Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

Martin was whisked away by Diana to her suburban estate.

With William and Harry absent, Martin suddenly found himself the man of the house.

The estate's staff knew their mistress treated this young man like "family," so they mirrored her warmth and attentiveness toward him.

"Stay the night, please?" Diana asked softly.

"Sure, I'll make a call."

Her plea was hard to refuse.

Due to her status, among Martin's collection of women, Diana spent the least time with him.

If he ever built his own empire, free to gather his women from around the globe without restraint, Diana might be the one who couldn't join. Not because Martin feared the British royal family, but because Diana likely couldn't cross that emotional line herself. She had William and Harry to consider—she wouldn't take reckless risks.

That made Martin cherish her all the more.

Dinner was lavish, a spread of all Martin's favorite dishes.

That night, he stayed in a guest room on the second floor, directly beneath Diana's bedroom.

At midnight, as the clock struck twelve, Martin's eyes snapped open. He glanced at the wardrobe on the right side of the room.

The door creaked open from within, revealing Diana in a white lace-trimmed nightgown.

"Martin," she whispered.

"Here."

Their eyes locked.

A second later, a fragrant breeze swept over him.

The night bloomed like spring flowers under a thousand trees, petals falling like stars in a shower. A jeweled carriage rolled through scented streets, the phoenix flute sang, jade pots glowed, and all night, dragons danced with fish under moonlight.

…

At Martin's apartment, four women sprawled across one massive bed, gossiping about Martin and Diana.

(Author note: Martin's master bedroom bed was enormous. Truly, ridiculously enormous.]

[TL/N: Don't care.]

"I've got this weird feeling," Keira Knightley said, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Like Diana's one of Martin's women, just like us."

"Funny, I feel the same," Cameron Diaz said, wide-eyed.

"Me too," Mimi Yang chimed in.

"Same," Emma Watson added.

The four exchanged looks, then said in unison, "No way?"

But an intuitive bond, something like a sixth sense, told them it was true.

As their connection to Martin deepened, the women's sense of each other grew stronger.

After a long pause, Emma spoke up. "Do you think the princes know?"

"No way," Keira said. "It'd be chaos if they did."

"If the Queen found out, do you think she'd send MI6 after Martin?" Cameron asked, half-joking.

The others shivered at the thought.

Mimi's voice was firm. "This stays between us. No leaks."

All of them nodded. "Absolutely, no one says a word."

The four swore secrecy, then dove back into gossip.

They couldn't help it—it was too juicy.

…

The next morning, Martin ate breakfast and shared a lingering farewell embrace with Diana.

As he headed toward the car waiting at the estate's entrance, he ran into Kate Middleton, arriving alone. The future princess's face was grim—clearly, she and William were having issues again.

With William's love-'em-and-leave-'em personality, trouble was no surprise.

Only Kate's stubborn streak and her mother's lifelong obsession with her becoming a princess kept her from dumping him.

"Hey, Kate," Martin greeted.

"Hey, Martin. Leaving already?"

Kate wasn't shocked to see him at her future mother-in-law's estate—the news had spread last night.

"Yeah, I'm off with the crew to the London Theatre for promo. Catch you later."

"Bye!"

Kate didn't say much. She was there to talk to Diana, hoping she could rein in William's wandering ways.

Raised by a mother who idolized Diana, Kate was a huge fan herself. Now, she was following in Diana's footsteps, diving into charity work. The two had plenty to talk about, and Diana genuinely liked her.

"Bye, Kate!" Martin called, heading out.

…

The London Theatre was packed.

The crowd was a sea of working-class men and women, hoisting posters of Arthur and chanting "Arthur!"—not "Martin."

These folks, scraping by at society's margins, saw themselves in Arthur's struggles. Their lives weren't as bleak as his, which kept despair at bay, but his story hit home.

In that sense, Joker's message was uplifting—it made people think, Wow, someone's got it worse than me. My life's not so bad.

For Martin, Arthur was the crowning role of his decade-plus career.

Even twenty years from now, this film would still shine. If he retired today, people would remember him for this role forever.

"Hey, Martin, congrats!"

"Amazing work, Martin. You made a phenomenal film."

The Harry Potter trio showed up at the premiere to cheer him on.

Daniel Radcliffe and Rupert Grint greeted Martin warmly.

Emma, though, sidled up to him, casually slipping her arm through his. Cameron Diaz, nearby, pretended not to notice.

The press area erupted in flashes.

Reporters buzzed.

"No way!"

"Hermione and Martin?"

"My childhood goddess, ruined!"

"Childhood? You were seventeen when you watched Harry Potter!"

"Damn it, after Keira Knightley, another English rose falls to Martin?"

If these reporters knew the real English rose—Diana—was also one of Martin's women, their jaws would hit the floor.

"I hear you're all eager to shake off your Harry Potter roles?" Martin asked.

Rupert shrugged. "I'm fine, honestly. I'm not as obsessed with acting as some. If I wasn't such a Potter nut back then, I probably wouldn't have gone down this path."

Rupert wasn't hiding anything. Unlike Daniel, he didn't have grand ambitions in acting.

Post-Potter, he picked scripts haphazardly, never landing another major hit, fading into obscurity in the industry.

But outside the Hollywood bubble, from a personal perspective, Rupert lived the freest, most carefree life of the trio.

[GodOfReader: This is the last chapter for today, so cast your fucking power stone to me.