Those who know his schedule to its finer details are Jessica, Beyoncé, and, of course, Amy. His mom also knows it, just by fact.
And when she said funds, she just meant the Zenith Trust; it has nothing to do with investments.
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******
"It was just a few seconds of a tin whistle. But the moment those notes hit the air... it completely pulled me right through the television screen," Beyoncé whispered, her words laced with reverence. "It did the exact same thing to my chest that your piano playing or the guitar playing did in that private room in Houston. It physically stopped my mind and pulled me into the tune. I didn't need to see the credits to know it was you. I know the exact frequency of your music, Mr. Marvin Meyers. Only you could compose music that pulls the world into itself like that."
Marvin was stunned.
For an Incubus who had spent his entire existence manipulating the blind, deaf, and easily fooled minds of mortal creatures, the realization that this sixteen-year-old girl could actively *hear* his magical signature hidden beneath layers of Hollywood orchestration was something. She hadn't just recognized the melody; she had recognized the emotional architecture of his magic in the tune.
A smile spread across his lips.
"You never cease to amaze me, Beyoncé Knowles," Marvin murmured, his voice thick with raw affection.
"Yes. The song is called *My Heart Will Go On*. And while it will soon belong to the entire world... the fact that you recognized my voice in the dark is the only review I will ever truly care about."
"I told you," Beyoncé promised softly through the phone, the romantic weight of her words bridging the distance between Los Angeles and Texas. "I see you, Marvin. I hear you. Always."
…
…
…
The SUV glided silently through the iron gates of the San Marino estate, the tires crunching softly against the immaculate gravel driveway. Inside the cool, leather-scented cabin, the phone pressed against Marvin's ear was still radiating the warm, electric energy of the girl in Houston.
"Marvin, Daddy is standing outside the vocal booth tapping his watch like a madman," Beyoncé sighed through the receiver, though the bright, lingering happiness in her voice was unmistakable. "My break is officially over. I have to go sing this bridge before he has a heart attack."
"Then you must go, my queen," Marvin murmured, his velvety baritone dropping into a register designed to linger in her mind for the rest of the day. "The world is waiting to hear what we created. Sing with the fire I know you possess."
"I will,"* she promised softly. "I'll call you tonight. Be safe, Hollywood." She pressed a lingering, deliberate kiss against the receiver of her studio phone. The sound carried across the transatlantic wire, sending a satisfied thrill through the Incubus's chest.
"And you, my Texas Rose," Marvin replied, returning the sentiment before the line softly clicked dead.
Marvin handed the Motorola receiver to Gordon as the SUV rolled to a smooth stop in front of the sprawling mansion. He stepped out into the crisp California afternoon, the golden sun warming his blazer. As he walked up the sweeping stone steps, a sense of satisfaction settled deep into his chest.
The foundation he was building with Beyoncé was no longer just about gaining her trust; it was about actively saving her from the machine that was slowly crushing her. Giving her the track *The Boy Is Mine* hadn't been a transaction to bind her rising star to his gravity.
It was the exact opposite. It was an industry-shifting gift given freely, with no strings attached, designed specifically to shatter her tragic worldview that everything beautiful came with a hidden cost.
He was dismantling the toxic programming instilled by Mathew Knowles. Every time Marvin handed her a monumental career win without asking for a sacrifice in return, he was proving to her young, exhausted heart that she was deeply loved and cherished simply for existing.
He was teaching her that she didn't have to buy his affection with perfection, and that she could finally put down her armor. He wanted nothing from her but her genuine happiness.
By healing that desperate hunger for validation, he was completely sealing off the psychological vulnerability that would have made her easy prey in the future.
'Now fuck you, Jay-Z,' Marvin thought with a cold protective smirk.
He had completely severed the timeline where a fragile groomed teenager would be seamlessly passed from the grip of a controlling stage father directly into the hands of a manipulative, older hip-hop mogul. She would never need to tolerate emotional abuse, chronic infidelity, or a lopsided power dynamic just to feel secure.
