Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm Chapter 362 - 368: Princess Haya

Martin, accompanied by Gordon and a few bodyguards, stepped into the elevator and descended to the ground floor.

Elsewhere in the hotel, the executives accompanying Evans Crookes were settling into their rooms while his assistant busily organized the luggage that had been sent up in advance.

Evans snorted coldly. That sly fox had deliberately used the public elevator, clearly intending to make his presence known.

What was he trying to do?

A show of strength?

"No, I'm not that bored," Martin remarked to Gordon. "Why would I need to flaunt anything to that old man?"

"Then what was the point of that?" Gordon asked.

Martin smirked. "I was just having a bit of fun, making Evans paranoid and overly cautious."

Gordon ntally rolled his eyes. And that's not boring?

Of course, Martin wasn't doing it out of boredom. He had discreetly cast a detection spell on Evans, allowing him to monitor the man's conversations and observe his surroundings in real-ti. Oh, and for entertainnt, he'd also placed one on Evans' female assistant.

The elevator arrived at the ground floor. Martin and his team stepped out, heading toward a car waiting outside.

At Martin's request, the car was empty, with no driver inside.

"Gordon, you'll drive. We're heading to the Abu Dhabi Palace—"

"What?!" Gordon exclaid, startled.

Martin smiled faintly and added, "The adjacent Kempinski Hotel."

"Oh, got it!" Gordon exhaled in relief.

The Kempinski Hotel was not far from their current location, only a ten-minute drive.

Compared to the Corniche Hotel, the Kempinski was older but far more opulent. From a distance, it looked like a massive castle, situated near the Abu Dhabi Palace with a stunning private beach and a garden-like artificial island.

Its interior scread the extravagance of an oil-rich aristocracy. Gold was everywhere—picture fras, chair trims, lobby reliefs, wall accents, bathroom faucets, door handles, even tissue boxes were made of solid gold.

Gordon felt like he had stepped into a world glowing with golden radiance.

By contrast, the Corniche Hotel's decor appeared much more refined, favoring crystal embellishnts for elegance.

Upon arriving at the Kempinski's lobby, Martin made a phone call.

"Are you there?"

"Good. I'll co up now."

Turning to his bodyguards, Martin said, "Wait for here in the lobby. I'm going to et soone."

Gordon hesitated, clearly concerned, but Martin waved him off. "Don't worry. I've decided this is a safe place."

Reluctantly, Gordon nodded and led the bodyguards to a seating area in the lobby.

Martin took the elevator to the ninth floor and stopped at Room 912.

Knock, knock.

The door opened, revealing the face of a middle-aged white man: David Scott, the current CEO of Campbell Oil Company. Martin had sent him to Abu Dhabi ahead of ti.

"Where's the guest?" Martin asked.

"In the living room," David replied, quickly stepping aside to let Martin in.

Inside, two people were waiting in the living room—a man and a woman.

The man was a bald, burly figure with a muscular build that stretched his tailored suit to its limits. The woman, dressed in traditional Arab attire, was covered head-to-toe, with only a pair of amber-colored eyes visible.

From her eyes, Martin could tell she was young.

Upon seeing Martin enter, a hint of joy flickered in the woman's gaze. She stood up from the sofa, prompting the bald man to rise as well—clearly her bodyguard.

"Martin Myers! I didn't expect it to really be you!"

The woman took a few steps forward, then suddenly stopped, as if rembering sothing. She perford a graceful Arab woman's bow.

Martin returned the gesture with an equally formal Arab-style bow, which made the woman's eyes sparkle with admiration.

"Hello, Martin. I am Haya bint Hussein, Princess of Jordan."

"Princess Haya, it's a pleasure. I'm Martin Myers, an Arican."

The princess suddenly burst into laughter—soft, lodic giggles that quickly grew uncontrollable.

Martin had no idea what part of his words had struck her as funny.

After a while, the princess managed to calm herself, her composure returning. "My apologies, my apologies. I've been cooped up at ho for too long, and eting soone as interesting as you caught off guard."

Martin wasn't sure what about him she found "interesting," but he graciously accepted the complint and replied, "Thank you, Your Highness. I must say, I've never seen eyes as beautiful as yours."

The princess laughed again, her laughter echoing in the room like a string of pearls scattering on a jade plate.

Martin began to suspect he'd accidentally discovered her "laughter switch"—it seed like anything he said could make her laugh.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm just so happy!"

Princess Haya clasped her hands together, bowing slightly in apology once more.

Martin waved it off with a smile. "No need to apologize. If I can bring happiness to Your Highness, it's an honor."

This ti, the princess didn't laugh.

Martin exchanged a glance with David Scott, who imdiately understood. "Your Highness, I'll leave you two to your conversation."

After David exited, Martin's gaze shifted to the motionless bodyguard standing behind the princess. Taking a seat on the sofa, Martin gestured to the princess.

"Your Highness, why don't we sit and talk?"

"Oh, of course. My apologies," the princess said, seating herself. Her amber eyes remained fixed on Martin.

The bodyguard stood behind her, his own gaze just as intense.

"And this is...?" Martin asked, gesturing to the bald man.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot to introduce him. This is Leo Sebastian, my personal bodyguard."

It seed "sorry" was the princess's favorite phrase—it had beco a verbal tic.

Martin studied Leo for a mont before comnting, "He doesn't look Arab."

"He's German, forrly of the KSK special forces. He's my personal bodyguard, not soone assigned by the royal family," Princess Haya emphasized, making it clear that Leo was her confidant.

Martin nodded in understanding. Dropping the topic, he addressed the princess directly:

"Your Highness, I asked to et you to learn more about the upcoming UAE offshore oilfield auction."

The princess showed no surprise. She was a clever woman and had already guessed as much.

"What do you want to know?" she asked. Then, pausing briefly, she added, "And what can you offer in return?"

Martin chuckled, appreciating her straightforwardness. "I want to know everything about this oilfield. As for what I can offer..."

His eyes flicked to Leo Sebastian.

"Your Highness, what I'm about to say may touch on sensitive matters regarding your family. Are you sure Mr. Sebastian can hear it?"

Princess Haya laughed lightly and replied, "I trust him completely. Even if you said here and now that you planned to assassinate my brother, King Abdullah II, he would still stay silent."

"Okay, then I'll be blunt."

Martin carefully chose his words before continuing.

"Your Highness, you co from a distinguished background, but I know you're deeply unhappy. Especially with your brother's plan to marry you off to Dubai's Crown Prince Sheikh Mohamd bin Rashid Al Maktoum."

"This marriage would strengthen your brother's political power, but it offers you nothing. Everyone knows the Sheikh already has a wife. If you marry him, you'll only be the second princess. Worse, he's 52 years old, 25 years your senior."

"On top of that, you may not know this, but the Sheikh has a severe history of dostic violence, especially against his wives and children."

(Author's note: Princess Haya would later flee to Germany with her children, seeking political asylum after enduring abuse from her husband, now the King of Dubai.)

"If you marry him, Your Highness, your future will be bleak."

Martin straightened his posture and declared, "But I can help you escape."

Princess Haya's amber eyes brightened.

Behind her, Leo Sebastian frowned, clearly skeptical. As soone well-acquainted with the strict control over royal won in the UAE, he found Martin's claim far-fetched.

Martin, aware of the challenges, smiled faintly. "What do you say, Your Highness?"