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Martin and Nicole Kidman paused in the media interview area, waiting for the reporters to ask their questions.
"Martin, do you have confidence in this film?"
"Absolutely. I'm confident it won't fail. When a movie has the best director, the best actors, the best screenwriter, and the best soundtrack, success is inevitable."
"Nicole, why didn't Mr. Cruise come today?"
"Tom is busy filming Mission: Impossible 2 and couldn't make it. But he asked me to send his blessings to Martin."
"Martin, Mr. De Niro, who just passed by, said he felt very angry while making this film. Do you think it's because he doubted your identity as the original author?"
Martin glanced at the reporter from News of the World—an old adversary.
This reporter was notorious for cutting off the beginning and end of statements to manipulate the narrative, setting traps for his subjects.
But Martin wasn't fooled. With a calm smile, he replied:
"I don't think so, and neither does Mr. De Niro. Maybe it's just you? By the way, your language trap is a bit too obvious. Maybe you should draft your questions first next time."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
When Martin and Nicole reached the end of the red carpet, they spotted Robert De Niro waiting for them.
De Niro looked at Martin with surprise. "You're moving fast, kid. I remember when we were filming Hide and Seek, you were just above my chin. Now you're almost taller than me, right?"
Martin laughed. "Just catching up, Robert. I'm already taller than you."
He opened his arms in mock grandeur. "Nice to meet you, Mr. De Niro, my 'father' for a few days."
De Niro smiled and embraced Martin. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Martin, my 'son' for a few days."
Nicole, standing beside them, playfully added, "No, no, no, Martin should be my son."
In Little Island, Martin had played Nicole's son.
Thinking of this, Nicole felt a slight flush, as though she had crossed an unspoken boundary.
"Let's head inside. It's about to start," De Niro suggested, gesturing toward the banquet hall.
The room was filled with guests—stars, directors, industry heads, and celebrities—many of whom were familiar faces to Martin. As they approached, the crowd greeted him warmly.
Everyone was eager to associate with success, and Martin had never failed in any of his ventures—whether in film, literature, or music.
Martin exchanged pleasantries as he moved through the crowd, until a bald young man stopped him.
"Hello, Martin. I'm Ian Bryce, manager at Columbia Production. Do you have a moment to chat?"
"I'll go check on Nicole," Martin said, gently releasing Nicole's arm. She wandered off to join a group of Australian celebrities.
"Martin, let's find a quieter place," Ian suggested.
"Over there," Martin nodded, pointing to a rest area in the corner.
As they made their way over, a group of young actors chatting nearby immediately stood up and left. Martin glanced around and saw a familiar face—Wentworth Miller.
The star of the hit show Prison Break?
But right now, Wentworth Miller was just another struggling actor in Hollywood, struggling to find his next opportunity.
To make ends meet, Wentworth had taken odd jobs: sending faxes, sorting files, changing lightbulbs, and feeding his boss's fish. He had worked as a bookstore clerk, a waiter, and even walked dogs in wealthy neighborhoods to help rich people with their pets.
It was said that many young actors did these jobs when they first arrived in Hollywood.
Martin smiled inwardly. How could I not know?
Since arriving in Hollywood, Wentworth had only appeared in two TV series, both minor roles that paid little.
Being able to attend the Hide and Seek premiere was a significant opportunity, one he had spent considerable money to secure. He had hoped to meet some industry bigwigs, maybe even land a starring role in a TV series or a film.
But when he arrived, he quickly learned that the major players wouldn't even notice someone like him. His only interactions were with fellow struggling actors.
Several of them stepped aside when Martin arrived, leaving him room to stand. Wentworth, not far away, kept his eyes on him but tried to maintain his composure.
One of the young actors, Creech, muttered jealously, "Martin is so lucky. Ever since he entered Hollywood, everything's gone smoothly for him. I've heard his family background is deep, too. Do you think his novels, scripts, and concerts are all ghostwritten by high-priced writers?"
The room fell silent. The other actors exchanged uncomfortable glances but said nothing.
Creech, either overly stimulated by the evening or perhaps drunk, continued, "Come on, I don't believe you haven't thought about it. He's so young—how could he possibly write all those things? It's just not possible."
He spread his hands, a mocking grin on his face.
One of the actresses, trying to deescalate, said, "Creech, you've had too much to drink. Maybe you should go outside and get some fresh air?"
"Haha, I'm not drunk. I'm just frustrated," Creech retorted. "How can this guy have it all at such a young age, while I've been here in Hollywood for four years and still can't make it? I don't accept it!"
From his position on the sofa in the lounge, Martin's ears perked up. A sarcastic smile played across his lips as he glanced in their direction.
Wentworth, who had been watching Martin and Ian Bryce, froze when he saw Martin's reaction.
Had Martin heard them? From this distance?
Wentworth's heart skipped a beat.
Should I take a risk?
After a brief moment of hesitation, Wentworth made up his mind. He clenched his teeth.
He needed a chance. Sorry, Creech.
Bang!
With a swift motion, Wentworth threw a punch, hitting Creech squarely on the chin. The force sent Creech tumbling to the ground.
"You're despicable," Wentworth spat angrily. "Jealous of Martin's talent and slandering him here. Martin is my idol—and he's a good man. He helped Charlize Theron and even saved Michael Jackson. I won't let you talk about him like that!"
Creech sat stunned, unable to react. Before he could say anything, Wentworth grabbed him by the collar and shoved him toward the exit.
"Get out of here," Wentworth growled. "There's no place for you here."
The other young actors, stunned by the sudden outburst, tried to intervene.
"Wentworth, what are you doing?"
"Let go of Creech!"
"If you do this, we'll all get kicked out!"
"Are you crazy?"
Wentworth ignored them all, his gaze flicking toward Martin from the corner of his eye. His heart pounded in his chest.
Martin, still sitting on the sofa, hadn't looked over once.
Could it be a coincidence?
[•———•——•———•]
𝙥𝗮𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙤𝙣(.)𝙘𝙤𝙢/𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙊𝙛𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