Public outrage erupted across the United States like a wildfire. The incident, now infamously dubbed "Ryan Reynolds gate" by TMZ, had been laid bare for the world to see, and the media, sensing the scent of scandal like a shark that had tasted blood, went into a feeding frenzy.
Every newspaper, no matter its size, splashed the story across its front page. News channels switched to 24-hour coverage, delivering breathless updates and follow-up interviews. The Internet buzzed with the leaked video, which skyrocketed to the top of the year's most-watched list, dominating every trending topic.
The public was seething, their anger spilling over into the streets. Advocacy groups, from women's rights organizations to child protection and LGBTQ+ communities, united in their fury. Protests erupted, voices of dissent and demands for justice growing louder by the hour.
No matter how sordid the underbelly of American society might be, with corruption and scandal festering in its pores, there was still a line that, when crossed, would provoke an uproar. And this incident had crossed that line. Many people couldn't help but wonder: If this could happen, would their daughters, sisters, or loved ones be next? This fear fueled the public's outrage.
Yet, there was an undercurrent of darker thoughts. Some questioned, "Why do they get away with it while we can only stand by and watch? If I don't act now, when will I?" The Internet, as always, became a breeding ground for these sentiments. The lack of an invitation to this sordid party felt like a crime punishable by death for some.
As the situation escalated, Martin decided it was time to pull his last trick out of the bag. Knowing that most of the rescued individuals, including three underage girls, were from Ukraine, the social team led by Alexandrovich made a strong demand for Ukraine to engage in serious negotiations with the United States.
In response, Ukraine quickly assembled a delegation, with Alexandrovich at the helm, and dispatched them to Los Angeles. Although official channels offered limited assistance, Martin, working from behind the scenes, helped Alexandrovich connect with several influential leftist organizations in Los Angeles.
These groups rallied Ukrainians, leading them in marches through the streets, and made sure the media covered their every move. The noise they created was impossible to ignore.
---
Meanwhile, at the Ritz-Carlton in Beverly Hills, Martin stood on the balcony of a luxury suite, gazing down at the crowds gathering below. Several major left-wing groups, joined by the Ukrainian delegation, had set out from West Hollywood and were heading towards Century City for a sit-in demonstration, demanding a thorough investigation into the "Ryan Reynolds gate" scandal.
After taking in the scene, Martin turned his attention to Scarlett Johansson, who was lounging on the balcony. Her movements were quick and purposeful; she could sense that something was about to explode.
Realizing she needed to act fast, Scarlett quickened her pace, lifting her head to avert the impending danger. After a tense while, thanks to her sharp instincts, the danger was successfully neutralized.
Satisfied, Scarlett pulled out her phone, activated the front camera, and snapped a close-up selfie.
"Am I particularly stunning right now?" she asked with a playful grin.
Martin pulled up a chair and sat down beside her, raising an eyebrow. "Another selfie?"
He cautioned her, "Just don't save it in Apple's cloud. You know that thing's a playground for hackers."
Martin shrugged nonchalantly, "Everyone likes to show off."
Scarlett giggled, wiping the corner of her mouth before glancing at the time on her phone. "Ryan Reynolds has been temporarily released on bail. I'm going to meet him. Are you interested in joining me?"
Martin shook his head with a slight smile. "I don't have any beef with him, so there's really no need."
"I've got more than just grievances, I've got pure, unadulterated hatred for him." Scarlett's voice was cold, a sharp contrast to her usually warm demeanor. "As his ex-wife, there's no way I'm missing out on visiting him during this 'special' moment."
With that, Scarlett slipped into her car, her resolve steeling as she drove south, straight towards Ryan Reynolds' residence. The journey was short, but her thoughts raced with every mile.
When she arrived, Ryan opened the door, his expression darkening the moment he saw her. "What are you doing here?" he spat, his eyes narrowing in suspicion and anger, the memory of her betrayal still fresh and raw.
Scarlett gave him a long, deliberate look, her gaze eventually resting on the electronic ankle monitor strapped around his leg. She exhaled slowly, her breath carrying a subtle, sweet scent. "I'm here to congratulate you, of course," she said with a mocking smile. "You've really outdone yourself this time, haven't you? You're a global sensation."
Ryan caught a whiff of the strange scent, his nose wrinkling in discomfort. He shot her a look of disdain. "Enough! Don't act like you're innocent, you betrayed me first!"
Scarlett's laughter rang out, bitter and sharp. "So what?" she retorted. "You'll have plenty of time to dwell on it while you're rotting in prison."
She leaned in closer, blowing gently in his direction, letting the strange fragrance wash over him. Ryan's eyes widened in sudden realization.
"That's right," Scarlett said, her tone dripping with venom. "I did this on purpose. Do you really think I'd waste my time coming here otherwise?"
Ryan's hands began to tremble as he stared at her, memories of their marriage flashing before his eyes like a cruel montage. Scarlett's smile widened, her golden hair catching the light as she tilted her head mockingly. "Surprised? You should be. You never saw this coming, did you, my dear ex-husband?"
