Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

Martin escorted Vanessa Hessler to the Real Madrid match. They chatted and laughed as they headed to the parking lot.

Vanessa said, "I'm an AC Milan fan, but Real Madrid games are spectacular. Ronaldo's incredible."

Martin grinned. "Hey, girl, you should root for Chelsea—your man's team."

"Haha, almost forgot you're a top club owner, Honey. Fine, I declare: I'm now an AC Milan and Chelsea fan. I'll support Chelsea from now on."

"Oh, really? What if AC Milan faces Chelsea, say in the Champions League? Who do you cheer for?" Martin teased.

Vanessa, a die-hard AC Milan fan since childhood—her father took her to games—was no casual supporter. The question stumped her.

Suddenly, a voice called from behind: "Hey, Martin, you come to Spain and don't even call me?!"

They turned. A woman with dark brown hair (Shakira's natural color is a deep brunette; her blonde was dyed), wearing sunglasses and a mask, approached.

"Who…?" Martin asked, puzzled.

"You forgot me already? Such a fake friend!" She removed her sunglasses, pouting playfully.

Though joking, a flicker of hurt crossed her eyes, deepening when she glanced at Vanessa.

Martin scanned her with a subtle pulse of magic, then smiled before she removed her mask. "I know you—Shakira."

"Heh, it's me." Shakira beamed, taking off her mask to reveal her captivating amber eyes. "So, you haven't completely forgotten."

"How could I? That World Cup performance—your dance left an impression."

Martin introduced them: "Shakira, this is Vanessa Hessler, my girlfriend. Vanessa, this is—"

"Hey, Martin, no need. I know Shakira. Shakira, can I call you that? I love Hips Don't Lie—that rhythm, that dance, so captivating. I tried learning it for ages but couldn't capture your vibe."

Vanessa's warmth eased Shakira's brief unease. The Latin singer's innate friendliness took over.

"It's just simple moves—timing and intensity matter. Not hard at all. Leave your number, and I'll teach you."

"Absolutely!" Vanessa lit up.

Then, curiously: "How do you two know each other?"

Shakira shot Martin a knowing glance. "Let's grab coffee at my place. We'll talk."

Shakira, Colombian by birth, lived long-term in Spain with her family due to Colombia's poor security. Spanish was the official language—Colombia's colonial legacy—so communication was seamless. The Mediterranean climate of southern and southeastern Spain mirrored Colombia's tropical rainforest, easing adaptation.

…

Martin followed Shakira's car to a villa in Madrid's suburbs. Parking, he admired it. "Great spot—near the sea, on a hill, killer views."

"Of course. Took me six months to find it," Shakira said proudly.

The search had a fun rumor: Shakira's high demands frustrated Madrid's real estate brokers, who boycotted her. A local tycoon stepped in, offering his personal properties (not his brokerage's). Shakira chose this seaside villa.

Inside, Martin glanced around. "Alone? Where're your parents?"

Shakira was famously family-oriented, living with them despite her success, caring for each other. (Actually, they cared for her—she called herself an "un-grown child" unwilling to leave.)

She had nine siblings, close to her. Eldest, Robin Mebarak Otero, and third, Moises Mebarak Otero, were tight with her.

Fourth, Tony Mebarak Otero, had been in her team for years.

Fifth, Alberto William Mebarak Otero, a New York lawyer.

Sixth, Jose Antonio Mebarak Otero, a successful entrepreneur in Florida.

Seventh, Lucy Mebarak Otero, a neurosurgeon in Barranquilla after a stint in Spain.

Eighth, Patricia Mebarak Otero, a special-needs teacher in Spain.

Ninth, Ana, and tenth, Edward, shunned publicity; little was known.

Their achievements showed her parents' skill in raising children.

"My parents went back to Colombia to visit my sister, so it's just me. Sit anywhere," Shakira said, offering, "What'll you have? Coffee?"

"Coffee," Martin said.

"Juice," Vanessa added.