"Hello, is this Emma Watson? I'm Elizabeth Olsen."
"Can we please skip the formalities and just save each other's numbers already?"
"That won't do. I have some major news to announce, and it must be done formally."
"Um? What big news?"
Emma Watson heard the proud tone on the other end of the line and felt a creeping sense of dread.
And sure enough, her instincts proved correct.
"Hey, just yesterday, in Martin's office, my relationship with him took a big step forward. I'm now like you—yes, I've officially become Martin's woman. Surprised? Shocked?"
Damn it, this little bitch is calling just to show off! Emma cursed silently, then deliberately put on a calm tone and said, "So what? I was ahead of you. That means I still win. According to rules, I'm the official wife. You? You're just a little, little, little lover."
Emma couldn't figure out the right English word for "concubine," so she just went with "lover."
"'Official wife'? 'Sidepiece'? This isn't ancient Era. We're in the West. And even if we go by Ancient rules, you're not married to Martin either. You only count as a wife if you're actually married—and Martin's first woman wasn't you."
Elizabeth's understanding of rules was no worse than Emma's.
"Hmph, whatever. I was still first. And besides, I'm older than you. You should be calling me big sister."
"You wish. I'm one year older than you, so you should be calling me big sister."
In the same hotel room, Yang Mi was quietly eavesdropping as Emma talked. From the conversation, it was pretty clear that a girl named Elizabeth was jealous.
Seriously, what was the point?
Martin had so many women—what was she even trying to compete for?
Yang Mi couldn't help but admire her own mindset. She had to admit—mentally, she was built different.
———
"127 Hours is about to be released. It's Martin's directorial debut—don't miss it!"
"127 Hours is a powerful story about the energy a person can unleash in the face of desperation. Directed by Martin and starring Martin, this genius is stepping into the director's chair for the first time. What kind of brilliance will he deliver?"
"Martin's new film is almost here. This time, he's not just acting—he's also directing."
The media blitz for 127 Hours was in full swing.
"Martin's directorial debut" became the film's biggest talking point, generating intense curiosity among movie fans.
The date was October 7th.
The 127 Hours cast had arrived in New York.
The premiere was scheduled for three days later, at Lincoln Theater.
At the Grand Kempinski Hotel in New York, Eric from News of the World sat in the lounge area of the hotel lobby, a stack of newspapers in hand.
He looked like he was reading, but in truth, his eyes were locked on the hotel's entrance.
Eric was the leader of Action Team Two—one of sixteen special teams under News of the World. A seasoned paparazzo, he was an expert in tailing, picking locks, and planting bugs. He even worked better than some FBI agents.
At that moment, the revolving door turned, and a tall, familiar figure stepped into the hotel.
Eric whispered into the miniature microphone clipped to his collar, "Eyes up—Martin Meyers just walked in."
From around the corner, Joyce—wearing a suit and tie and holding a black handbag—stepped out and casually made his way into the lobby.
He trailed Martin by five or six meters, keeping a safe distance. Once Martin entered the elevator, Joyce quickly rushed over to the elevator panel and watched the floor number climb.
"Twelfth floor. He's on the twelfth."
He relayed the information through his collar mic.
"Copy," came the calm voice in his earpiece.
The New York Kempinski had 22 floors and 22 rooms per floor—484 rooms in total.
Eric's team consisted of six members.
Besides him and Joyce on the first floor, the others were stationed on the 5th, 10th, 16th, and 22nd floors.
That way, no matter which floor Martin went to, one of them could reach him almost instantly.
Eric had it all calculated. At an average walking pace, it would take Martin about 20 seconds to exit the elevator, walk down the corridor, and enter his room. Their agents had tested stair speeds: about 4 seconds per floor going up, and just 3 seconds per floor coming down. Based on their positions, they'd need to move no more than three floors either way—meaning they'd arrive within 15 seconds. More than fast enough to track Martin.
Since Martin was heading to the 12th floor...
Harper, who was guarding the 10th floor, would take over.
Harper was only 24 but had already been in the paparazzi game for five years—a true veteran.
He had been pretending to talk on the phone in the stairwell when he suddenly darted up the stairs. In under ten seconds, he reached the 12th floor. Just to be safe, Adelaide, who was stationed on the 16th floor, also started heading down.
As he arrived on the 12th floor, he saw Harper's back just vanishing around the corner. Adelaide paused, pulled out his phone, and resumed pretending to make a call.
Meanwhile, Harper exited the elevator, rounded the corner, and entered the hallway.
He quickly spotted Martin and his bodyguard just ten meters ahead.
Harper trailed them quietly for a few steps, then ducked behind a pillar. From his pocket, he pulled out a specialized mirror and used it to spy around the corner.
Clearly, News of the World trained their reporters like secret agents.
Through the mirror, he saw Martin and his bodyguard stop in front of a room, unlock it, and step inside.
Harper slipped out from behind the pillar and moved down the corridor. After confirming the room number, he hurried back to the elevator and went downstairs.
"Got it. Room 4-9," he muttered into his mic.
Inside the room, Martin and Gordon settled in.
Gordon chose a seat with a clear view of the door and sat down.
Martin flopped onto the sofa and turned on the TV. The FOX Entertainment channel was airing a rerun of The Voice.
Ever since FOX acquired the show, it had exploded in popularity.
In just one season, it was already pulling ratings that rivaled FOX's previous flagship, American Idol—a new sensation had arrived.
For a network, ratings meant cash.
Advertisers were practically throwing blank checks at the show, eager to ride the Voice wave—and it was all bringing in a steady stream of money for Martin.