The strange scent, coupled with her words, seemed to permeate Ryan's very being, creeping through his nose, down his throat, and settling deep within him. He suddenly felt a wave of nausea crash over him, and before he could stop himself, he was retching violently.
The bile rose quickly, and soon Ryan was doubled over, vomiting uncontrollably. Tears and snot mingled with the contents of his stomach, splattering onto the floor as he convulsed in misery.
Scarlett watched him with a twisted sense of satisfaction. Ignoring his pitiful state, she calmly picked up her bag and headed for the door, leaving Ryan to his agony.
As she walked away, the sound of Ryan's continued retching echoed behind her, but Scarlett didn't look back. She had said everything she needed to say.
---
Across town, in a modest apartment in West Hollywood, Michelle Bryan sat on a worn couch, absently rubbing the electronic anklet around her ankle. The door creaked open, and a high-class escort, one of her few remaining loyal employees, stepped inside.
"Boss, I brought you some food," the girl, Merano, said as she placed a paper bag on the table. "You should eat something."
Michelle nodded, reaching into the bag and pulling out a burger. As she unwrapped it and took a bite, she sighed. "I've got so many people under me, and the moment something goes wrong, they all disappear. You're the only one who's stuck around."
Merano smiled faintly, leaning against the table. "I like this job. It's good money and pretty easy. Boss, do you think we can start over?"
Michelle wiped a bit of cheese sauce from her lips with a napkin, her expression hardening with determination. "We will. Once this mess is over, things will go back to normal."
She spoke with a confidence that made Merano believe her. "At worst, it'll cost us some money," Michelle continued. "But we'll make it back, no problem."
Merano nodded, trusting in Michelle's ability to bounce back. "As long as we still have our clients, making money will be easy."
"Oh, we'll have clients," Michelle assured her, a sly smile curling on her lips. "I've already got a plan in motion. I'm working on developing Martin Davis as one of our clients. When the time comes, I want you to help me bring him in."
Merano's eyes lit up at the prospect. "Martin Davis? Really? That's a big fish."
"Exactly," Michelle replied, her tone serious. "We need a super big client like him. Without someone like that, our ability to weather storms like this is too weak…"
Melano glanced at his phone as it buzzed, the screen lighting up with a new text message. After reading it, he quickly stood up, pocketing the device. "I've got something I need to take care of. I'll head out now."
Michelle waved him off casually, barely looking up. "Go on, then."
The door clicked shut behind him, and the apartment fell silent. Michelle, now alone, checked the time, her brows furrowing with a mixture of impatience and irritation. She pulled out her phone and dialed a familiar number, pressing it to her ear.
"It's me," she said curtly when the line connected.
The voice on the other end was sharp and immediately defensive. "I told you not to call again!"
Michelle, unfazed by the hostility, pressed on. "When is this going to be resolved? I need a specific time. My life is on hold because of this."
"We've already bailed you out," the woman on the other end responded, her voice measured and calm, but with an edge of finality. "Other work is in progress. Be patient."
"Patient?" Michelle's voice rose, frustration seeping through. "All my assets have been frozen! I can't wait around forever."
The voice on the other end of the line remained composed. "It will be resolved soon. I promise."
Before Michelle could respond, the call abruptly ended, leaving her staring at the phone, the harsh beeping of the busy tone ringing in her ears. She set the phone down, her expression darkening.
Frustration gnawed at her. If they failed to pull through, she knew exactly how to apply pressure, by leaking just enough information to shake things up.
She let out a long breath, trying to shake off the unease that clung to her. Feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling her down, she stretched and felt a wave of sleepiness wash over her. The events of recent days had left her drained, and she hadn't had a decent night's rest in what felt like forever.
Deciding she could use a nap, Michelle pulled a quilt from a nearby chair, curled up on the sofa, and quickly drifted into a deep sleep, oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows.
The door creaked open quietly a short while later, and several figures, faces obscured, slipped into the room. They moved with practiced precision, their actions silent and deliberate. They exchanged glances, a wordless communication passing between them, before they moved toward the sleeping woman.
Without waking her, they lifted Michelle from the sofa and carried her to the bathroom. One of them methodically removed a shoelace from one of her sneakers and tied it to the showerhead, fashioning a noose.
Once their grim task was complete, the group meticulously cleaned the area, leaving no trace of their presence. They gathered up all the trash, including the paper bags from the table, and quietly exited the apartment, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared.
In the bathroom, Michelle Bryan, once a powerful figure in Los Angeles's underworld, now swung lifelessly, the shoelace holding her body in a macabre way.
---
The next morning, in the serene confines of the Davis Estate in Beverly Hills, Martin sat alone at the breakfast table, enjoying a quiet meal. The tranquility was interrupted when Bruce entered the room, a bundle of newspapers in hand.
