea struck her.
She deliberately tripped herself, giving a dramatic cry as she fell toward Leo:
"Ah!"
In her mind's script, Leo would catch her.
She'd press every voluptuous inch of herself against him, letting him feel her mature charms.
She'd prove—what use was some teenage ingenue when you could have a real woman?
All eyes turned to the scene. The veteran director and male lead exchanged knowing smirks.
This was the Broadway survival game—if the patron were an older lady, the male lead would be the one falling.
Grace saw it too. She wanted to warn Leo that it was all an act.
But she opened her mouth, then closed it again.
She had no right to interfere.
Her relationship with Leo was... complicated.
Everyone was sure the lead actress was about to secure a new sponsor.
But then something surprising happened.
Leo didn't even get up to help. He just calmly scooted his chair to the side.
"Ah—!"
This second scream was genuine.
The lead actress crashed painfully onto the coffee table.
Pfft!
Grace couldn't help bursting into laughter.
She'd spent three months with Leo—she knew all too well, this was exactly his sort of humor.
"Let's go, Grace."
Leo stood without a glance at the fallen woman, walking to the door.
Grace obediently hurried forward, taking his arm, all her earlier anger at being slapped on stage forgotten.
Clutching her sore hip, the lead actress shot them a poisonous look.
"Why didn't you catch me?"
Leo didn't even turn around:
"Sorry. I'm a clean freak."
Pfft!
Grace was laughing so hard she was bent over.
Arm in arm, they left the theater, the very image of a loving couple.
But once in the car, they sat on opposite sides of the back seat, faces turned to the window, cold and silent.
Noodles was driving and didn't even blink at the familiar scene.
Outside, neon-lit Manhattan blurred into rainbow reflections on the glass. Grace could just see Leo's handsome profile reflected beside hers.
She remembered three months earlier.
She'd been rehearsing with classmates in a student theater off Broadway.
The theater owner, on the brink of bankruptcy, had brought in a wealthy young patron.
Leo had wandered in looking utterly disinterested.
She'd instantly seen the owner's desperate hope for investment—and figured he'd go under anyway.
Until Leo looked at her.
In three seconds, she'd seen confusion, disbelief, delight, and then icy calm.
Grace was naturally sensitive to people's eyes. She noticed.
But she hadn't recognized his face at all—so where had that familiarity in his gaze come from?
The owner got his money, of course.
And that handsome, domineering man had entered her life in a way she hadn't expected.
Manhattan, the Angelina Paris Restaurant.
"Why not Glen's Bar like usual?
This place doesn't even open at 10 p.m."
Grace eyed the darkened entrance.
She wasn't some naive small-town girl.
Her family was old American stock—artists and athletes.
Her father, John B. Kelly, had won Olympic gold in rowing in 1920 and become a successful businessman and Philadelphia city councilman.
Her uncles were well-known stage actors.
She was every inch a blue-blooded second-generation American.
She knew this upscale Manhattan spot well.
"No. Tonight it opens just for you."
Leo stepped forward, opening the door and bowing like a gentleman.
As Grace entered, the lights sprang on.
All fifty-odd usual tables had been cleared.
In the center stood a single long dining table.
Flowers filled every corner. The entire hall was a sea of blossoms.
The chef-owner himself stood waiting beside the table, welcoming them.
Grace covered her mouth in shock.
Even once seated, she couldn't calm down.
"How did you know I dreamed of a sea of flowers?"
Leo swallowed a bite of foie gras and said evenly:
"Two weeks ago. You were drunk, vomiting, and told me.
That you always dreamed of a birthday surrounded by flowers."
Grace's face softened.
Though wealthy, her father had been strict.
Birthdays were always social events, networking opportunities—never about her.
"You even complained your birthdays were just like the cake on the table—tools."
Leo's words transported her back.
Usually their dates were polite, restrained.
But that day her father had come to New York and found out she was dating. He'd been furious.
John Kelly intended his daughter to be society's perfect flower.
Her future husband had to be high society or political royalty—not some upstart.
He'd threatened to cut off her allowance.
Grace had been almost 18—rebellious, defiant.
That night she'd gone wild.
But she couldn't hold her liquor. She'd clung to Leo, crying and throwing up all night.
Remembering that humiliating evening, she blushed furiously.
Then Leo set a delicate box in front of her, his voice unexpectedly gentle:
"Happy 18th birthday, Grace."
Grace's eyes widened at the brand. She tore it open eagerly.
Inside was a stunning necklace—brilliant diamonds, unique design, lovely fringe.
She gasped:
"How did you know I wanted this?"
"You were staring at it on Tuesday.
Don't look at me like that—I didn't have you tailed. I bribed your best friend.
After all, if you're going to act, act thoroughly."
His earlier words had nearly brought tears to her eyes.
But that last line yanked her back to reality.
She glanced out the window, noticing reporters packing up their cameras.
Her heart, so recently fluttering, fell cold and heavy.
Yes. It was all just a performance.
She remembered the night it all began.
He'd stopped her as she was leaving the student theater:
"Want to get out from under your father's thumb?
Be my girlfriend for three or four months. When it's over, I'll give you $60,000.
Enough to chase your acting dreams freely."
Grace wasn't naive. But he'd been devastatingly handsome.
She'd thought: Even if there's no money, a fling with him would be worth it.
But as they spent more time together, she gave up on that fantasy.
Under that young, handsome face was a cold, calculating heart.
His acting was perfect.
One minute the devoted boyfriend with flowers at the school gates.
The next, silent and brooding in the car.
Smiling for photographers one moment, eyes dark with thought the next.
Compared to her father? This man was even more terrifying.
Tonight was just another act.
Tomorrow the tabloids would write about the playboy who spent a fortune to woo an actress.
But was it really just an act?
He'd remembered her drunken ramblings. Her friend's offhand remarks.
Grace sighed, heart sinking.
She might be falling for him.
"We have one month left on our contract," she said softly.
"Yes. But good news—I don't think we'll need the whole month.
To stop my enemies from doing something desperate, I'll have my driver take you straight back to Philadelphia tonight."
Seeing her about to object, he added coldly:
"It's about your life. No arguments."
So domineering.
She felt both resentful and... safe.
After dinner, they climbed into Noodles' car.
Grace had drunk a little. She didn't keep her distance this time.
Remembering their deal was nearly over, a sudden impulse seized her.
She took off her coat and gently rested her head in Leo's lap.
He looked down at her—a bold, beautiful young woman.
Already she looked like the future Hollywood goddess and Princess of Monaco.
Bright eyes, perfect features, flawless figure.
With wings, she'd be an angel from myth.
But under that aristocratic face was still the playful spark of 18-year-old Grace.
Eyes promising love.
Body promising life.
Leo wasn't made of stone.
He lowered his head to meet her trembling lips.
Noodles kept his eyes on the road, expertly ignoring the sounds behind him.
The Bentley sped toward the Waldorf, the grand old titan of luxury hotels.
In the dark, in a penthouse suite of the Waldorf Astoria, the lights burned warmly.
Two blurred figures moved before the window.
Entwined, seeking, giving.
The lights dimmed.
And so, Grace Kelly—future Oscar winner, future Princess of Monaco—celebrated her 18th birthday with her rite of passage into adulthood.