Chapter 175

Lindsay stepped into the luxurious manor, looking around at the groups of men and women huddled in small circles, feeling lost and unsure of what to do. Where is Martin? she thought.

She scanned the room, her eyes flitting nervously before she quietly moved to a corner, as if trying to hide from the crowd.

"Wow, wow, wow, look who it is!"

A group of young men and women surrounded her, led by a stunning girl with blonde hair.

Her name was Viola Johnson, the daughter of Kevin Johnson, and the guest of honor for the evening.

The group surrounded Lindsay, their eyes gleaming with excitement as they ogled her like she was some kind of toy, shouting loudly and laughing obnoxiously.

The guests around them were visibly disturbed by the noise, some casting judgmental glances before quickly turning their attention elsewhere.

"I don't know you!" Lindsay said, her voice trembling slightly.

"Really? Well, I know you," Viola said, eyeing her with a smirk. "You're the girl who's supposed to do that disgusting dance for my dad, right?"

"What dance?" Lindsay asked, confused. She had no idea what her mother had promised.

Viola laughed cruelly. "Oh, you know the one. The striptease—taking your clothes off for men to look at. You little slut, already trying to seduce men at such a young age, huh?"

The others laughed, egging her on.

"Come on, let's see if she's really developed," Viola said with a wicked smile.

"Yeah, let's check her out," one of the boys chimed in, his words slurred.

"We might as well enjoy ourselves before the show starts," another added, high on something.

Tears welled up in Lindsay's eyes. Mom, what have you done? She could feel her world crashing down.

"No, I—I can't do any striptease. I don't know what you're talking about!" she protested, her voice shaking.

Viola just laughed louder. "Oh, playing the victim, huh? Everyone, what should we do with this little bitch? Let's have some fun with her. If you want to dance, you'll dance in front of everyone, not just my dad!"

"Rip her clothes off! Rip her off!" one of the guys shouted, his voice growing more frantic.

Lindsay stepped back in fear, her heart pounding in her chest. Then, in a desperate attempt to protect herself, she shouted, "I'm Martin's friend!"

The room went silent instantly. The high boys retracted their hands, their high minds slowly processing the statement.

Several people nearby, hearing her mention Martin's name, turned to look.

"What are you afraid of?" Viola scoffed. "So what if you're Martin's friend? This is my dad's party, my home turf!"

"Viola, just forget it," a young woman whispered, trying to defuse the situation.

"Forget it? No way!" Viola snapped. "Who is Martin, anyway? He's just a kid pretending to be something he's not. You really think he writes all that stuff himself? He's just paying some ghostwriter!"

Lindsay's face hardened. "No, Martin's not a liar. I won't let you say that about him."

The girl, usually so shy and timid, found courage in that moment.

Viola was taken aback. "Oh, how cute. A little defense. Who is Martin anyway? Have you seen him write anything for you? You really think he's the real deal?" she sneered, turning to her friends. "Let's see how much this little girl's body is worth."

As Viola reached out to grab Lindsay's collar, her companions looked over her shoulder, their eyes wide with panic.

Suddenly, a strong hand yanked Viola by the collar, lifting her off the ground.

A calm voice spoke from behind her: "I heard someone questioning my creativity, and also my relationship with Lindsay. Is there an issue?"

With a smooth motion, Martin threw Viola onto a nearby sofa, brushing his hands as though getting rid of something unpleasant.

"Ahhh!" Viola screamed, drawing even more attention.

Martin walked up to Lindsay, giving her a tender smile as he rubbed her head affectionately. Then, he took her hand and led her to the center of the stage in front of the banquet hall.

He smiled at the band. "Continue playing," he said politely before tapping the microphone to get everyone's attention.

As the room quieted, Martin spoke into the mic.

"Sorry for the disturbance earlier," he said, his voice clear and commanding. Whispers spread throughout the crowd, people recounting what had just happened.

Kevin Johnson, the host of the party, heard the rumors and furrowed his brow in concern.

"Earlier, someone questioned my creativity and my friendship with my good friend Lindsay. Well, I don't like drama," Martin continued, his tone matter-of-fact.

The crowd's eyes turned to Viola, who was slowly getting up from the sofa, clearly embarrassed. Some nodded, acknowledging Martin's tendency to take action first and talk later.

"Dad, get rid of those two bastards!" Viola shouted, her voice shrill.

Martin, however, was unfazed. "I prefer to let my actions speak for me," he said casually.

He then turned toward Kevin Johnson and addressed him directly, "Don't worry, Mr. Johnson, I'll be leaving soon, but first, I need to clear up a little slander your daughter has spread about me."

Martin turned to Kevin Thomas, the famous film critic from The Los Angeles Times who was sitting nearby, and asked with a smile, "Mr. Thomas, I hear you always carry a voice recorder with you. Would you mind lending it to me?"

Kevin Thomas, surprised but intrigued, smiled back. "Of course," he replied, eager to see what was unfolding.

Martin took the recorder, clicked it on, and began speaking into it as if recording a script:

"Scene 1, Exterior: a bright, sunny morning..."

"Voiceover: The sound of car brakes!"

"A mother and daughter get out of the car and begin unloading luggage from the roof... Today is Katie's big day—she's moving. What excites her most is that, as a sixteen-year-old who's been homeschooled, she's finally going to school. There are teachers, classmates, fun clubs... Katie is thrilled."

As Martin spoke, his powerful presence filled the room, subtly drawing in the audience's emotions.

The guests fell into rapt attention.

Even Viola Johnson, who had been so belligerent moments ago, was silent now, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

"Katie's mother appears on the scene and begins the line: 'This is your lunch, okay?'" Martin continued, moving around the microphone with an almost theatrical flair, pausing to think, gesturing as if conceiving the plot in real-time.

The audience was mesmerized. They could hardly believe what they were witnessing.

This kid… did he just come up with the script on the spot?

The crowd was stunned.