Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm Chapter 699 - 691: Trouble with Megan—Second-Generation Heir

Oscar Night—Aftermath

Just as Martin was preparing to enjoy his post-Oscar evening of indulgence, an unexpected call ca through.

It was gan Fox—the beautiful young woman he had previously helped out of a sticky situation during an audition when so creep had harassed her. He had given her his private business card.

"gan, what's up?"

"I... sothing happened, and I didn't know who else to call. Sorry for bothering you."

"Haha, I really don't mind being disturbed by a pretty lady. Tell what's going on."

On the other end of the line, gan quickly recounted what had happened.

Earlier that evening, gan and a friend had gone out to a late-night diner. Her friend accidentally offended soone—a so-called "big shot": Carl Johnson, the younger son of Baker Johnson, the owner of Space-Auto.

(GodOfReader: The hell you doin here CJ?)

Now, the two of them were cornered in the ladies' restroom of the Night Club they are blocked by Carl johnson and his Bodyguard

Martin gathered the rest. Apparently, Carl had been running his mouth at gan, and her friend lashed out and insulted him. Carl retaliated with more trash talk, and things escalated quickly. He poured a drink on gan's friend, and gan, trying to protect her, smashed her glass into Carl's face.

That was when they ran into the restroom, where they were now barricaded. Outside, Carl and his bodyguards were trying to break in. The diner manager and security guards were attempting to keep Carl at bay while also insisting gan and her friend leave—presumably so whatever happened next wouldn't be the restaurant's problem.

Clearly, the managent's plan was to kick them out and wash their hands of it.

...

"gan, can your friend be trusted? When's he getting here? Can he really handle this?"

In the restroom, a red-haired woman in her late thirties braced against the door, ignoring the manager's threats and pleads from outside. She nervously asked gan about the friend she'd called.

She was already regretting picking a fight with Carl Johnson. It was the alcohol's fault—damn alcohol.

She'd only known gan for about a week, having t at a feminist gathering where they'd hit it off. But they weren't exactly the kind of friends who would risk their lives for each other.

I was impulsive.

All she could hope now was that gan's so-called "reliable friend" was really as dependable as she claid.

...

"If you two don't co out now, I'll have security bust down the door!"

Outside, the diner manager had lost all patience.

Behind him stood two burly Black security guards, one of them sporting a scorpion tattoo on his neck—a gang symbol.

And further back, a white-haired young man was watching the scene with twitchy excitent, snorting occasionally and glaring with a twisted glint in his eye.

This man was Carl Johnson—the very guy gan had just described—the son of Space-Auto's boss, Baker Johnson.

(TL/N: Can't find the na of his dad, if you know it please reply in this paragraph so i can correct it.]

"We're not coming out unless you guarantee our safety!" the red-haired woman shouted.

She had her back to the door, her disheveled red hair trembling with tension.

"I told you, you'll be safe in the restaurant," the manager said.

"But you're trying to throw us out," gan pointed out with a frown.

The red-haired woman snapped, "Do you think we're idiots?!"

"Hey, how much longer are you gonna make wait?" Carl Johnson was getting impatient, his words slurring slightly. "I can't wait to have so fun with those two bitches."

The manager didn't respond. He simply gestured to the guards to break the door down.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Heavy thuds rocked the restroom door. Despite the lock, the wooden door shuddered under the force.

The redhead bracing it nearly lost her footing and swayed violently.

"Call your friend now!" she shouted to gan. "If he doesn't get here soon, we're gonna get rape—or worse. I don't care about myself, maybe I'll even get a fat compensation check out of it, but you're still a kid! It's not worth it!"

gan pulled out her phone, just about to dial Martin's number—when her phone rang.

Her eyes lit up when she saw the caller ID and quickly answered. Martin's voice ca through.

"I'm here. Where are you?"

"Go in the front door, then left all the way to the back. We're in the restroom."

"Got it. Be right there."

At that very mont—

CRACK!

The door burst open.

The redhead stumbled back, nearly falling. She whipped out a pepper spray can from her purse and held it up, bluffing, "Don't co any closer! I've got a weapon!"

The tattooed security guard burst out laughing. "That little can? You call that a weapon? If the boss hadn't told us to toss you out, I'd show you what a real weapon looks like..."

He leered and made a vulgar thrusting gesture.

"Hurry it up!" Carl Johnson barked.

"Move it!" the manager urged the guards.

The tattooed man lunged at the redhead. She tried to spray him, but he batted her arm aside and grabbed her roughly.

"Let go of her, you bastard!"

gan swung her purse at the man's head. The solid corners of the designer bag landed with a thud, making him grunt.

Still holding the redhead, the guard yelled to his partner, "Nigga?! Are you just gonna stand there and watch?!"

The second security guard chuckled as he stepped forward, his eyes roving over gan's body, clearly deciding which part to grab first.

That's when a calm voice rang out from the hallway:

"Hey, gentlen. Maybe show the ladies so respect, yeah?"

"Who the hell are yo—Wait, Mr. yers?!"

Carl Johnson, ready to snap at the newcor, froze mid-sentence. As soon as he recognized the man, his arrogant deanor disappeared like air from a punctured balloon.

His eyes widened in terror.

Holy shit. That girl is Martin's woman?!

Motherfucker, why didn't she say so from the start?!

Sure, Carl was rich too—but his father, Baker Johnson, had only just broken into the billionaire club. Martin yers, on the other hand, was the richest man in the world. They weren't even on the sa playing field.

Carl had seen Martin once at a party with his father. He could still rember how respectfully—how ekly—his dad had acted around Martin.

For second-generation heirs like Carl, swagger and wasteful spending were fine, but the one thing they had to know was who not to ss with.

Because crossing the wrong person could get your entire family burned.

Carl began to panic.