She seamlessly snapped her attention back to her friends, burying the fire beneath her flawless, warm public smile as if nothing had happened—leaving him staring at the elegant curve of her figure and the way the gown clung to her body like a second skin.
Left standing in the middle of the crowded party, Marvin could only watch her. A slow smile spread across his face as the pristine image of the untouchable A-lister was instantly replaced by the memory of their call from last night—her raw, breathless voice whispering exactly what she wanted him to do to her once they were ready. How she wanted him to pull her hair while he fucked her open. How she wanted him to leave marks that the cameras would never see. How she wanted him to ruin her so thoroughly that she would still feel him the next morning on the red carpet.
The smile on Marvin's face lingered as his gaze drifted elsewhere.
Near the back of the auditorium stood another centre of attention.
Harvey Weinstein.
He hardly needed an introduction.
Around him revolved Miramax's inner circle—producers, executives, agents, and filmmakers, each measuring every word with the instinctive caution reserved for a man who could make careers with a signature and bury them with a phone call.
Quentin Tarantino commanded most of the conversation, punctuating every story with broad gestures as ideas spilled from him faster than anyone could keep up.
A few steps away stood Uma Thurman.
She smiled when the conversation demanded it, laughed when politeness required it, yet never drifted any closer to Harvey than she absolutely had to. To everyone else, it looked like nothing more than a preference for personal space.
Marvin knew better.
The distance wasn't accidental.
It was the quiet instinct of someone who had already discovered that every favour in Hollywood came with a price, and Harvey Weinstein had a way of collecting that made earlier payments look like pocket change.
She was one of his victims. Or it should be called a deal that had stretched further than she’d ever meant it to.
Either way, she still hadn’t grasped how high the next demand would climb, even after everything that had already passed between them.
Beside them stood the Boston golden boys, Matt Damon and Ben Affleck, looking incredibly smug and comfortable in their tailored suits, securely tethered to Harvey’s massive purse strings.
From a distance, it looked like just another gathering of Hollywood's elite.
Marvin saw something else entirely.
Power. Hunger.
And the people caught within its orbit.
Marvin let his eyes drift from one circle to the next.
Every group represented a different kingdom.
Different loyalties. Different ambitions. Different games.
Hollywood liked to pretend it was one industry.
Standing in this room, it looked far more like half a dozen rival empires sharing the same city, smiling at one another while quietly calculating who would still be standing five years from now.
Then there was Marvin's circle. It was smaller than the others.
Newer.
But it possessed something none of the established camps did.
Momentum.
People had already begun referring to it, half-jokingly, as the Meyers Group. Marvin doubted the name would remain a joke for much longer.
M. Night Shyamalan stood shoulder to shoulder with John Polson and Peter Jackson, the three directors so absorbed in a discussion about lenses, shot composition, and production budgets that the rest of the room might as well have ceased to exist. Each of them, in one way or another, had watched Marvin's ideas reshape their careers.
Around them drifted the actors who had chosen to tie their fortunes to his.
Bruce Willis nursed a glass of whisky while quietly observing the room.
Famke Janssen walked with the calm assurance of someone who had long since grown accustomed to turning heads. There was nothing flashy about her confidence. It was quiet, effortless, almost intimidating. Standing well above most actresses, with sharp features and an unmistakable elegance, she naturally drew every eye in the room. For *Hide and Seek*, she would once again step into the role of the psychiatrist—just as she had in previous life.
Jessica Alba turned more than a few heads in a daring backless gown, she didn't care of the attention she attracted.
Lindsay Lohan, meanwhile, could barely contain herself. The excitement radiating from the girl made her look as though she'd consumed enough sugar to power the entire premiere.
Not everyone who belonged here could make it.
Scarlett Johansson was on the East Coast, buried beneath the demanding shooting schedule of *An American Rhapsody*.
Beyoncé was racing toward the release of *The Writing's on the Wall*, Destiny's Child's second album, which is only a month away.. Rehearsals, interviews, promotional appearances, performances—her schedule left barely enough time to sleep, let alone fly across the country for a premiere.
Across the Atlantic, Miranda Kerr was walking runways in France, while Paris had decided it was wiser not to be seen too publicly at Marvin's side, at least until his sixteenth birthday. Between acting classes and protecting her carefully crafted image, tonight simply wasn't the right occasion.
That hadn't stopped any of them from calling.
Every conversation had ended the same way.
A playful complaint.
A possessive warning.
And just enough jealousy to remind him they all wished they were the one standing beside him tonight instead of somewhere thousands of miles away.
Marvin stood near the velvet ropes, casually holding a crystal glass of sparkling water. His dark-blue suit perfectly accentuated the handsome. His Incubus charm radiated in waves, drawing the eyes of nearly every woman in the auditorium.
He was in the middle of a conversation with Jessica and Lindsay when a tall blonde approached.
She moved with the effortless confidence of someone who knew people were already looking before she arrived.
"Marvin?"
He turned.
Charlize Theron stopped in front of him, one hand resting lightly against the stem of her champagne flute.
"I'm Charlize Theron." A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I wanted to say hello. I've become a fan of your films and music."
For the briefest instant, Marvin simply looked at her. Even by his standards, she was extraordinary. Not merely beautiful.
His senses were genuinely struck by her exquisite appearance.
Every feature seemed to exist in perfect proportion to the next, as though nature had spent a little longer deciding where everything belonged.
A faint smile touched his lips. "Miss Theron."
His voice was calm and unhurried. "I'm familiar with your work as well."
One elegant eyebrow arched.
Charlize smiled warmly, the heat and depths of his gaze momentarily threw her off balance.
