Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

The cozy scene of sharing breakfast face-to-face with Gal Gadot stirred a wave of sentiment in Yaron Varsano.

He cleared his throat, about to say something, when Gal's phone rang.

"Hello, who's this?"

"Oh, Martin! What's up?"

Martin? Martin Meyers?

Yaron forgot whatever he was about to say, holding his breath to eavesdrop.

In Israeli circles, Martin Meyers was a figure of immense strategic value. Not only did he wield colossal influence in the U.S., but his reach extended to West Africa and the Middle East's energy sectors—key areas for Israel's interests in diverse mineral resources and abundant oil.

"Dinner? Lunch, you mean?"

"I'd have to check with Yaron."

"Got it, I'll get back to you soon."

After Gal hung up, Yaron feigned nonchalance. "That Martin Meyers? What's the deal?"

Gal, ever the actress, kept her expression neutral and smiled at Yaron. "Yup, Martin. He wants to have lunch with us."

"Why?" Yaron wasn't naive enough to think a couple of brief encounters made them buddies with Martin.

"He said we'll be neighbors, and his girlfriend, Jennifer Lawrence, is in the industry too. He hopes we can get to know each other, maybe look out for one another."

"So, like a double date with his girlfriend?"

"Pretty much."

Yaron's faint suspicion eased. He didn't trust Martin, but he trusted Gal. In his mind, she was a woman of pride and self-respect—definitely not the type to be a mistress.

Or, given Martin's playboy reputation, maybe a fourth, fifth, or sixth fling…

Clearly, Yaron didn't realize women wear different faces for different men. And when faced with a "charismatic demon" like Martin, even without magic, his natural allure could make ninety percent of women swoon.

The proud, self-respecting Gal Yaron knew was only that way around him. Yesterday, she'd already gone wild with Martin.

"What do you think?" Gal asked, deliberately seeking Yaron's opinion, knowing he wouldn't object.

"Of course, say yes," Yaron replied. "Martin's a big deal. He's on the organization's red list, ranked fifth."

Gal's face soured. "Can you not bring that up?"

Her resistance didn't raise any red flags for Yaron—he knew she hated hearing about it.

"Alright, alright, I won't," he said quickly. "But lunch sounds good. It's a chance to make a friend."

…

Noon.

The four—Martin, Jennifer, Yaron, and Gal—dined together at a nearby upscale restaurant.

After some conversation, Yaron found Martin surprisingly engaging. The guy was eloquent, witty, and refreshingly down-to-earth.

He'd actually make a great friend, Yaron thought.

Gal and Jennifer hit it off too, chatting animatedly. But Gal felt an odd mix of emotions. Strangely, she didn't feel much guilt or resentment toward Jennifer. Even stranger, she sensed Jennifer knew about her and Martin but showed no negativity. There was an inexplicable bond between them, a feeling Gal couldn't quite articulate.

The meal ended with everyone in high spirits.

On the way back, Yaron said, "Martin's a solid guy. Worth befriending. That's my honest take—not just for the organization's sake."

Gal shot him a look but said nothing, her mind lingering on the cryptic glance Martin gave her as they parted.

Meanwhile, Jennifer turned to Martin. "I've got a feeling you and Gal hooked up."

Martin just smiled, neither confirming nor denying.

Jennifer pressed, puzzled. "When, though? I didn't get that vibe when we saw her yesterday."

Martin ruffled her hair. "After we… you know, rolled around yesterday afternoon and you passed out, I went across the street and have sex with her."

"What the fuck?!" Jennifer's eyes widened, genuinely impressed by Martin's audacity. He pulled that off?

…

Later that evening, Yaron got a call from the middle-aged Jewish man.

"Yaron, the organization's pushing again. No more delays. You need to sleep with Gal—now. No protection. Damn, what an enviable order!"

"But Gal's not ready," Yaron protested.

"You idiot, just do it! The organization's got your back—what's there to fear? You're her husband. Stop coddling her! Honestly, if they hadn't picked you, I'd have handled it myself by now."

Yaron gave a bitter smile. "I'll… think about it."

The voice on the other end turned stern. "It's an order."

"Fine, fine, I'll do it," Yaron relented.

"Don't act like you're headed to the gallows. This is a good thing. You're lucky bastard."

After hanging up, Yaron sat in his bedroom for a while, then gritted his teeth and stood.

He stepped out and saw Gal lounging on the living room couch, watching TV in a thin silk nightgown, her posture revealing a sliver of her pale waist.

"For Israel, for Israel…" Yaron muttered to himself, striding toward her.

Amid her startled yelp, he scooped her up and headed for his bedroom.

"Don't blame me, Gal—this is for the nation!" he shouted.

In her own bedroom, Gal stood, confused, and moved to the door, ear pressed against it.

"What's Yaron yelling about? 'For the nation'? Has he lost it?"

Then she heard strange creaking noises from the next room.

As she puzzled over it, her phone buzzed.

A message from Martin: Come open the door. I'm outside.

Gal's heart skipped a beat.

Martin's got some guts! Yaron's still home!