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******
"Oh, yes, I listened to track two," a wealthy socialite was overheard saying nervously at a Beverly Hills brunch, aggressively cutting her omelet. "It was... lovely. I felt such a profound sense of... community. Yes. I thought of charity work and... holding hands with friends."
She took a frantic gulp of her mimosa, terrified of being seen as a pervert, while the memory of the actual, intensely erotic hallucination the song had given her made her face flush scarlet.
The psychological trap had been sprung flawlessly. Across the globe, people who had privately experienced the intoxicating, heavy lust woven into Marvin's music suddenly found themselves defending the purity of the songs. It was an act of self-preservation; they were defending the music to shield themselves from the accusations of their own internal darkness.
The most powerful, defining example of this phenomenon came directly from the English Rose.
In London, Princess Diana did not merely release a written statement. Utilizing the unparalleled global obsession with her every move, she orchestrated a publicized, exclusive press conference at the Dorchester Hotel to explicitly speak out for Marvin.
She stood before a sea of flashing camera bulbs, dressed in an impeccably tailored, powder-blue Catherine Walker suit that radiated maternal grace and unshakeable authority. The international press corps hung on her every breath.
"Marvin Meyers is, without question, the most profoundly talented young soul I have ever had the privilege of meeting," Diana announced, her cultured voice echoing clearly through the bank of microphones. "His music is absolutely not plagiarism, nor is it a corporate fabrication. I know this to be an undeniable fact, because I was the one who initially discovered him playing in obscurity. At the time, Marvin was residing in London to film The Parent Trap, and by pure coincidence, I was occupying the suite directly above his."
A collective murmur of genuine astonishment rippled through the packed press room. The reporters scribbled furiously on their notepads.
The origin story was incredibly legendary—the world's most famous woman discovering the world's most gifted child in a luxury London hotel.
A daring reporter from The Sun raised his hand, shouting over the din. "Your Royal Highness! Given the current controversy surrounding the album, what were your personal thoughts when you listened to the second and fifth tracks on Marvin's EP? Did you find them to be... lustful or inappropriately mature?"
Diana did not flinch. Her posture remained flawless.
"Of course not," Diana categorically denied, her voice carrying a sharp, aristocratic edge that instantly shamed the reporter for even suggesting it.
Internally, however, Diana's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She was gripping the edges of the wooden podium tightly to keep her hands from trembling. 'I am not lying,' she comforted herself, her mind flashing back to the intensely erotic trance the song had forced upon her in her private sitting room. 'I am simply trying to advocate for Marvin's brilliance. I cannot allow these vultures to think that his beautiful music is full of filthy, unhealthy things. I must protect him.'
She remembered the way the room had felt when she first heard the Song of Enchantment. She remembered the heat, the sudden beautiful longing that had made her feel more alive than she had in years.
Diana softened her expression, allowing a warm, nostalgic, and entirely convincing vulnerability to wash over her face.
"When I listened to those specific tracks," Diana continued, her voice dropping to a softer, more intimate frequency, "what I thought about was the pure, unfiltered joy of being with my children. I saw the happy, quiet moments we spent together when they were small, before the weight of the world was placed upon their little shoulders. That is the true magic of Marvin's music. It brings you home."
---
Hundreds of miles away, in the quiet, historic dormitories of Eton College, the television in the common room was tuned to the BBC's live broadcast of the press conference.
Fifteen-year-old Prince William and twelve-year-old Prince Harry sat side-by-side on a worn leather sofa, watching their mother address the world.
When Diana spoke about the happy, quiet moments she had spent with them, the overwhelming sincerity in her televised eyes breached their royal composure. The intense, isolating pressure of their lineage and the painful public fracturing of their parents' marriage faded into the background.
William swallowed hard, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He nudged his younger brother gently.
"I miss Mother," Harry whispered, rubbing his eyes quickly with the back of his sleeve.
