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The party was still in full swing. Waiters moved between the guests with silver trays of champagne and caviar, conversations overlapping beneath the music, people laughing as though nobody in the building had a care in the world.
Matt looked toward the terrace.
Nothing.
He kept going.
Ben was supposed to be behind the gold curtain at the far end of the ballroom with Charlize.
As Matt got closer, he saw the curtain still hanging in place.
'Good.'
No shouting. No crowd. Nothing looked wrong.
'Maybe Ben had actually managed to keep things under control.'
Matt almost laughed at the thought.
Then he heard something. A muffled crash from behind the curtain.
He stopped. "Ben?"
No answer. Matt took another step.
Then—
Bang!
The curtain exploded outward.
A body came flying through it.
Matt barely had time to recognize the body before it slammed backward into the dining table.
The oak table buckled beneath him with a violent crack.
Crystal glasses went everywhere. Porcelain plates smashed against the floor. Silverware flew across the hardwood. A bottle rolled off the ruined tabletop and burst beneath someone's shoes.
The jazz band stopped mid-song. The ballroom went dead silent. The entire ballroom plunged into a shocked, breathless silence.
Matt stopped dead. "Jesus Christ."
Ben was on the floor.
For half a second, Matt's body moved before his head caught up. He started forward, then stopped.
Ben's suit was torn at the shoulder. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Broken glass glittered around him, wine spreading across the carpet beneath his hand as he tried to push himself up.
It took Matt another second to understand what he was looking at.
Someone had put Ben there.
Not tripped him. Not shoved him during some drunken argument.
Put him there.
Matt's eyes swept the room.
Nobody was laughing anymore. Nobody was talking.
The music had stopped, leaving only the clink of a glass rolling across the floor and Ben's rough breathing.
Matt knew Ben better than most people in the room. They'd come up together, written together, fought over scripts, chased the same breaks and spent years trying to convince Hollywood that two guys from Boston could actually make something of themselves.
So his first instinct was still to get to him. His second was to figure out who had done it.
Because whoever could put Ben Affleck on his ass like that wasn't somebody Matt wanted to charge blindly.
He took one step forward. Then another figure appeared beyond the torn curtain.
Then Marvin stepped through.
Charlize was behind him.
Matt's stomach dropped.
He didn't need anyone to explain what had happened.
Charlize's hair was slightly disheveled. Her face was flushed, and one hand was wrapped around the opposite wrist. Marvin, on the other hand, looked as though he'd simply walked out of another room.
Marvin glanced back at her. "You okay?"
Charlize nodded. Then she looked at him. "I am now."
Something passed between them that Matt couldn't quite place.
It wasn't the look of a frightened actress being helped by someone she'd barely met. There was familiarity there. Trust. Something quieter underneath it.
Marvin reached over and straightened the strap of her dress where it had slipped from her shoulder.
Charlize let him. She didn't flinch from his touch. If anything, she moved a fraction closer.
Matt's expression hardened.
'Oh, fuck.' He looked back at Ben. Then at Marvin. Then at Charlize. He didn't need the rest explained.
Across the room, Harvey Weinstein came barreling through the crowd. "What the fuck happened?"
Nobody answered.
Harvey shoved past another guest, his face already darkening as he took in the wreckage.
"Who started this?" Harvey's voice cut through the room.
His eyes went to Ben first. Then to the shattered table. The wine soaking into the carpet. The torn curtain hanging from one brass ring. His face darkened. "This is my party." He pointed at the wreckage. "Who the hell did this?"
Nobody answered.
Harvey's gaze moved across the room until it settled on Marvin. Then Charlize. He noticed the red marks around her wrist.
His eyes returned to Ben.
The answer came together quickly. "What happened?"
Ben dragged himself onto one knee. "Ask your fucking guests."
Harvey stared at him. "I'm asking you."
Ben spat blood onto the carpet. "That little bastard—"
"Ben." Matt said it quietly, but the warning was clear.
Ben looked over.
Matt had finally moved away from the crowd. "Don't."
