Chapter 202: Gibson and Cruise

As the party broke up, Duke left the banquet hall and headed for the reception room where Sophie Marceau was waiting. It wasn't far, but he walked as slowly as possible, wanting to use the time to think a few things through.

They had only spoken in the banquet hall for a few minutes, but Sophie Marceau's words and subtle gestures carried a faint, seductive undertone. It wasn't overt, but it was enough to drop a hint. This was Hollywood, after all; Duke knew exactly what her words meant.

That was exactly what felt so strange and off about the whole thing.

Ever since Sophie Marceau explicitly turned him down at the PricewaterhouseCoopers Los Angeles branch, they had bumped into each other a few times over the past few months. Whether at public events or during private encounters, she had been exceedingly polite and kept a clear distance. Duke considered this completely normal—it would actually be a problem if one of Martin Bob's clients got too close to him.

Now she was actively seeking him out, practically screaming "come on" at him. How was that normal?

Sure, Hollywood had its share of male and female stars who despised each other, only to suddenly lock eyes, find a place to screw around, and then go right back to hating each other the next day. But Duke never minded viewing this industry through the most cynical lens possible—especially when it came to its actresses.

Maybe Sophie Marceau had genuinely developed a sudden attraction to him. Maybe she couldn't land any decent roles through CAA and wanted to take the director route. Or maybe the Frenchwoman's inherently romantic, fantasy-filled nature simply made her crave the thrill...

This was his turf. He was curious to see just what kind of tricks this Frenchwoman could play.

Sophie Marceau put the bold, uninhibited nature of a Frenchwoman on full display. The moment Duke walked into the reception room and greeted her, her dreamy smile radiated more than enough charm.

"I've never forgotten that time we shared a drink at the bar in Dublin," she said.

She stood there beautifully, her sexy figure sharply defined in a short black-and-white dress. Her entire body exuded an irresistible passion.

"It intoxicated me for a long time. It lingered for a long time..."

Sophie Marceau slowly lifted her face. Her eyes were bright, shining like the stars in the sky. She knew exactly how alluring she was right now.

Before entering Hollywood, Duke absolutely would have stepped right up to her. Now, however, he forced down the urge. The cruel laws of survival had taught him that the most beautiful things were sometimes the most deadly.

"I missed you too, Sophie," Duke said, remaining rooted to his spot about four feet away from her.

Sophie Marceau tilted her head slightly, the corners of her lips turning up as a thoughtful glint flashed through her eyes. There was no shortage of rumors about Duke in the industry. Everyone knew the young director liked beautiful women and was a notorious playboy. She had originally assumed that a young man driven by hot-blooded impulses would have absolutely no resistance against her...

"There are some things I didn't want either. You should know the pressure CAA puts on its clients," Sophie Marceau said calmly, instantly zeroing in on the crux of the problem. "My agent, Martin Bob, forbade his actors from getting too close to you. I'm just a non-English-speaking actress. I had no choice, and besides, I was married."

Duke just tilted his head, watching her silently.

"I'm going to fire Martin Bob and CAA..." Sophie Marceau quickly added.

It didn't sound like a lie.

"I'm free," she said with the utmost sincerity. "I got divorced a few months ago. I want to pursue a brand-new romance."

Her brown eyes were brimming with emotion; no matter how you looked at it, she didn't seem to be acting.

Reaching out, Duke gently took her hand. With a slight pull, he closed the distance between them. Their eyes met. Sophie Marceau's bright brown eyes looked like the most beautiful scenery in the world, something that would never appear again if missed.

"Duke!"

Glancing around the reception room—which was entirely unsuited for what she needed—Sophie Marceau still wanted to make some preparations. She leaned her upper body back, pulling away from Duke slightly, and raised her eyebrows.

"Shall we change locations?" she asked.

"To my room?" Duke suggested after a moment of thought.

Fingers intertwined like the most intimate of lovers, the two left the reception room, went up to the second floor, and entered Duke's room.

The moment they walked through the door, Sophie Marceau said, "I want to take a shower first."

"Why don't we go together?" Duke pointed toward the bathroom.

Sophie Marceau set down her handbag and gave his hand a firm squeeze. "Darling, don't rush, alright? We have plenty of time."

Watching Sophie Marceau disappear as the bathroom door clicked shut, Duke suddenly reflected that with the acting skills he had displayed tonight, he could definitely make it as a successful actor even if he quit directing. That performance was at least Nebula Award caliber.

He seemed impulsive... Okay, he admitted he was feeling impulsive, but he was trying hard to stay rational.

Sophie Marceau had certainly given a reasonable explanation. Besides, in Hollywood, even the most outrageous sexual encounters were par for the course. Still, Duke couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, and he wanted to see exactly what she was up to.

