Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

"...Even professional F1 drivers can barely push their cars to speeds of 310 kilometers per hour. That's already the limit! At such speeds, any sudden change would overwhelm the human nervous system," Haya argued.

Martin scoffed. "Really? Sounds like an excuse for the weak to me."

Haya, visibly irritated, slammed on the brakes. The Bugatti Veyron decelerated smoothly and came to a controlled stop, demonstrating its impeccable performance.

"Excuse? Do you have any idea how much pressure the human body endures at 310 kilometers per hour? That's nearly the speed of sound! Sound travels at roughly 340 meters per second—you think that kind of speed is nothing?"

Martin shrugged. "So what?"

Haya was exasperated. "Planes don't have to deal with roads or terrain. And even then, supersonic pilots undergo rigorous selection and training!"

"So what?" Martin repeated, his tone unwavering.

Haya glared at him. She suddenly felt like she was arguing with someone obstinate for the sake of being contrary.

When logic failed, the only option left was action.

"Fine!" she snapped, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Why don't you drive and show me what you mean by 'so what?'"

Martin chuckled and shrugged. "No problem. But pushing this car's engine to its limits in this dusty weather? You're going to ruin it."

"It's just a car!" Haya retorted, her confidence masking her unease. "A little over a million dollars—it's not a big deal!"

Her tone carried a mix of bravado and skepticism, as if daring him to prove her wrong.

Martin casually stepped out of the car and walked to the driver's side. "If you're so insistent, I'll give you a taste of real speed."

Haya hesitated, watching him with wide eyes. "Are you serious? At high speeds, the steering becomes incredibly heavy. If you lose control, it could mean instant death!"

"Afraid?" Martin asked, leaning against the car door with the same nonchalant expression Haya had worn earlier.

"I'm not afraid!" she shot back defiantly.

Grumbling under her breath, she climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up, glaring at Martin.

"Don't push yourself too hard just to prove a point," she warned.

"Afraid?" Martin repeated, smirking.

Haya was livid. Slamming her hand on the seat, she snapped, "Just do it already!"

Martin strapped himself in and glanced around. Spotting a discarded neck support pillow behind the seat, he handed it to Haya.

"This will help protect your neck from the pressure," he said calmly.

"W-what about you?" Haya asked, her annoyance briefly replaced by concern.

Martin grinned. "I'm strong enough. I don't need it."

"Arrogant jerk," she muttered, crossing her arms.

"Ready?" Martin asked, his foot already hovering over the accelerator.

Before Haya could respond, the Bugatti surged forward.

Her attempt at saying, "Ready," was swallowed by the force of the acceleration, leaving the word stuck in her throat.

The speedometer needle climbed rapidly:

60 km/h... 120 km/h... 200 km/h... 240 km/h... 300 km/h.

At first, Haya maintained an air of disdain, but her confidence faltered as the car reached 240 km/h.

By the time Martin pushed past 300 km/h, the sheer force pressed her against the seat. Her neck strained against the support pillow, and her body was immobilized by the immense pressure.

Oh no... A sudden urge hit her, and her face drained of color.

Haya opened her mouth to say something, perhaps to surrender, but the words died in her throat.

Martin continued accelerating:

310 km/h... 320 km/h...

Her vision began narrowing, her brain struggled to keep up, and adrenaline surged through her system, fueling a strange mix of exhilaration and terror.

"Ah! Ahhh!" she screamed, her voice a mix of excitement and panic.

Her bladder, however, had a different reaction. As pressure mounted, the signal to let go became harder to resist.

"No... No, I can't lose face here," she thought, clenching her teeth and tightening every muscle to hold on.

But Martin wasn't done.

330 km/h... 340 km/h...

Boom!

A sonic boom roared around them as the car breached supersonic speed.

"Is this guy insane?! He's driving a Bugatti past supersonic speed!" Haya's mind raced in both awe and horror.

Her vision had narrowed to a thin strip, the edges of her sight consumed by darkness. The road ahead was invisible, replaced by a faint, glowing white line in a void of blackness.

Her eyes felt as though they might pop out of their sockets. Her neck creaked under the strain, and a loud ringing filled her ears. It felt as if her very soul was being pulled from her body.

If not for Martin's subtle use of magic to protect her, her body would have already succumbed to the intense pressure, resulting in catastrophic injury.

The car hit 350 km/h... 380 km/h... 400 km/h.

As the speed passed 400 km/h, Haya's mind seemed to snap. She felt as though she had been transported to another realm—a surreal void of white light and infinite darkness.

All thoughts of pride and control vanished.

A hot, wet sensation spread through her expensive Chanel trousers, staining them with a visible yellow patch.

Then another wave hit, and Haya let out a piercing scream:

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!"

Martin eased off the accelerator and let the Bugatti gradually decelerate. As the car slowed to a more manageable speed, Haya slumped in her seat, her face pale and drenched in sweat.

The car eventually came to a stop, the silence inside punctuated only by Haya's labored breathing.

"Well," Martin said with a sly grin, turning to her. "Still think I can't handle the speed?"

Haya couldn't muster a response. She was too preoccupied with the mortifying realization of what had just happened—and the lingering adrenaline coursing through her veins.

She shot Martin a glare but found herself unable to form words, her pride shattered and her body utterly spent.

Martin chuckled softly. I think that proved my point.

[GodOfReader: It's impossible for any cars to reach a supersonic speed. The author really love to fucking bullshit us.]