"Sigh," William exhaled, a heavy, emotional weight settling in his chest. "Me too, Harry. Me too."
The Wonder Boy's music had not just manipulated the press; it had unknowingly tightened the bonds of the British monarchy.
---
Despite the deafening, chaotic noise of the outside world, Marvin remained completely undisturbed. Sitting at the absolute, he enjoyed a terrifying amount of privilege. He had orchestrated this entire cultural backlash knowing exactly how the human psyche would react, and it was playing out with perfection.
It was 7:30 PM in San Marino, California. The oppressive summer heat was finally beginning to break, giving way to a cool, fragrant Pacific breeze.
A sleek, black Mercedes-Benz S-Class smoothly navigated the winding, manicured driveway of the Meyers family estate and pulled into the expansive motor court. The heavy car doors opened, and three people stepped out into the twilight: Frank Heath, his stunning fiancée Kris Kerr, and her fourteen-year-old sister, Miranda.
Standing beneath the towering, warmly lit portico of the villa, Marvin and his parents were already waiting to formally greet their guests. From deep within the house, the rich, savory aroma of the lavish, multi-course dinner Mrs. Aranda was preparing drifted out into the evening air.
Frank immediately stepped into his role as the bridge between the two different worlds, leading Kris and Miranda across the cobblestones toward his older sister.
Miranda was gripping her evening clutch so tightly her knuckles were white. Sensing his sister-in-law's paralyzing anxiety, Frank reached out, gently taking her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
He leaned down, chuckling softly. "What's wrong, Miranda?" Frank teased the younger girl, trying to cut the tension. "Are your palms sweating because you're finally about to meet your idol?"
"Pshaw! I absolutely do not have any idols," Miranda retorted stubbornly, lifting her chin and tossing her cascading brown hair over her shoulder. "Why on earth would I be nervous about meeting a kid?"
"Is that right?" Frank smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Then what exactly are you planning to do with that limited-edition Kung Fu Panda book you shoved into your little crossbody bag before we left the hotel? Oh, and let's not forget that autographed Marvin 1 CD. I saw you bury it at the very bottom of your suitcase so the maids wouldn't accidentally touch it!"
"I... I just appreciate his literary and musical work!" Miranda stammered, her cheeks flushing a defensive pink. "I don't care about him as a person—uh!"
The moment the defiant words left her lips, her gaze drifted past Frank's shoulder.
Miranda saw Marvin standing silently beside his parents.
The fourteen-year-old aspiring supermodel, who had spent the last two years learning how to project confidence in front of camera lenses, experienced a total system failure.
He was wearing a simple tailored dark blazer over a crisp, open-collared white shirt. His medium-length, golden-brown hair was not styled with the stiff, artificial gel common among child stars of the 90s; it was simply draped over his forehead in a slightly messy, elegant manner, adding to his devastating air of aristocratic languor. A gentle evening breeze swept through the portico, causing the soft strands of his hair to dance lightly in the air, giving him a carefree, completely unrestrained aura.
And then, he looked at her.
Those nebula-blue eyes—deep and magnetic—locked onto hers. His lips, sculpted like the petals of a dark rose, curved into a faint, knowing smirk.
'He is Marvin Meyers?!'
Gulp… Miranda swallowed the sudden, heavy buildup of saliva in her dry mouth.
'He's so handsome!' her teenage brain screamed, completely abandoning all rationality. 'He looks a million times better than he does in the movie posters and the newspaper photos! How is that even physically possible?!'
Miranda felt her heart slam against her ribcage like a trapped bird. Her mouth went completely dry, her knees felt weak, and a burning flush spread across her cheeks and down her neck. The Incubus charm hit her like a freight train, bypassing her pride and striking directly at her developing hormones.
"Miranda, what's wrong?" Kris asked in surprise, noticing her younger sister's sudden, rigid paralysis and unusual behavior.