"You don't know what happened."
"I know you're bleeding."
"Yeah. No shit."
Matt glanced toward Marvin. The boy hadn't said a word. That bothered him.
Charlize stood beside Marvin, still rubbing her wrist. She kept looking toward Ben, her expression tight with anger rather than fear now.
Harvey noticed. "So?" he said. "Somebody want to tell me?"
Charlize opened her mouth.
Marvin spoke first. "He grabbed her."
The room went still.
Ben's head snapped toward him.
"Don't fucking lie."
Marvin didn't raise his voice. "He grabbed her. She told him to let go."
Charlize nodded. "Yes." Her voice shook once, then steadied.
"He wouldn't." Harvey looked at Ben. "Is that true?"
Ben's jaw worked. "That's not what happened."
"Then tell me what happened."
Ben glanced around the room.
Too many eyes were on him.
He had no answer that didn't make him look worse.
Marvin looked toward Harvey. "When she refused him, he became aggressive."
Ben laughed bitterly. "Refused me what?"
Charlize looked at him. "Don't."
One word.
Ben's expression hardened.
Marvin continued. "He tried to force the issue. When she defended herself, he went after her again."
Harvey's eyes narrowed. "And you stepped in."
"Yes."
"Then what?"
"He came at me."
Ben scoffed. "You fucking threw me through a table."
"You attacked me."
"I was trying to—" Ben stopped.
Matt looked at him.
"Trying to what?"
Ben said nothing. The silence answered for him.
A few photographers near the edge of the ballroom began moving closer. Flashbulbs popped.
Harvey noticed them. "Jesus Christ." He turned toward the nearest photographer. "Back up."
Nobody listened. The room had already changed.
People who had been pretending not to watch were now openly staring. Assistants whispered behind their hands. Executives leaned toward one another. Someone near the bar was already making a phone call.
One could practically hear the collective click of their journalistic instincts kicking into overdrive.
The media in Hollywood were a pack of starving weasels, and Marvin had just thrown them a bleeding side of beef. A physical brawl? An attempted sexual assault? Involving the golden boy of Miramax, the stunning South African model, and the thirteen-year-old billionaire prodigy of the decade? This wasn't just a headline. This was front-page gold that would feed the tabloid industry, the late-night talk shows, and the glossy magazines for a month. Flashbulbs began to explode in a stroboscopic frenzy, capturing Ben groaning on the floor and Marvin standing like a Greek statue above him.
Matt Damon clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. 'Why is Ben always so aggressively impulsive?' Matt thought, a sickening knot of dread forming in his stomach.
Ben saw the cameras. His face tightened. "Turn those fucking things off."
Another flash.
"Hey!" Harvey snapped toward the photographers. "I said back up!"
For once, nobody seemed particularly interested in listening to him.
'Ben needs to deny everything, right now,' Matt reasoned frantically. If Ben could just bite his tongue, calmly discredit Marvin's claims as a misunderstanding, and cast a shadow of doubt on Charlize's account, the incident could be smoothed over. Harvey's influence, a squad of expensive crisis PR managers, and a well-orchestrated media spin could bury the story in the back pages.
But Ben Affleck wasn't one for calculated restraint. He was a brawler, and his ego had just been shattered in front of the most powerful people in Hollywood.
Ben wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. Then he looked at Marvin. "You lying little prick."
Matt's eyes widened. "Ben, don't."
"This has nothing to do with you."
Marvin met his stare. "It does now."
Ben laughed. "What, you're her fucking hero?"
Charlize stepped forward. "Ben, just leave."
He turned toward her. "You shut up."
Marvin's expression changed. Only slightly.
But Charlize noticed.
So did Matt. "Ben," Matt said again. "Walk away."
Ben ignored him.
The alcohol, the humiliation and the cameras had finally pushed whatever restraint he had left out of the room.
He looked back at Marvin.
"You don't get to walk in here and decide you're better than everybody."
Marvin said nothing.
Ben's shoulders rose. "Say something." Still nothing. "Come on."
