Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

After chatting briefly with Gal Gadot, she excused herself and returned to the other side of the street.

Martin pulled into the parking garage, and Jennifer Lawrence, curious, remarked, "Gal doesn't seem that old, does she? Looks barely twenty. How's she married so young?"

Martin shrugged casually. "She's around twenty-five, actually. But yeah, for an actress, marrying at that age is pretty rare."

Across the street, Gal Gadot and Yaron Varsano carried their cardboard boxes into the apartment building—or rather, their hotel.

Yaron glanced back toward the entrance and whispered, "Gal, that was Martin Meyers. Why's he here?"

"Oh, his little girlfriend lives here," Gal replied. "That guy doesn't hide a thing when it comes to stuff like this. Typical Hollywood playboy."

In the U.S., there was a curious double standard: if you were an actor or a mega-rich tycoon, your playboy ways were generally accepted. But if you were middle-class, you'd be drowned in public scorn for the same behavior.

"So, Martin Meyers will be around a lot?" Yaron's eyes gleamed as they stepped into the elevator. He lowered his voice. "Maybe we should get closer to him. You know, considering our other identity. He's valuable."

Gal stayed silent.

It wasn't until they reached their private top-floor suite that her expression turned icy. "Yaron, I've warned you before—I don't like you bringing up my other identity in public."

Yaron blinked, surprised. "Hey, we were in the elevator."

"The elevator doors were open," Gal shot back, her face growing sterner. "And you know I didn't choose that identity willingly."

Yaron sighed, throwing up his hands. "Alright, alright, you win."

Readers might already have their suspicions by now.

Indeed, much like how [?] was coerced into accepting "another identity," Israel's Miss Gadot faced a similar predicament. For small, perpetually vulnerable powers, every ounce of leverage was squeezed out ruthlessly.

The couple carried their boxes to their separate bedrooms. Yes, separate.

Why would a young, stunning Gal Gadot marry an older-looking Yaron Varsano?

Money? Gal came from a wealthy family; she didn't need it.

Love? Sure, that's what they claimed publicly.

In truth, it was a cover for certain activities. A married couple's identity disarmed suspicion.

To this day, they hadn't shared a bed.

In the original timeline, their organization would demand they produce a child this year to solidify their "married couple" facade, forcing Gal to finally consummate the marriage with Yaron. Otherwise, why would she step away from her career peak to have a baby? Was she crazy?

Later, whether due to genuine affection or resignation, their relationship grew closer.

In reality, they secretly married in 2008. Gal only introduced Yaron to a few Hollywood friends in 2009, and in 2010—this year—she publicly revealed she had a husband: Yaron Varsano.

Yaron's bedroom faced east, overlooking a small alley with a metal fire escape ladder under the window—a common feature in older U.S. buildings—perfect for slipping out discreetly to handle covert business.

Gal's bedroom, however, faced the street, with a direct view of Martin's apartment building.

Knock, knock, knock!

"What is it?" Gal asked, her tone tinged with irritation.

"Gal, the organization wants us to—you know, become a real couple," Yaron's voice came through the door.

Gal snapped, "What's the rush? I need to think about it."

"I know, I know. I won't pressure you," Yaron assured her.

Strictly speaking, Yaron was a decent guy. But Gal just didn't like him.

She was young, beautiful, with a world of possibilities ahead. Why did fate stick her with an "old man" for a husband?

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath.

Frustrated, Gal flopped onto the bed, hoping to nap, but she tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

Then her phone pinged with a message.

It was from Yaron: Gal, I'm heading out to handle some business. Might be back late.

Gal didn't bother replying. She didn't care what Yaron was up to. Annoyed, she shoved her phone under the pillow and felt something hard.

A high-powered telescope.

It was a gift from Yaron for their first "wedding anniversary" last year. A telescope, of all things.

Muttering curses, Gal suddenly paused, an idea sparking. She grabbed the telescope and glanced out the window.

After a brief internal struggle, she got up, dragged a chair to the window, sat down, and aimed the telescope at the apartment building across the street.

"Martin said Jennifer's place is on the top floor," Gal murmured.

She focused the lens on the top-floor windows, scanning one by one.

"That's the living room—damn, it's fancy. Martin's money for sure."

"Wow, the kitchen's nice too."

A thrill of voyeuristic excitement bubbled up in her.

Then it got more thrilling.

The telescope landed on the master bedroom's window.

The curtains were wide open.

It was daytime, and the bright sunlight made it hard for the average person to see inside.

But not for Gal, tucked in her dimly lit room with a high-powered optical telescope.

She gasped.

A lump rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard.

Martin and Jennifer were engaged in an intense sex that left Gal stunned.

"Holy Fuck, Martin's ripped," she whispered.

"Holy—oh my God, he's lifting Jennifer!"

"Tch, those muscles!"

Gal tried to swallow again but found her mouth dry.

Martin's sheer power hit her with a visceral jolt, both visually and emotionally.

Her body felt… alive.

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[GodOfReader: I'd like to update more chapter but... i forgot to bring my fucking charger when i'm leaving my house earlier to go to my friend place to drink.]