The charity auction became the talk of the night. A rivalry between the former princess Diana and the young Paris Hilton captivated the audience, as both women bid fiercely for Martin's manuscript. The tension was electric, with guests murmuring in awe at the spectacle of two iconic figures vying over a single treasure.
But just as the competition reached its peak, Martin rose from his seat. All eyes followed as he approached Paris Hilton, leaning in to whisper something in her ear. Whatever he said left the young heiress visibly delighted, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
Martin returned to his table, gesturing for Diana to raise her paddle once more.
"$800,000," Diana announced.
The auctioneer's gavel fell.
"Sold! Congratulations, Ms. Diana! This exquisite manuscript is yours."
The room erupted in applause, though some whispered about the wisdom of paying such a price for an author's manuscript. Yet others speculated that as Martin's fame continued to grow, so would the value of his work.
As Martin settled back into his seat, Diana turned to him, her curiosity piqued.
"What did you say to her?" she asked with a playful smirk.
Martin's response was casual. "I promised her a dinner."
Diana chuckled, though her expression betrayed a hint of discomfort. "A meal with you? I'd say she got the better deal."
Martin's gaze lingered on her. "You're not the only one who feels that way," he said with a knowing smile.
The auction concluded with a sapphire necklace tying Martin's manuscript as the highest-selling item of the night. When the event ended, Martin and Diana left together in her car, the soft strains of Blurry, Martin's album, playing on the stereo.
As the car hummed along the quiet streets, Martin reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.
"I have something for you," he said, presenting it to Diana.
"What is it?" she asked, curious.
He opened the box to reveal a pair of emerald earrings—the same ones Diana had bid on earlier in the evening.
Her eyes widened. "When did you—wait, didn't Steve Jobs win these?"
Martin grinned. "I asked him to buy them for me."
Without waiting for a response, he carefully took the earrings from the box. "Allow me," he said, leaning closer.
Diana hesitated but didn't resist as Martin gently fastened the earrings to her ears. The intimacy of the moment was amplified by the dim lighting in the car and the soft melody in the background.
His fingers brushed against her earlobe, sending a warm blush cascading across her cheeks.
"Martin…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The air in the car grew heavier, charged with an unspoken tension. Diana's breath hitched as she struggled against her own thoughts. The stark age difference and the potential public backlash warred against the inexplicable pull she felt toward him.
"No," she murmured weakly, though her resistance felt more like a plea to herself than a command to him.
Martin leaned closer, his face inches from hers. Her lips parted as if to protest, but his kiss silenced her words.
The car stopped in front of Martin's villa more than thirty minutes later. The driver opened the door, his nose twitching at an odd mixture of perfume, sweat, and something else he couldn't quite place.
Martin stepped out, composed and impeccably dressed, flashing the driver a polite smile.
Inside the car, Diana remained, her face flushed, her breathing uneven. As the car pulled away, Martin watched it disappear into the distance, a satisfied expression on his face.
For Martin, the thrill of conquest wasn't always physical. His confidence, charm, and a touch of mystery were often more than enough.
The following afternoon, Martin arrived at the Hilton Hotel in Los Angeles for his promised dinner with Paris Hilton.
Paris, true to form, had dressed extravagantly for the occasion. Her diamond-studded pink dress, beige round-toed leather boots, and matching pink bow in her platinum curls screamed opulence. Even her customized pink Louis Vuitton bag was a declaration of her status.
Despite her polished appearance, her opening line was as brash as ever.
"Martin Meyers, you cost me a valuable collection last night. You owe me compensation!" she declared, her tone dripping with entitlement.
Martin barely glanced at her, his demeanor calm and unbothered. He gestured to the seat across from him.
"Sit down," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
Paris froze, momentarily stunned. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. A mix of anger and intrigue flickered across her face.
Reluctantly, she sat, dropping her pink bag onto the table with an indignant huff. "Fine. Now can we talk?"
Martin didn't respond immediately. Instead, he handed her the menu.
"Order whatever you like," he said, his voice steady and commanding.
Paris, caught off guard by his attitude, instinctively took the menu. It wasn't until a moment later that she realized what had just happened.
"Wait," she said, glaring at him. "Why am I listening to you?"
Martin leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Because you want to."
Paris stared at him, her cheeks flushing slightly. For the first time, she was uncertain of what to say.
And for the first time, she found herself intrigued by someone who didn't fawn over her wealth or beauty but instead challenged her in a way she couldn't ignore.
[•———•——•———•]
𝙥𝗮𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙤𝙣(.)𝙘𝙤𝙢/𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙊𝙛𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
✨ • 𝗘𝘅𝗰𝗹𝘂𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗔𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀: 𝙂𝙚𝙩 𝟲𝟬+ 𝙖𝙙𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙚.