Chapter 114

After chatting with Matt Damon, Martin decided not to stay at the banquet. After exchanging a few words with familiar faces, he left.

Gordon had already received a call from Martin and was waiting at the gate.

As Martin got into the car, Gordon was about to start the engine when he heard Martin say, "Wait!"

Gordon froze and stopped. He was curious but didn't ask.

"Look more, talk less"—this was an essential professional quality for a bodyguard.

After a brief moment, a dark figure limped over, stopping in front of the car door. She knocked on the window.

The window rolled down to reveal Charlize Theron's stunning face.

The woman looked pitiful as she pleaded with Martin, "My rental car broke down early. Can I catch a ride with you?"

It was a weak excuse.

Martin knew it was just an excuse, and she knew that he knew. But neither of them called it out. They both understood the unspoken agreement.

And so, this "poor" excuse worked.

"Get in," Martin said, pushing open the car door from the inside.

The woman smiled and slid into the car.

"What happened to your foot?" Martin asked, noticing her limp.

"I was running too fast earlier and twisted my ankle in my high heels."

She closed the door and removed her high heels, revealing a delicate, pale foot.

She extended her foot toward Martin. "Look, my ankle's sprained."

Martin inhaled lightly. A faint odor of foot sweat mingled with a strong scent of perfume.

If he were a normal man, the only thing he'd notice would be the perfume.

But this was why she felt comfortable presenting her foot to him—temptation was everywhere.

Yet Martin was no ordinary person.

Thankfully, as a succubus, he was quite attuned to human scents, particularly those from beautiful women.

The smell wasn't unpleasant, though it was a bit unusual to him. In fact, he found it oddly appealing.

His gaze shifted to her ankle, which was slightly swollen and red. It was indeed sprained.

"I have some medicinal alcohol with me. Would you like me to apply it?" he asked, his voice light and calm.

Charlize, gazing into Martin's clear eyes as he examined her injury, suddenly felt a little embarrassed. What was he thinking? She almost pulled her foot back, but then, it was gently held in his hands.

"Forget it, let me help you," Martin said.

Charlize was stunned.

A moment later, a sound broke the silence—part scream, part cry of pain, but louder and strangely more playful.

The sounds continued, occasionally interrupted by Charlize's sweet giggles.

"Don't—don't scratch there, it's itchy."

"Ah, what are you doing? Doesn't it smell?"

"No, no, no—not there! Not there!"

"…"

Gordon, hearing the commotion, was troubled but didn't dare to look back. Instead, he raised the partition between the front and back seats.

"I'm going to focus on driving. Whatever happens back there, I don't want to know."

Over an hour later, the car pulled up in front of a small villa.

Charlize stepped out of the car, perfectly composed, though her stride seemed a little weak.

After walking a few steps toward the house, she trotted back toward the car. Her sprain had miraculously healed.

What a joke. Such a minor injury meant nothing to a succubus. It was merely a waste of half a bottle of good whiskey. And he certainly couldn't drink it now!

"Martin, this is my temporary residence, the house I'm renting. You're welcome to visit anytime. Just call me in advance."

"I will," Martin replied solemnly.

As he entered the house, Charlize leaned against the door. The memory of what had happened in the car made her heart race. Her face flushed, and she felt her legs grow weak again.

She touched her face, muttering, "Am I crazy?"

Then she knelt down and gently touched her feet. "That feeling... it's like nothing I've ever experienced. Martin is different. He's unlike all the other men..."

Charlize turned and gazed at the car as it slowly disappeared into the night. Suddenly, a determined look crossed her face.

"Martin Meyers, I'll catch you. I want you to stay with me... forever."

The Next Day

As expected, the headlines of all major media outlets were filled with the news of Martin confronting Ben Affleck at the celebration party for Island:

"Martin used Chinese kung fu to defeat Ben Affleck at the Little Island celebration. It's unbelievable that his thin body could contain such power..."

"Ben Affleck harasses Charlize Theron, and our young genius steps in like a heroic knight, taking down the dragon..."

"Martin recreated Bruce Lee's classic move and kicked Ben Affleck ten meters away..."

At home, Martin's father, Grant, slammed the newspaper down in anger. "Who is this Ben Affleck? How dare he do something to you?"

"Don't worry about a young actor, Dad. I already gave him a lesson," Martin replied casually, taking a bite of his bacon and egg sandwich.

Linda, his mother, walked over with a worried expression. She gently pulled him into an embrace. "Oh, my poor little pumpkin, you weren't hurt? Why didn't you tell us when you came home?"

"It was late when I got back, and it really wasn't a big deal. I'm fine. The other guy's the one who got hurt," Martin said, rolling his eyes. "Mom, we've talked about this. I'm not a kid anymore. You can't keep treating me like one."

Linda released him but inspected him carefully, making sure he wasn't hurt. Her face then softened, and she sighed, "Oh my God, my little Martin has grown up. He's not my little pumpkin anymore. My heart's breaking!"

"That's so dramatic!" Martin teased.

Ding added, "Mom, you're a film theory professor and producer. Acting's not really your thing."

"Oh yeah?" Linda said, twisting Martin's ear with a sly smile. "But I think I'm a pretty good actress, especially in action movies."

"It hurts, Mom, why do you always do this?" Martin squealed.

Grant stayed silent, fearful of provoking his wife. He muttered, "What action movie? More like a horror film."

"What's wrong with this move? It works on both of you, father and son!" Linda laughed.

"It's so effective. My mother is wise and powerful, and I willingly submit. Please, let me go, Mom!" Martin said dramatically.

"Humph, still not your mother's little pumpkin?"

"Always."

"Do you want me to rub your head?"

"Let me rub it as much as I want!"

"Good boy!" Linda released him, proud.

Grant then said, "Son, do you want me to find someone to teach that guy a lesson?"

"No need. I've already promised to let him off. I don't want to break my word," Martin replied.

"Well, it's your call," Grant shrugged.

Martin, now older and more independent, had his own opinions, which both relieved and disappointed his father.

"I'm done eating. I'm going upstairs to continue writing my book."

Martin finished his milk and headed upstairs to his study with a smile.

To be honest, he enjoyed the current atmosphere at home and hoped he'd never need magic to change it.

As Martin went upstairs, Linda's expression shifted. She picked up the phone.

Grant, knowing his wife too well, quickly said, "Martin already promised someone he'd let it go."

"Humph. Martin may have agreed, but I didn't! I'm his mother, and I won't let anyone bully my son," Linda said, voice steely.

"Well, you have the final say," Grant said, raising his hands in surrender. "What are you going to do?"

Linda sneered. "I can't do much, but at least I can make sure my old friends never want to work with that idiot again."

Poor Ben Affleck. He had no idea what kind of neighbor he was about to encounter.

[•———•——•———•]

𝙥𝗮𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙤𝙣(.)𝙘𝙤𝙢/𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙊𝙛𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