She recovered quickly, leaning in slightly to tease him. "My work?" she echoed, amused. "I'm impressed. I didn't think someone your age was supposed to be watching my films."
"I wasn't talking about *The Devil's Advocate*."
The South African beauty had starred alongside Keanu Reeves and Al Pacino in the dark supernatural thriller *The Devil's Advocate* in 1997. Due to its highly explicit nude scenes, it was strictly rated R.
She blinked.
Marvin chuckled, entirely unbothered by the playful jab. He took a slow sip of his water, holding her gaze with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "I was thinking of *Children of the Corn III*."
Charlize paused, her eyes widening in genuine surprise. Then she laughed. A genuine laugh.
"I walked right into that one." She shook her head. "I don't think I've met anyone who's actually seen that."
"I have."
"And recognised me? Wow? Just Wow?" She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "That film came out years ago."
"You haven't changed as much as you think."
She studied him for another moment. "No..."
A grin spread across her face. "That's not a lucky guess."
"It isn't."
"I knew it." She pointed a finger at him as though she'd caught him cheating. "You really do watch everything."
"I try."
"Films. Television. Books." She laughed again. "Every person I've spoken to tonight has a story about you bringing up something they made years ago that nobody else remembers."
Marvin shrugged. "My memory's useful."
"Useful?" she said. "It's terrifying."
Jessica snorted beside him. "I've been saying that."
Charlize glanced at Jessica before returning her attention to Marvin.
"I don't understand how you find the time. You're writing novels, making films, composing music..." She gave him an incredulous look. "When exactly do you sleep?"
"When I run out of things worth doing."
She laughed again. "I was hoping you'd have a less annoying answer."
"It would have been less honest."
She held his gaze for a beat longer than etiquette required.
There was something strangely disarming about him.
Not just the eyes. The certainty. He spoke without trying to impress anyone, which somehow made him even harder to ignore.
Almost unconsciously, she stepped a little closer. Gently placing hand on his forearm, her fingers lightly traced the fabric of his suit.
"Actually..." Her voice lowered. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you."
She glanced around the room before looking back at him. "Somewhere a little quieter?"
Marvin looked toward Jessica and Lindsay.
Jessica's smile hadn't moved. Her eyes had. She looked like she wanted to bite the taller blonde.
Lindsay looked as though she'd already decided she disliked the South African actress.
"I won't be long," Marvin said.
Neither girl looked convinced.
He turned back to Charlize and offered his arm. "This way."
Without another word, the two of them slipped away from the crowd, disappearing toward one of the quieter corners beyond the velvet curtains.
Jessica watched Marvin disappear with Charlize until the crowd swallowed them.
She folded her arms. "I don't like that bitch."
Lindsay looked up at her. "The blonde one?"
Jessica gave her a look. "How many blondes just stole Marvin?"
Lindsay bit back a laugh. "So... because she's gorgeous?"
Jessica shook her head, eyes narrowing as Charlize leaned into Marvin's personal space. "No." Jessica's eyes stayed fixed on the spot where they'd vanished. "It's the way she looked at him."
"How? Like she already decided she wanted him."
Lindsay followed her gaze for a second before shrugging. "She's hardly the first."
"This felt different." Jessica frowned. "She wasn't flirting."
"No?"
"She's eyeing her prey. She was hunting. She wants something."
Lindsay let out a small laugh. "Jess..."
"What?"
"If she thinks she's the hunter, she's about to have a really bad day."
Jessica turned to her. "And why's that?"
Lindsay smiled to herself. "Because D@dd¥ Marvin's better at it."
Jessica rolled her eyes. "You're getting too much into it."
"I'm serious." Lindsay popped another canapé into her mouth as if they were discussing the weather. "You've seen him. He smiles, says maybe five words, and suddenly actresses twice his age are asking to be alone with him."
Jessica opened her mouth. Closed it. "...Okay, that's actually true."
"Exactly."
Lindsay grinned. "If anybody should be nervous, it's Charlize."
Jessica stared at her. "You're thirteen."
"And?"
"You say some seriously weird things."
Lindsay giggled. "I hang around Marvin. Weird's kind of contagious."
Jessica snorted despite herself, then looked back toward the velvet curtains. "I still don't like her."
"That's because you're jealous."
Jessica whipped around. "I am not."
"You totally are."
"I'm not jealous."
Lindsay's grin only widened. "Whatever helps you sleep."
Jessica muttered something in Spanish under her breath before shaking her head. "Smart-ass."
Lindsay only smiled. Unlike Jessica, she wasn't worried.
Not even a little. Charlize might think she'd managed to pull Marvin away from the party.
Lindsay knew better. She knew exactly what Marvin was—and he was never the prey.
Marvin was never the one being led. He was simply curious to see where someone thought they were leading him.
The alcove was quiet.
The music from the ballroom softened into a dull murmur, leaving only the occasional burst of laughter drifting through the velvet curtains.
Marvin leaned one shoulder against the wall.
For the first time since she'd walked over, he let himself look at "South African diamond" without interruption.
She really was extraordinary.
Tall, elegant, every movement carrying that effortless grace that cameras loved. Hollywood was full of beautiful women. Charlize belonged to the rare handful whose beauty felt almost sculpted.
He made no effort to hide his appreciation.
Charlize noticed.
A faint warmth crept across her cheeks, surprising her more than his stare did. She'd spent years being looked at. Usually it was easy to ignore.
His gaze wasn't easy to ignore.
It wasn't hungry. It was... deliberate.
As though he were quietly studying a painting he'd already decided he admired.
She found herself incredibly pleased, and slightly terrified, by sudden changes in herself.