Miranda snapped out of her daze with a jolt. She subconsciously reached up to tidy her hair, her eyes darting away from Marvin. "I—I'm fine! Perfectly fine."
Kris carefully examined her younger sister's flushed face, then slowly followed Miranda's previous line of sight, her gaze landing squarely on Marvin's handsome face standing just a few feet away. Kris's expression instantly became deeply meaningful.
However, she didn't say a word out loud. Kris knew perfectly well that her younger sister was a massive fan of aesthetics; Miranda had always possessed a weakness for exceptionally good-looking boys. So, on the surface, Kris wasn't entirely surprised that her sister was physically attracted to Marvin from a single glance.
'However, my sister's emotions in this regard always come and go as quickly as the tide,' Kris reasoned internally, trying to comfort herself. 'Once she gets used to the boy's handsome face over dinner, the initial shock will wear off and she'll be back to her normal, stubborn self.'
But as Kris stepped closer into the light of the portico and finally saw Marvin up close, a startling realization washed over her. She had entirely underestimated the gravity of the situation.
This boy was definitively not the kind of "pretty face" that a teenage girl simply got used to.
The unique, heavy aura emanating from the boy was staggering. It wasn't just physical beauty; it was a dark and overwhelmingly attractive power. Especially those eyes. The moment Kris's own gaze briefly met his nebula-lake-blue eyes, she felt a sudden sense of profundity and mystery. It was like looking into a deep, beautiful abyss that actively invited you to fall in and never return.
'Good Lord,' Kris thought, a shiver running down her spine. 'Indeed, this is the "genius" Marvin Meyers. How could I have ever thought he was just a child with a pretty face? Haha, I was so completely wrong!'
Kris glanced at her younger sister out of the corner of her eye.
Miranda was no longer trying to hide it. She was staring at the boy with pure adoration, her big, round eyes wide and completely unblinking, caught entirely in his gravitational pull.
Frank clapped his hands together, completely oblivious to the intense, supernatural psychological warfare occurring right next to him.
"Grant, Linda, Marvin," Frank announced proudly, gesturing to the women. "Let me formally introduce you. This is my brilliant fiancée, Kris Kerr. And this is Kris's younger sister, Miranda Kerr."
Frank turned to the Australians. "Kris, Miranda; this is my older sister, Linda Meyers. This is my sister's husband, Grant Meyers. And this..." Frank rested a hand proudly on Marvin's shoulder, "...is the one I tell you about all the time. My genius little nephew, Marvin Meyers."
Marvin stepped forward, offering a slight, elegant bow of his head. "It is an absolute pleasure to welcome you both to our home," Marvin murmured, his resonant voice sending a fresh jolt of electricity straight down Miranda's spine.
"By the way, Miranda," Frank nudged the frozen fourteen-year-old. "Didn't you bring a book all the way from Sydney to get Marvin to sign? Take the book out, kid."
Miranda didn't move. She was staring blankly at Marvin's jawline.
"Miranda? Miranda. Miranda?" Frank called her name three times, waving a hand in front of her face. "Earth to Sydney! Are you lost in space?"
"Ah! Oh! What?" Miranda suddenly snapped out of her stupor, flinching as if she had been physically struck. "Uh, I'm so sorry! I was just... spacing out. Jet lag!"
Miranda's round, chubby little face turned a brilliant, glowing shade of atomic red instantly. She frantically fumbled with the zipper of her crossbody bag, her hands shaking as she tried to retrieve the heavy hardcover book, completely humiliated by her own lack of control.
Marvin simply stood there, his hands resting casually in his pockets, watching the future supermodel unravel before him. The hunt was turning out to be far more entertaining than he had anticipated.
*****
So, after reading many comments, I decided to go with the original: Marvin playing Kurt, Jessica playing Eli, and Kate Beckinsale playing Selene.
So I can't reply to your comments but don't let that stop keep commenting. My Discord link is in my profile and also here.
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