Chapter 141

The commotion quickly drew the attention of on-site security guards.

A burly guard strode over, addressing Wentworth Miller and his group. "Sorry, I'll have to ask you all to leave."

Before the event, the security team had been given a guest list with clear instructions: who to prioritize, who to watch, and who didn't matter.

Wentworth Miller's group fell squarely into the "unimportant" category.

The security guard's tone carried an unmistakable finality.

One of the actresses in the group tried pleading, "Sir, this was just a misunderstanding between the two of them. It has nothing to do with us!"

"Exactly! Why are we all being punished?" another chimed in.

The guard, unfazed, remained firm. "You're part of the same group, so you all need to leave."

Wentworth felt a pang of disappointment. Was the punch pointless? Did Martin not hear what Creech said at all? Maybe that glance was just a coincidence…

Frustration bubbled up inside him, but there was no turning back now. He might have been hasty, but he had no regrets. Besides, Creech's reckless behavior and loud mouth guaranteed he wouldn't get far in Hollywood anyway.

"Gentlemen and ladies, this is your final warning," the guard said, his hand drifting to the stun gun on his belt.

Wentworth raised his hands in surrender. "We're leaving. Let's not make this worse."

Reluctantly, the rest of the group followed him toward the exit, though Creech protested furiously, "Why me?! I'm the victim here! I demand justice!"

"Fool," someone muttered under their breath as the others cast disdainful glances his way.

Despite their frustrations, the group knew better than to challenge the guards further. Invitations to such prestigious premieres didn't come easy for struggling actors. This mishap had cost them dearly.

On the other side of the banquet hall, Ian Bryce was oblivious to the scene and continued speaking to Martin.

"Martin, the role of Spider-Man was made for you. You're practically Peter Parker—minus the geeky looks. But hey, who wouldn't prefer a handsome Spider-Man?"

Martin suddenly stood up. "Excuse me, Ian. I need to take care of something. I'll be right back."

Ian blinked, assuming Martin was stepping away for a moment. "No problem, take your time."

To his surprise, Martin headed straight for the group being escorted out.

"Wait a moment!" Martin's voice rang out.

Wentworth and the others turned, stunned.

Was he talking to them?

Martin approached the guard. "These people are my friends. Can you let them stay?"

The guard hesitated, glancing at the group. Martin Meyers knows these nobodies? But orders were orders—Martin was on the VIP list.

"Of course, Mr. Meyers. If they're your friends, they can stay. But no more trouble."

Martin nodded. "I guarantee it."

The group erupted in relief, chiming in their thanks. "We won't cause any more problems!" "Thank you, Mr. Meyers!"

Two actresses even shot Martin flirtatious glances, but he ignored them.

Then, with an air of finality, Martin pointed to Creech. "Except for him. I don't know this person. He'll have to leave."

Creech's face drained of color. "What?! That's not fair!"

"Fairness isn't the issue here. Sir, please escort him out," Martin said calmly.

The guard, unbothered by Creech's protests, complied. As Creech was dragged away, the group stood dumbfounded.

Meanwhile, Wentworth's heart swelled with gratitude. Did Martin really notice me?

Martin turned to him, a warm smile on his face. "That punch earlier—nice form. Do you work out?"

"Yes, sir!" Wentworth stammered, exhilarated. "I train regularly."

Martin nodded. "Good. Physical and mental strength are both important. Here's my card. Do you have one? Let's hit the gym together sometime."

Wentworth stared at the business card Martin handed him, barely able to contain his excitement. "Yes, sir! One moment—"

His mind blanked as he fumbled through his pockets, desperately searching for his own card. Sweat beaded on his forehead until he finally pulled one out of his jacket.

"Sorry, I… I'm just a little nervous," he stammered.

Martin chuckled lightly. "Relax. I'm not a tiger—I don't bite."

The surrounding crowd laughed politely at the quip.

Wentworth handed over his card, his hands trembling slightly.

Martin slipped it into his pocket with a nod. "Let's stay in touch."

As Martin walked away, Wentworth instinctively patted his suit pocket, where Martin's card now rested. This wasn't just a card—it was a golden opportunity, the best thing that had happened to him since arriving in Hollywood.

The remaining young actors gathered around Wentworth, envy etched across their faces.

"You're so lucky," one muttered bitterly.

A blonde actress pressed herself against him, whispering suggestively, "Maybe we could celebrate tonight…"

Wentworth smiled politely but declined all advances. His focus was laser-sharp: he needed to leave immediately and discuss this breakthrough with his agent.

This was his shot, and he wasn't about to waste it.

[•———•——•———•]

𝙥𝗮𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙤𝙣(.)𝙘𝙤𝙢/𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙊𝙛𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