Inside the bathroom, Sophie Marceau turned on the shower, letting the sound of splashing water drift out. She didn't stand under it, however. Instead, she stripped off her clothes, walked over to the mirror above the sink, and pulled a thin nylon cord from the lining of her dress. With practiced ease, she bound the cord around her wrists, tying a slipknot. Then, holding her hands tightly together, she forcefully wrenched them outward. The nylon cord bit deeply into her pale skin.

Pain instantly flared from her wrists. Relaxing slightly, Sophie Marceau repeated the motion—pulling hard, relaxing, then pulling hard again. The nylon cord left deep ligature marks on her pristine wrists.

Once she was sure the marks wouldn't fade anytime soon, the tight furrow of her brows gradually relaxed. She rubbed her aching wrists, calmly untied the nylon cord, and dropped it into the sink. She turned on the tap, soaked the cord in the water for a moment, then took it out and tossed it into a corner near the bathroom door.

That alone wasn't enough. Sophie Marceau understood this perfectly. Even though rumors of Duke Rosenberg playing a game with Madonna Ciccone had been circulating in the industry, she wasn't the sort of woman who sparked destructive desires the way Madonna did. She couldn't be certain Duke Rosenberg would actually do anything of the sort.

Furthermore, in all those rumors, Duke Rosenberg had never actually touched Madonna...

He seemed to be a man with a bottom line. However, Sophie Marceau had already planned her strategy; there were some things she could initiate herself ahead of time.

Her eyes swept over the bottles arranged on the sink. The shampoo bottle... too thick. The facial cleanser... too thick. The body wash... too thick. The Gillette Razor... too sharp. The toothbrush... too thin. The cologne... looked just about right.

It was a glass bottle of unused men's cologne. Sophie Marceau picked it up. The textured glass surface provided excellent grip in her wet hands, ensuring it wouldn't slip. She flipped the bottle over so the bottom faced up. Her eyes fell once more on the round bottle, which was about as thick as a baby's arm, and a glint of sheer resolve flashed in her eyes.

Gripping the cologne bottle in reverse, her right hand slowly lowered. Sophie Marceau bent at the waist, found the right spot, and thrust her right hand upward, driving the cologne bottle in. Once, twice, three times...

At first, her movements were slow, her brows knitted tightly together; it clearly didn't feel good. But as she seemingly adapted, her speed increased, and she applied more and more force. She didn't stop until she saw her beautiful face contorting in pain in the mirror.

Pulling the cologne bottle out, Sophie Marceau held it up to her face for a glance. She straightened her back and stood before the sink, enduring the faint stinging sensation from her lower body. She placed the bottle in the sink, scrubbed it clean with some shampoo, grabbed a tissue from the side to wrap around her hand, and placed the cologne bottle back exactly where she had found it.

Facing the mirror, Sophie Marceau examined her appearance once more. She suddenly placed her hands on her body and pinched herself hard in a few inconspicuous places. Only then did she grab the shampoo, step under the continuously spraying showerhead, and take a quick shower.

"Darling, are you done washing up?"

Duke's voice drifted in from outside.

"Anxious?" Sophie Marceau called back, her voice laced with sugary sweetness. "Give me ten minutes!"

Sitting on the sofa outside, listening to the splashing water from the bathroom, Duke slowly tapped his fingers. His mind, previously a bit muddled by impulse, gradually cooled down. He began to consider what was about to happen with the most cynical mindset possible.

If Sophie Marceau truly harbored an ulterior motive, what was her most powerful weapon right now? Undoubtedly, it was her beautiful, sexy appearance—looks capable of stirring the heart of almost any normal man...

For some reason, Duke suddenly thought of another European figure, Roman Polanski. He was someone who had fallen from grace over a woman, and even now, it remained unclear whether there were deeper plots behind it. In the eyes of Hollywood's Jewish Club, Polanski had absolutely been set up.

His gaze fell on the cabinet between the bedroom door and the bathroom, and Duke gradually made up his mind. While it was somewhat immoral, if Sophie Marceau had no other motives, he could simply delete the tape afterward. But if she was trying to pull something, he could record it to use as evidence.

In an industry where people fought tooth and nail for fame and fortune, one had to protect themselves at all times. Protecting oneself was far more important than harming others.

Duke had always been a man of action. He walked over to a cabinet behind the bedroom door. The last time Scarlett came over to play, he had brought that Sony Mini DV Camera upstairs and left it right here...

He plugged in the power, chose an angle, and made a few minor adjustments. Duke decided to take a page out of Teacher Chen's book just this once.

Scanning the room, Duke found the perfect angle and set the DV camera down, arranging some necessary camouflage. For a director who had shot several films back-to-back, setting up a shot like this was child's play; there was basically zero difficulty.

Having set everything up, Duke returned to the sofa. He sat there for a few minutes before the bathroom door clicked softly. It was pulled open from the inside, and Sophie Marceau walked out.