NOVGO.NET Chapter 379: CH : 368 Calls Keep Coming?
Chapter 379: CH : 368 Calls Keep Coming?
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****
’Easy...’
There was no sense indulging the Abyss more than necessary.
He liked this world too much to break it. But that face came back again.
Unlike Nastassja Kinski, Monica was still standing within that brief, unforgiving season of a human life that caught his eye.
Again. Time.
He had seen too many women in three lives who had once been breathtaking—women entire generations had worshipped—only to watch that singular spark quietly fade beneath the weight of passing years. They were still beautiful by human standards.
Just...
...not to him.
Even knowing he could one day reverse the aging of flesh did little to change that instinctive judgment.
But desire was not born from reason.
It was immediate.
Instinctive.
Either someone caught his eye...
...or they didn’t.
She still did.
For now.
By the time he possessed enough mana to casually rewrite a living body on that scale, that fleeting moment might already have slipped through his fingers.
The thought lingered only briefly.
It wasn’t a full regret.
It was simply another reminder that even for a demon, some opportunities were governed by time.
’Focus,’ he commanded himself, shaking off the demonic urge for blood and violence. He liked this world too much to break it.
Putting the cell phone back into the inner pocket of his shirt, Marvin turned to walk toward the glass doors of the screening room.
Before Marvin had taken more than two steps toward the screening room, the phone vibrated against his ribs again.
He glanced at the screen.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He answered immediately. "Hey, Miranda."
"Marvin!" Her familiar Australian accent burst through the speaker, warm and excited. "I’ve been trying to ring you for ages!"
"I was beginning to think you’d forgotten your phone. I’ve been a little busy."
"Mm-hmm." She clearly didn’t believe him. "Busy enough to secretly release songs without warning people?"
Marvin laughed. "I take it you’ve heard it."
"Heard it?" she said incredulously. "I’ve listened to it three times already!"
A muffled voice drifted through the phone. "Four."
Miranda groaned. "Mum, stop correcting me."
She lowered her voice again. "Fine... four."
"I knew you’d play it more than once."
"Of course I did!"
She sounded almost offended.
"Then the DJ said the title was *That Girl...*"
Her voice softened.
"So..."
"...is it really my birthday present?"
Marvin leaned against the brick wall, smiling to himself.
"I sang it for you before your birthday. Remember. Columbia just took their time releasing it. So yes. It finally belongs to you."
For a heartbeat she didn’t answer.
Then he heard a tiny laugh that quickly turned into a shaky breath. "Oh, Marvin..."
"You actually did it."
"I can’t believe you actually did it."
"I told you I would."
"I know."
She laughed again.
"I know you did."
"But hearing it..."
"It’s different."
"I was sitting there listening and thinking..."
"...’No way.’"
"’He couldn’t have actually written this for me.’"
"So I kept telling myself not to get my hopes up."
Marvin smiled.
"You should know me better than that by now."
"I do."
"That’s the problem."
She laughed softly.
"You always keep your promises."
"You make it really difficult not to spoil you."
"I don’t mind being spoiled."
"I noticed."
She could almost picture the amused expression on his face.
"You know what Mum said?"
"What?"
"She said, ’That boy remembers birthdays better than anyone I’ve ever met.’"
"And Dad just looked at me and smiled."
She paused. "I think he already knew."
"I suspect he did."
"Sis keeps teasing me."
"She says I’ve had that ridiculous smile on my face for the last hour."
"Were you?"
"...Maybe."
She giggled.
"Don’t tell him I admitted that."
"My lips are sealed."
"You’d better."
Another brief silence settled between them.
When Miranda spoke again, her voice was quieter.
"Thank you."
"I don’t mean just for the song."
"You always make me feel remembered."
Marvin’s expression softened.
"That’s because you are."
"I’ve never forgotten you."
Her heart skipped.
Even after everything they’d shared over the past few months—family dinners, holidays, staying under the same roof, laughing until midnight—he still knew exactly what to say.
She smiled to herself. "I miss you."
"I’ll be back before you know it."
"You always say that."
"And I’m usually right."
"That’s true."
She sighed dramatically.
"I still don’t like waiting."
"You’ll survive."
"I don’t know..."
"I think I deserve compensation."
"Oh?"
"A proper birthday dinner."
"And dessert."
"And don’t think one little song gets you out of it."
Marvin laughed. "So now I owe you dinner?"
"You absolutely do."
"I’ll have to check whether that’s in our agreement."
"There wasn’t an agreement."
"There is now."
"I see."
He nodded to himself. "Very well. I accept your terms Ms. Miranda."
Miranda grinned. "I knew you would."
A voice called her name from somewhere deeper in the house.
"Miranda! Dinner!" She covered the receiver. "I’m coming!"
Then she spoke into the phone again. "I’ve got to go. I just..."
She hesitated for a second.
"I wanted you to know I love it."
"No."
"I absolutely love it."
"I’m glad."
"I love it so much," Miranda breathed, the raw, unfiltered happiness pouring through the transatlantic line and feeding his mana pool instantly. "It made me cry, actually. Thank you, Marvin. I love you!"
The words came naturally.
She didn’t even think before saying them.
Marvin answered just as easily.
"I love you too, Miranda."
She smiled so brightly her cheeks ached.
"Bye."
"Happy late birthday, Mir."
She laughed.
"Best late birthday present ever."
The line clicked dead.
Marvin slipped the phone back into his pocket.
He had barely taken another step toward the screening room before it vibrated again.
He didn’t even need to look at the display to know what was happening.
The song had been released.
And one by one, the girls closest to him were all arriving at exactly the same question.
"Was it really for me?"
Strictly speaking, by Marvin’s own twisted, possessive logic, he wasn’t lying. The song was for her. It just wasn’t for her alone.
If anyone had bothered asking what the title ought to be, the honest answer wouldn’t have been *That Girl*.
It would’ve been *Those Girls.*
Jessica. Lindsay. Dorothy. Beyoncé. Scarlett. Miranda. Amy. Paris. Even Diana.
Every one of them was one of Marvin’s girls.
His muses. His inspiration. His reason to keep writing.
And they were only the beginning. Marvin had a very long life ahead of him. Before it was over, there would be many more girls, many more songs, and many more stories worth writing.
For now, his world was still a small one. If fate was kind, it would only continue to grow.
For now, his little family was still a small one. If fate was kind, there would be countless more smiles to treasure.
Marvin answered every call with the same quiet certainty.
Yet somehow...
...by the time each conversation ended, every girl hung up convinced the answer belonged to her alone.
Over the next ten minutes, Marvin never made it back to the screening room.
His phone simply refused to stop ringing.
The first call came from Jessica.
"Marvin!"
She sounded slightly out of breath. "I literally walked off set when I heard it."
"I hope your director forgives me."
"He can wait."
She didn’t hesitate.
"I can’t."
There was a brief silence before she asked the real question.
"...That song."
"Is it about me?"
Marvin smiled.
"I thought you’d recognize yourself."
Jessica covered the receiver for a second.
He heard someone calling her back to makeup.
When she returned, her voice had softened.
"I’ve listened to it three times already."
"I like hearing you sing to me."
"I’ll sing it again when I see you."
"You’d better."
....
...
..
.
"And don’t make me wait forever."
"I won’t."
"I miss you."
"I miss you too."
The next call barely gave him time to lower the phone.
"Marvin!"
Dorothy practically squealed. "I knew it!"
"I told everybody it was me!"
"You sound very confident."
"Because I know you!"
She laughed so hard she nearly lost her breath.
"I even made a bet!"
"A bet?"
"Yep."
"If I was wrong, I owed somebody ice cream."
"And?"
"I don’t owe anybody anything now!"
Marvin chuckled.
"I’m glad your finances survived."
"They absolutely did."
She lowered her voice dramatically.
"So..."
"I win?"
"You win."
"Yesss!"
Her delighted laugh echoed through the receiver.
....
...
..
.
"I love you!"
"I love you too, Dorothy."
The third call came from Houston.
Marvin hadn’t even finished saying hello before Beyoncé spoke.
"So..." Her voice carried that familiar confidence. "I guess congratulations are in order."
"For what?"
"For finally admitting I’m your favorite."
Loud laughter exploded in the background.
"Oh, please!"
Kelly shouted.
"Don’t listen to her!"
LeToya chimed in. "She’s been saying that for ten minutes!"
Someone else groaned. "She’s unbearable now."
Beyoncé ignored all of them. "Answer the question."
Marvin leaned against the wall. "You seem awfully sure of yourself."
"I am."
"Because I know exactly who you were thinking about."
"You do?"
"Mhm."
"I’ve decided."
"The song’s about me."
Kelly burst out laughing.
"Girl, he didn’t even answer!"
"He doesn’t have to."
Beyoncé sounded completely satisfied.
Marvin laughed. "I admire your confidence."
"You should."
"It happens to be correct."
The background erupted. "I told you!"
Beyoncé announced triumphantly. "I won!"
Kelly groaned dramatically. "I cannot stand her."
LeToya laughed. "She isn’t letting this go for months."
....
...
..
.
Beyoncé smiled into the phone. "I love you."
"I know."
"I love you too."
The another call came from Beverly Hills.
Marvin answered.
"Hello, Paris."
"Oh, good."
Paris sounded thoroughly pleased.
"You picked up."
"I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."
"Never."
"Hm."
"I’ve been shopping."
"I’ve spent an unreasonable amount of money."
"I expected nothing less."
"You should."
She laughed.
"Anyway..."
She paused just long enough to build suspense.
"That song."
"It has to be about me."
"Oh?"
"I mean..."
"I’m literally that girl."
Marvin couldn’t help smiling.
"A compelling argument."
"I know."
"So?"
"So?"
She repeated impatiently.
"Don’t make me work for it."
"You look wonderful in pink."
"I know."
"You somehow make tiny dogs fashionable."
"I definitely know."
"And yes."
"I was thinking about you."
Paris laughed in triumph.
"I knew it."
"I am so buying myself another handbag to celebrate."
"I’ll pretend not to encourage that."
"You adore encouraging me."
"I may."
She smiled to herself.
....
...
..
.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Paris."
By the time the fourth call ended, Marvin finally slipped the phone back into his pocket.
He looked at the dark screen for a second, amused.
Different cities.
Different personalities.
Different voices.
Different dreams.
Yet every conversation had ended exactly the same way.
Every one of them was smiling.
Every one of them believed *That Girl* belonged to her.
And, in Marvin’s own peculiar way... He believed he had never lied to any of them.
Marvin didn’t even wait for Diana’s call. He knew she wouldn’t call—hadn’t answered for months, a silence that spoke in volumes he could read like braille. She’d stopped the staff from patching him through, had let his daily calls ring into the void of her guilt, each unanswered tone another stone in the wall she was building between who she had been and who she feared she’d become.
He understood. God, he understood better than she knew.
She was struggling with the love she felt and what it was doing to her—the way it cracked open her carefully constructed fortress of duty and motherhood and royal protocol, womanhood, letting in light that burned as much as it illuminated. She was terrified of what wanting him made her, terrified that the hunger she felt in that car had transformed her into something unrecognizable, something that could abandon her sons’ calls to finger herself raw in a locked study.
So he gave her time. He gave her space. But he also gave her constancy.
Every morning at nine, his call came like a prayer she was too guilty to answer. He knew it hurt her—the ringing phone, his name on the display, the choice between hearing his voice and maintaining the fiction that she didn’t need it. He knew she stared at those calls with her hand over her mouth, tears tracking down her face, her body still aching for him even as her mind screamed *wrongwrongwrong*.
But he also knew that if he stopped—if he let her believe for even one day that he’d given up, that she’d successfully driven him away with her silence—the wound would be deeper. The abandonment would confirm every fear she had about herself: that she was too broken to love, too damaged to keep, too sane to be with him.
****
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