Made In Hollywood

After the party ended, Duke left the banquet hall and walked toward a reception room. Sophie Marceau was still waiting there. Though the distance wasn't far, he walked slowly, wanting to use this time to think things through.

Although they had only spoken for a few minutes in the banquet hall, Sophie Marceau's words and subtle actions carried hints of flirtation. Even if it wasn't blatant, it was enough to suggest her intentions. After all, this was Hollywood, and Duke knew very well what such flirtations could mean.

That was exactly what struck him as odd.

Since Sophie Marceau had publicly rejected him at PricewaterhouseCoopers' Los Angeles branch, they had met a few times over the past months. Whether in public or private, Sophie had always been polite, keeping her distance. Duke thought that was normal. If clients of Martin Bob's agency got too close to him, that would raise suspicions.

But now, Sophie was practically throwing herself at him. Could that be normal?

Hollywood was full of stories about enemies suddenly becoming lovers for the thrill, and Duke had no illusions about how depraved the industry could be, especially when it came to female stars.

Maybe Sophie had suddenly developed feelings for him. Or maybe she was struggling to land a suitable role through CAA and now wanted to try the director route. Or it could simply be that this French woman was driven by her wild nature, just seeking some excitement.

But this was his turf. Duke wanted to see what this French woman was really up to.

Sophie's boldness, typical of French women, was unmistakable. As soon as Duke entered the reception room and greeted her, she flashed a dreamy smile that held enough allure.

"I never forgot that kiss in Dublin," she said, standing there with a playful posture. Her black and white dress accentuated her figure, radiating an irresistible allure. "It stayed with me for a long time, making me linger in its memory…"

Sophie slowly closed her eyes and lifted her chin, fully aware of how attractive she was.

Before entering Hollywood, Duke would have walked up and kissed her passionately, but now he held back his urges. The harsh rules of survival told him that the most beautiful things could also be the most deadly.

"I missed you too, Sophie," Duke said, stepping closer but still keeping a two-foot distance. "Do you know how captivating you are?"

Sophie opened her eyes, a thoughtful glint briefly flashing in them. Hollywood was full of rumors about Duke. Many knew he had a reputation for being a playboy, often unable to resist women like her.

"There are some things I didn't want to discuss, but you should know about the pressure CAA puts on its clients," Sophie said without revealing her emotions. "My agent, Martin Bob, has forbidden his clients from getting too close to you. I'm just a non-English-speaking actress, so there's little I can do. And besides, I'm married."

Duke tilted his head, simply staring at her.

"I'm planning to fire Martin Bob and leave CAA," Sophie quickly added.

That didn't seem like a lie. She then spoke very seriously, "I'm free now. I got divorced a few months ago, and I'm looking for a fresh start."

Her brown eyes were filled with emotion, and from every angle, she didn't seem to be acting.

Duke reached out and gently lifted her chin. As his lips got closer to hers, Sophie suddenly pressed her hands against his chest.

"Duke!"

She glanced around at the inappropriate setting of the reception room, leaned her upper body away from him, but pressed her hips against him, gently swaying them. "Can we go somewhere else?"

"How about my bedroom?" Duke suggested after a moment's thought.

Fingers intertwined like the most intimate lovers, they left the reception room and headed upstairs, entering Duke's bedroom.

As soon as they stepped inside, Sophie said, "I want to take a shower first."

"Why not together?" Duke pointed toward the bathroom, but Sophie, placing her purse down, kissed him lightly on the lips. "Darling, don't rush. We have all night."

Watching Sophie's figure disappear behind the bathroom door with a soft click, Duke couldn't help but admire her performance tonight. If she ever stopped directing, she could easily become a successful actress—at least good enough for a Nebula Award.

Though Duke felt a surge of impulse, he forced himself to stay rational.

Sophie's explanation seemed reasonable, and in Hollywood, even the most outlandish relationships weren't surprising. Still, Duke sensed something was off. He wanted to see what Sophie Marceau's real plan was.

Inside the bathroom, Sophie turned on the shower, letting the sound of water fill the room. She didn't stand beneath it, though. Instead, she undressed and walked over to the mirror. From the lining of her dress, she pulled out a thin nylon cord and, with practiced hands, tied it around both her wrists, securing it with a slipknot. Then, she forcefully pulled her hands apart, making the cord dig deep into her pale skin.

The pain quickly shot through her wrists, and after a brief relaxation, she repeated the action. Tightening, loosening, tightening again—the nylon cord left deep marks on her white wrists.

Once the marks were sufficiently visible and wouldn't fade quickly, Sophie relaxed, rubbing her sore wrists. Calmly, she untied the cord and tossed it into the sink, turning on the faucet to soak it briefly before tossing it into the corner near the bathroom door.

But that wasn't enough. Sophie knew that. Even though rumors persisted about Duke and Madonna engaging in an S&M game, she wasn't Madonna, a woman capable of stirring destructive desires. She couldn't be sure Duke would take things as far as she needed.

And besides, all the rumors suggested Duke had never actually touched Madonna...

Duke was likely a man with boundaries. But Sophie had already planned her next move.

Her eyes scanned the bottles on the bathroom counter. Shampoo… too thick. Cleanser… too thick. Shaving cream… too thick. Razor… too sharp. Toothbrush… too thin. Cologne… just about right.

The cologne bottle was made of glass, with a rough surface that provided plenty of grip. Sophie held it in her wet hand, feeling the friction as she flipped it so the base faced upward. Her eyes lingered on the bottle, about as thick as a baby's arm, and a determined glint flashed in her eyes.

She grasped the bottle with her right hand and slowly moved it downward, past her chest, her flat stomach, and slender waist, until it stopped between her legs.

Bending forward, she aimed carefully and then thrust the cologne bottle upward—once, twice, three times…

At first, her movements were slow, her brows furrowed in discomfort. The sensation wasn't pleasant, but soon she adapted, her pace quickening, applying more force, until her beautiful face in the mirror twisted in pain. Only then did she stop.

After pulling out the bottle, Sophie inspected it briefly before straightening up. Ignoring the mild sting from her lower body, she washed the bottle with shampoo, dried it with a paper towel, and placed it back on the counter.

She looked at herself in the mirror, her body still white and smooth, then placed her hands on her chest, pinching the skin underneath where it wouldn't be too noticeable. Only then did she step under the running water to quickly shower.

"Are you done?" Duke's voice came from outside.

With a sweet tone, Sophie replied, "Just ten more minutes!"

Sitting on the couch, Duke listened to the water running from the bathroom and gradually cooled off from his earlier impulse, now thinking with a much clearer mind. From the most cynical perspective, he started contemplating what might happen next.

If Sophie really had ulterior motives, her most powerful weapon would be her beauty, capable of swaying nearly any normal man…

For some reason, Duke suddenly thought of another Frenchman. Roman Polanski had been ruined over a woman, and to this day, it was unclear if there had been more to the story. In the eyes of Hollywood's Jewish elite, Polanski had been set up.

Duke's gaze shifted to the cabinet between the bedroom door and the bathroom. He made a decision. Although it was unethical, if Sophie had no ill intentions, he could delete everything afterward. But if she had something planned, he could use the recording as evidence.

In a world where fame and fortune were constantly at stake, protecting oneself was far more important than harming others.

Duke had always been a man of action. He walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a small Sony camcorder that Scarlett had used and, he brought the Sony micro DV camera upstairs and put it here...

After turning on the power, choosing a good angle, doing some adjustments, and finding a suitable cover,

After finishing all this, Duke returned to the sofa and sat there for a few minutes. Then the bathroom door opened slightly and someone pulled it open from inside. Sophie Mazo came out wrapped in a bath towel.

...

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