Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

Martin was in the middle of intense sex.

Suddenly, a shiver ran through him.

Someone's watching?

Suspicious, he unleashed his magic.

The mystical energy swept across the street, the parking lot, the surronding buildings, and finally pinpointed a voyeur on the top floor of the apartment building opposite.

Martin's lips curled into a sly grin.

And then, he doubled down on his efforts.

Poor Jennifer Lawrence.

Or rather, lucky Jennifer Lawrence.

Yes, I'm talking about a massage—authentic technique, nothing to misinterpret here!

The room filled with the "agonized" groans of muscles being kneaded.

Across the street, Gal Gadot, spying through her telescope, felt like she'd combust if she didn't do something. The heat was overwhelming.

Boom, boom, boom! Her heart pounded so fiercely it felt like it might leap out of her throat.

Her racing pulse sent blood coursing faster, and that rush…

"This massage is way too intense. I can't take it!" Gal muttered, her hands trembling as they gripped the telescope, her lips quivering.

Instinctively, her hand reached toward her mouth.

Then dropped quickly.

The scene in the telescope sent Gal's emotions into overdrive. Martin's technique, a blend of ancient God-Magic Continent mastery and authentic massage artistry, was utterly mesmerizing.

At that moment, Gal's eyes and mind were consumed by Martin's figure.

She watched, imagined, felt.

Finally, across the street, in two separate apartments, two wild cries erupted almost simultaneously.

Martin stood, satisfied, and sauntered to the window, flashing a smile toward the opposite building.

Gal, slumped in her chair, nearly catatonic, jolted upright as if electrocuted, her face a mask of panic.

"What the—no way! Martin… he knew?"

Already drenched in sweat, Gal broke out in a fresh wave of perspiration.

Terrified, she dropped the telescope, only to snatch it up again to confirm.

And there it was: Martin waving at her.

He'd definitely caught her.

Oh God, what do I do?

Mortified, Gal's mind swirled with regret and self-reproach. She even felt an urge to flee back to Israel and never show her face in Los Angeles again.

Lost in her chaotic thoughts, she didn't notice Martin had vanished from the window.

Where'd he go?

While Gal was spiraling, Martin had stepped away from the window. He planted a kiss on Jennifer's flushed, sleeping face, tucked a blanket over her exhausted form, and slipped out the door.

He was headed across the street to give Gal Gadot a surprise.

His magic had confirmed her husband wasn't home.

Crossing the street with a casual stride, Martin sized up the building. As expected, it had been converted into a hotel.

The two young women at the front desk and a sharply dressed white male waiter in the lounge area seemed oblivious to his presence, as if he were invisible.

In truth, their retinas registered no trace of Martin.

The practical wonders of magic.

Knock, knock, knock!

Gal, still drowning in self-doubt, snapped out of it at the sound.

She rushed to the window to check.

Martin's figure was gone, leaving her both relieved and oddly disappointed.

Irritated, she called out toward the door, "Damn it, Yaron, didn't I tell you not to bother me? Wait—you said you were out and wouldn't be back until late!"

The knocking stopped.

A second later, the bedroom doorknob turned, the door swung open, and a figure appeared that nearly made Gal wet herself.

"M-M-Martin?!" she stammered. "H-how did you get in?"

"Walked in," Martin said nonchalantly. "Your front door was unlocked. Sloppy—safety first, you know."

"Y-yeah, Yaron must've forgotten to lock it when he left," Gal replied mechanically, her mind blank.

In reality, Yaron had locked the door. Martin was just covering for his uninvited entry.

He was confident Gal wouldn't verify with Yaron. The reason? Obvious to anyone paying attention.

"W-what are you doing here?" she asked, still reeling.

"I saw you watching me," Martin said, strolling closer, his voice low and laced with devilish charm. "So I figured you needed me. Do you?"

Gal's brain short-circuited, flashing back to the scenes she'd just witnessed. Without thinking, she nodded.

A second later, Martin swept her up into his arms, as if riding the clouds.

"Wait, no!" she blurted, finally snapping out of it.

Too late.

Martin wasn't about to let prey slip from his grasp.

Half an hour passed…

An hour…

Another half hour…

Two hours…

Martin's sex techniques left Gal feeling utterly drained.

When it was over, he held her close and grinned. "So, how's my massage game?"

Exhausted but still buzzing with exhilaration, Gal answered in a hoarse whisper, "Incredible. Your hands… it's like they're magic."

Martin, pleased, gave her a quick kiss.

…

Later, he asked about her and Yaron.

"It's weird," he said. "Your reactions during the massage felt like it was your first time. Aren't you already married?"

Gal's expression shifted, a hint of resentment in her voice. "Yaron and I are just a fake couple. I was forced into it. I can't defy the organization, but I've never let Yaron… you know, do anything with me. Our 'marriage' is just for show."

Under the influence of Martin's "emotional seed," Gal held nothing back, spilling everything.

Martin nodded, unsurprised.

As the shadow manipulator behind the FBI, CIA, and IRS, Martin was well aware of how deeply Israel and Jewish interests had infiltrated the U.S. Their influence, using capital as their tentacles, stretched into every corner of the nation, dating back to Franklin Roosevelt—a president with rumored Jewish ancestry.

Back then, FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover had sniffed out something and started poking around.

That made him Roosevelt's most despised adversary.

Franklin Roosevelt's second son, Elliott Roosevelt, and his first wife, Louise Harvey, adopted a Jewish child named Michael Merritt.

Elliott doted on Michael, calling him "my son" with genuine affection.

Some even speculated Michael wasn't adopted but was a direct link to the Roosevelt family's Jewish lineage.