Marvin is fortifying her mind with love and self-worth, rendering any future vultures entirely obsolete.
He walked through the double doors of the estate, breathing in the quiet, expansive luxury of his home.
"Mrs. Aranda! I am home," Marvin called out, his voice echoing lightly against the marble foyer.
The warm, bustling housekeeper appeared from the hallway leading to the chef's kitchen, wiping her hands on her pristine apron. "Welcome back, *mi niño*. How was school today?"
"Tolerable, as always," Marvin smiled, offering her the charming, polite boyishness he reserved for the staff. "Could you please set some lunch for me in the dining room? I am quite ravenous. I will eat it right after freshening up. Thank you."
"Of course, Marvin. I have a roasted chicken and wild rice pilaf already warm," Mrs. Aranda beamed. "Your mother called earlier to say she would be late tonight. She got caught up in her new syllabus at the university."
Marvin's smile widened with genuine, secondary satisfaction. Linda Meyers had recently accepted a prestigious position as a film professor at USC. With the overflowing wealth of the Zenith Trust completely eradicating any stress, and with Marvin proving to be a self-sufficient boy, Linda had finally been able to pursue her own intellectual passions without the burden of managing a child star's chaotic life.
"Excellent," Marvin said, turning toward the grand staircase. "Let mom enjoy her academia."
He took a quick, hot shower, washing away the sterile, chalky scent of the private academy. He changed into comfortable loungewear—a pair of slacks and a soft cashmere sweater that hugged his shoulders perfectly. The demon inside him appreciated the tactile luxury of mortal fabrics.
He walked down the sweeping staircase and moved toward the dining room.
*Ring! Ring!*
The sharp trill of the cordless brick phone resting on the credenza shattered the quiet of the house.
Marvin paused. He glanced at the grandfather clock ticking in the corner. He did not need to look at the caller ID. Based purely on the specific timing of the call—coming mere minutes after his car phone had finally disconnected from Houston—he instantly calculated the identity of the caller.
A slow amused smirk spread across his face. He picked up the plastic receiver and pressed the answer button.
Before he could even breathe a greeting, a fiery, high-decibel voice exploded from the other end.
"Ah! Mr. Very Busy Hollywood finally decided to clear his lines!" Jessica screamed through the phone, her voice vibrating with a fierce, unapologetic Latina temper and the raw, stinging edge of teenage jealousy. "Do you have any idea how many times I have called your car phone in the last thirty minutes, Marvin? You were busy talking to that Texas bitch, weren't you?!"
Marvin pulled the receiver back an inch, his smirk widening into a smile of pure delight.
Jessica was sixteen, breathtakingly gorgeous, and fiercely, aggressively possessive of the boy who had captivated her. While Beyoncé possessed a regal, driven composure, Jessica possessed a wildfire spirit. And right now, that wildfire was burning with intense, focused envy.
She had got to know about Marvin's sudden trip to Houston. She knew about the bouquet of roses. She knew about the Ferris wheel. And the knowledge was actively infuriating her.
"I am standing here staring at my wall," Jessica continued, her breathing heavy, ignoring his silence. "And no matter how much I love this diamond necklace you sent me—and I do, Marvin, I wear it every single day, it never leaves my neck—it doesn't change the fact that I spent my birthday in April opening a FedEx package while you were across the ocean in London!"
She let out a frustrated groan that was uniquely teenage.
"Why wasn't I born in September?!" she demanded bitterly. "She gets an entire, magical birthday date. She gets you dropping to one knee in an arcade. She gets a romantic kiss at the top of a Ferris wheel! And what do I get? I get a 'Happy Birthday, Jessica, sorry I'm busy shooting *The Parent Trap* card!"
"Jessica," Marvin purred, his voice a low, blanket of velvet, designed to bypass her anger and vibrate directly against her spine.
"Don't you 'Jessica' me, Mr. Marvin Meyers!" she shot back, though her voice had already lost a fraction of its explosive heat, melting slightly against the gravity of his tone. "It isn't fair. I was here first. I know you're busy, but it makes me so mad when I think about you looking at her the way you look at me."
Marvin walked slowly into the dining room, where Mrs. Aranda had already set a steaming plate of roasted chicken and fragrant wild rice on the polished table. He sat down holding the phone to his ear, his mind operating on ten different psychological levels.
He understood her fury perfectly. He didn't mind it; in fact, he craved it. Jealousy was a potent, delicious flavor of love. But as an Incubus who was building a global empire, he could not allow his queens to tear each other apart. He needed to constantly, subtly expand their worldviews. He needed to condition their minds to accept the impossible reality of a shared love. He needed them to eventually view each other not as bitter rivals, but as fellow sisters in his big heart.
"My beautiful, fiery Jessica," Marvin murmured softly, his voice dripping with intoxicating affection. "Take a breath. Your anger is magnificent, but it is misplaced."
"Misplaced?" she scoffed, though she sounded closer to tears of frustration now. "How is it misplaced, Marvin?"
"Because you are comparing apples to the stars, my lady," Marvin explained smoothly, leaning back in his chair. "Yes, I was trapped in London during your birthday. It was a tragedy of scheduling that I deeply regret. But need I remind you how I sought to make amends? Need I remind you of the blazing sun in July? I gave her a single evening in Texas. I gave you two entire days on the pristine beaches of Malibu."
"Yes!" Jessica fired back, her memory sharp. "And I loved every single second of those two days, Marvin! But do you want to know the problem? It was you, me, and three other kids, two of whom happened to be girls! I had to share your attention the entire time! I would prefer it if we were alone! I want my own private Ferris wheel, Marvin!"
"And you shall have the entire world, Jessica," Marvin promised, his voice taking on a rhythmic cadence that began to soothe her frayed nervous system.
He didn't argue with her. He didn't invalidate her feelings. He simply poured his magnetic voice into her ear.
"You must understand," Marvin purred, carefully weaving the psychological thread of the harem into her subconscious. "My heart is not a small, fragile mortal thing that can be divided and diminished. It is a world of its own. The affection I hold for you is entirely unique, forged in a fire that belongs only to Jessica Alba. When I look at Beyoncé, I see a brilliant musician. But when I look at you? I see an untamed cinematic goddess who is going to conquer Hollywood."
Jessica was quiet on the other end of the line. The ragged breathing had slowed. The Incubus charm was working its flawless, invisible architecture, replacing her bitter jealousy with a warm, flush of pride and desire.
"You are not competing for scraps at my table, Jessica," Marvin continued softly, driving the lesson deep into her soul. "There are many seats in a royal court, and many brilliant women will orbit my life. But the crown I place upon your head is forged specifically for you. Do you understand?"
There was a long, shuddering sigh from the other end of the phone. The wildfire had been completely contained, expertly banked into a smoldering, devoted ember.
"I hate how incredibly good you are at talking," Jessica whispered, her voice totally devoid of anger now, laced with affection and love. "You always make me feel like I'm the only girl in the entire universe, even when you're literally telling me I'm not."
"I simply speak the truth, my beautiful lady," Marvin smiled, picking up his silver spoon and taking a bite of the wild rice. "Now, dry those magnificent eyes and tell me... why did you actually call me with such frantic energy? I know that tone. You have news."
Instantly, Jessica's demeanor flipped. The teenage drama evaporated, and the ambitious, driven young actress roared back to the surface.
"Oh my god, yes! I was so mad I almost forgot!"* Jessica squealed, the excitement practically vibrating through the plastic receiver. "Marvin, I'm finally going to play a lead role in a feature film! I got the call from my agent an hour ago. I received a formal offer, and I completely passed the final chemistry read! We start shooting in two months!"
"Congratulations, Jessica! That is magnificent news," Marvin said, injecting his voice with genuine warmth and pride. He knew how hard she had been grinding in the audition circuits. "What is the name of the movie? Who is the studio?"
"It's an independent project, but it has great funding!" Jessica gushed proudly. "It's a gritty, romantic drama. It's called *The Night in the Southern Part of the Lower District*."
*****
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