Ben took a step forward. "Say it."
Marvin's eyes remained fixed on him. Ben's breathing grew heavier.
"Fuck you, then!" Ben lunged.
"Ben!" Matt's shout disappeared beneath the sudden commotion.
Ben swung for Marvin's face. The crowd broke apart.
Charlize gasped.
Harvey swore.
Another wave of panicked gasps rippled through the high-society crowd. Women covered their mouths; men stepped back to avoid the collateral damage.
Nicole moved before she even realized she had decided to.
"Marvin!" She had taken barely two steps when Tom caught her arm.
"Where are you going?"
"Marvin."
"He can handle himself."
"You don't know that."
"I know exactly what this is."
Nicole finally looked at him. Tom's face was calm, almost amused.
That frightened her more than the fight. "Ben's drunk," she said. "He's going to hurt him."
Tom glanced toward the two men. "Then let him try."
Nicole stared at him.
There was something in his expression she recognized. Not concern. Not even curiosity.
He wanted to see what happened.
"Tom."
"Don't."
"I'm not standing here while—"
Tom tightened his grip. "Nicole."
She looked down at his hand. "Take your hand off me."
"Stay right here. Let them sort it out like men. It's none of our business."
Tom enjoyed the spectacle immensely. He was convinced that Ben's imposing size and street-brawling background would make short work of the arrogant young upstart who had been quietly threatening his status at Paramount. The mental image of the flawless, untouchable Marvin Meyers getting pummeled into the hardwood floor almost made Tom chuckle out loud.
And truthfully, many in the room shared Tom's cynical sentiment.
At a towering 6'3" and heavily muscled from years of dedicated fitness training, Ben Affleck seemed like an unbeatable physical force. Marvin, on the other hand, while boasting remarkably wide, athletic shoulders for his age, was barely pushing 5'6". He was wearing a tailored designer suit, not combat gear. To the untrained human eye, the teenager looked hopelessly outmatched by the charging behemoth.
Yet, reality was about to violently defy their human expectations.
Ben was already on Marvin. Or at least he thought he was.
As Ben charged, swinging a right hook aimed to decapitate, Marvin didn't flinch. He didn't blink.
With fluid grace, Marvin deftly sidestepped off the centerline. It was so quick that several people didn't even understand what they'd seen. Ben's fist to whistle harmlessly through empty air. As Ben's forward momentum carried him off balance, Marvin stepped inside the man's guard.
With precision, Marvin delivered a sharp knee strike directly into Ben's floating ribs. The sound of the impact was a sickening thud that echoed over the crowd. Ben's eyes bulged, the air exploding from his lungs in a breathless wheeze.
Before Ben could even register the agonizing pain, Marvin pivoted seamlessly. He grabbed the lapel of Ben's jacket and the fabric of his sleeve, dropping his own hips to lower his center of gravity. Using Ben's own momentum against him, Marvin executed a flawless, textbook over-the-shoulder judo throw.
Ben's 200-pound frame was lifted off the ground. He flew through the air in a helpless arc, He hit the hardwood hard enough to knock the breath from him.
The room went silent. Before reports erupted in shocked, hysterical murmurs.
"Holy shit! Tell me you got that on camera!" one paparazzi photographer whispered urgently to his colleague, furiously rewinding his film.
"Damn it, I missed the throw—he moved way too fast! The kid is a freak!"
"I got it! I got the whole sequence! This is worth a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus at least," another reporter chimed in, holding up his camera triumphantly, his hands shaking with adrenaline.
Ben rolled onto his side, coughing.
Matt stared. "What the hell..."
He had seen Ben fight before. Not well, perhaps, but Ben was big, strong and mean when his temper got away from him.
That hadn't mattered.
Marvin hadn't even looked winded.
Charlize covered her mouth.
Then slowly lowered her hand.
Her eyes stayed on Marvin. "Are you all right?"
Marvin glanced at her. "I'm fine."
"Good." It came out quieter than she intended.
Marvin held her gaze for another moment before turning back..
****
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