"You're just in time," Martin said, gesturing to the untouched plate across from him. "Your breakfast isn't cold yet."
Bruce offered a thin smile as he set the Los Angeles Times in front of Martin, pulling out a chair to join him. "Take a look at the front page headline."
Martin unfolded the paper, his eyes immediately catching the bold print. "Michelle Bryan, the No. 1 Brothel Owner in Los Angeles, Commits Suicide Out of Fear of Crime!"
Beside the headline was a grainy photograph of Michelle's body, barely recognizable but unmistakably hers.
Martin stared at the image, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "Over the showerhead in the bathroom? Hanging herself with her sneaker laces?"
Bruce, still scanning the article, shook his head slightly. "A rather unique method of suicide, don't you think?"
"The FBI's initial ruling is suicide," Bruce added, flipping the page. "But they'll wait for the autopsy to confirm."
Martin leaned back in his chair, a knowing look crossing his face. "We both know what the final report will say: suicide. No questions asked."
Bruce nodded in agreement. "With Michelle's death, every charge linked to human trafficking, minors, and drug trafficking falls squarely on her. No loose ends. A lot of people can breathe easier now."
"I'm really not surprised by this outcome at all," Martin said, his voice laced with a calm certainty that spoke of expectations met.
Bruce leaned in slightly, curious. "Had you thought about this a long time ago?"
Martin didn't hesitate to answer. There was no need for secrets between them. "It crossed my mind recently," he admitted. "Back then, I figured there were only two possible outcomes. One, Michelle Bryan would go through the legal process, spend some time in jail, and then face a hefty fine. The other... well, we're looking at it now."
Bruce's eyes narrowed, his voice hardening. "She got what she deserved. Death was too good for her."
Martin's tone turned icy, a rare chill creeping into his words. "Trying to turn me into a drug addict..."
In the eyes of most Americans, it might seem like a minor issue. But Martin's experiences had taught him otherwise. He knew just how easily something like this could shatter everything he held dear. If someone was out to destroy him, he certainly wouldn't just stand by and take it.
He folded his newspaper, set it aside, and finished the last bite of his breakfast. "So, what's going on with Ryan Reynolds?" he asked, shifting gears.
Bruce, who always kept a finger on the pulse of Hollywood, replied, "He's out on bail for now, but his travel is restricted. His career in Hollywood is over. No one of influence is willing to back him. Jail time is inevitable."
Martin raised an eyebrow. "And Twentieth Century Fox? Are they standing by him?"
Bruce shook his head. "Nope. Fox has already fired three executives connected to this mess and distanced themselves completely. Word is, they're furious with Ryan Reynolds and are pulling strings to ensure he stays locked up for as long as possible."
Twentieth Century Fox had suffered a hit to their reputation, and they were making sure all the blame fell squarely on Reynolds. Martin couldn't help but wonder how Scarlett Johansson felt about all this. He imagined she might be quietly pleased with how things were unfolding.
Bruce continued, "Yesterday, Ryan Reynolds had a sudden bout of severe gastrointestinal cramps. It's serious enough that he's been hospitalized."
"Gastrointestinal cramps? Hospitalization?" Martin echoed, a spark of curiosity igniting. "What exactly did Scarlett do yesterday to send him to the hospital? Did she really go full Black Widow on him?"
The thought amused him, and he made a mental note to ask Scarlett about it over seafood the next time they met.
Bruce's tone shifted as he shared a different piece of news. "Alexandrovich met with me last night. He wanted to express his gratitude. He said it's not appropriate to see you right now, but he'll have a special gift waiting for you when you're in Europe next."
Martin nodded, absorbing the information. "When is he leaving?"
"Once the girls have their paperwork sorted, he'll take them back to Ukraine," Bruce replied, gesturing vaguely to indicate the timeframe.
Martin leaned back in his chair, contemplating. "Timing, location, and the right people, it all has to align perfectly."
Bruce chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Who would've thought a comedian could become president? This world really is something else."
Martin smirked, tapping the newspaper for emphasis. "There are cases where people have been shot in the back and it's ruled a suicide. Magical, isn't it?"
Bruce nodded in agreement. "Yeah, and if two bastards like us can become rich, what else isn't possible?"
With the conversation winding down, Martin felt a sense of closure. "This chapter is over for now. Let's hope those idiots don't bother me again." He wiped his hands with a napkin, signaling the end of breakfast. "It's almost time. Let's head to the airport and pick up Lily and Elizabeth."
The two men left the luxury of Beverly Hills behind and drove straight to Los Angeles International Airport.
They didn't have to wait long before the Global 6000 touched down on the private tarmac. As soon as the plane's door opened, Lily darted out and leaped straight into Martin's arms.
Elizabeth followed more gracefully, but with no less warmth, wrapping her arms around both of them in a tight embrace.
In that moment, surrounded by the people he cared about most, Martin let everything else fade away. All the chaos, the drama, the lingering threats, they were nothing compared to the joy of this reunion.