Chapter 7: A Midnight Intrusion
Since it was a low-budget film, there was no wrap party like those held for proper productions.
That very night, William returned to the soundstage, planning to finish editing the film overnight.
Editing techniques in this era were admittedly primitive, but the underlying principles were the same.
Especially after his rebirth, William felt as though his mind had been optimized—
not only was his memory astonishingly sharp, even his ability to learn had improved dramatically.
As a result, mastering these old machines came surprisingly easily.
Just as William was deep in the editing room, splicing footage together—
Bang. Clatter.
A sharp noise echoed through the building.
It came from the main entrance.
Midnight.
America.
A sudden disturbance.
William's instincts snapped to attention.
He immediately left the editing room, slipped into the adjacent office, and opened the drawer of his desk, retrieving an M1911 pistol.
With a weapon in hand, his breathing steadied.
He leaned against the office door, listening carefully.
The footsteps grew louder.
Whoever it was, they were clearly heading in this direction.
And William noticed something else—
High heels.
"A woman?"
"A thief?"
Even so, he didn't relax his guard.
Moments later, the sound of heels stopped right outside the office.
Only a single door separated them.
Nicole leaned forward slightly and saw light still glowing from behind the glass window of the editing room.
That confirmed it—
someone was still inside the studio.
She reached out and turned the handle to the office door.
Creak.
As she stepped inside and moved a few paces forward, she suddenly sensed movement behind her.
Before she could react, an arm snapped around her neck, and something cold pressed against her temple.
She didn't even have time to scream.
A familiar voice sounded from behind her—
"Don't move."
William caught the faint, lingering scent of Nicole Kidman's perfume and froze for a moment.
Why was this woman breaking into his studio in the middle of the night instead of going home?
"…You?"
Hearing William's voice, Nicole didn't panic at all.
"Who else would it be?" she said calmly.
"What—do you have a girlfriend now?
Can you let go of me?"
Only then did William realize how close they were—her back pressed to his chest, an intimacy usually reserved for couples.
Well, couples… or something less respectable.
But neither applied to them.
William released her immediately.
"Holy hell," Nicole muttered, patting her chest as she shot him an aggrieved look.
"You nearly scared me to death."
"Ms. Kidman," William said helplessly, "why are you wandering around my little production studio in the middle of the night instead of sleeping?"
As he spoke, he walked over to the desk and placed the M1911 pistol back into the drawer.
Only then did Nicole process what had been pressed against her head moments ago.
A gun.
Her face drained of color.
"I just saw the lights were still on and came in to take a look," she said, then paused and shot him another resentful glance.
"Who knew you'd be—like that."
"..."
William had absolutely nothing to say.
"So? Seen enough?" he said flatly.
"I'm just working late, editing. Nothing special."
He turned toward the editing room, ready to get back to work.
"Editing?" Nicole perked up immediately.
"What film?"
William didn't answer.
After all, since coming back, his priorities boiled down to three things:
Money.
Power.
Women.
If he wasn't in the middle of making money, he didn't mind indulging—but right now, he was busy.
Seeing him ignore her completely, Nicole raised an eyebrow.
Since entering the industry, there hadn't been a single man who could truly ignore her appeal.
Unless he was gay.
But she knew William wasn't.
She'd seen it clearly before—there had been appreciation in his eyes.
So why had he suddenly become so distant?
That question was precisely why she'd barged in tonight.
Curiosity.
"An R-rated film," William answered bluntly at last.
Nicole froze.
For several seconds.
"…Can I see it?"
This time, William froze.
Nicole Kidman—future Hollywood superstar, future wife of Tom Cruise—wanted to watch his R-rated film?
Was he hearing things, or had the world gone completely mad?
This was a woman who would later tolerate a Scientologist husband for eleven years in pursuit of fame and status.
An R-rated indie film that did nothing for her career—was she really just… curious?
William couldn't make sense of it.
But since she'd already asked, refusing would only seem strange.
"You can," he said after a moment,
"but I've only just started editing. It's all raw footage. Are you sure?"
Nicole smiled faintly.
"The more primitive the footage," she said softly,
"the more it reveals about the director."
With that cryptic remark, she stepped beside him and leaned down to peer into the editing machine's eyepiece—something resembling a microscope.
Digital editing already existed in this era, but the cost was astronomical. William couldn't afford it.
One by one, Nicole watched the raw reels.
At first, she hadn't expected much.
She'd simply been curious about him—perhaps hoping to build a connection, maybe even leverage some resources. After all, anyone who owned a production company couldn't be completely broke.
If she'd known the truth, she probably wouldn't have broken in tonight.
But the footage stunned her.
She had never seen shooting techniques like this.
Those captivating compositions—
even through unedited film strips, the atmosphere spilled straight at her senses.
The male lead being Black made her mildly uncomfortable.
But artistically?
She couldn't deny it.
At the very least, this style felt like the birth of an entirely new school.
And at this moment in history, Hollywood was standing at a critical transition—from producer-centered filmmaking to director-centered vision.
This era was precisely when bold, innovative directors began to emerge.
For example—an unknown named Quentin Tarantino.
"These…" Nicole straightened up and looked at William again, slowly and carefully, as if seeing him for the first time.
"Did you really shoot all of this yourself?"