Chapter 406: CH : 395 By His Own Hand

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****

Marvin rested his forearms on the desk. "I’ve survived worse interruptions."

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"It seems my little script suddenly has everyone’s attention."

"They usually do," Marvin replied, pouring fresh coffee into her cup. "Once someone else wants them."

She accepted the cup with a quiet nod. "That was Ben Affleck."

"I assumed."

"He called on Harvey Weinstein’s behalf." She paused. "Harvey wants to meet tonight."

Marvin raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"He wants to discuss financing *Monster*."

Another pause.

"And an awards campaign."

Marvin took a sip of his own coffee. "That’s a serious offer."

"It is."

"You turned it down."

"I did."

He regarded her over the rim of his glass. "Why?"

His voice remained calm. "No pressure. No sales pitch."

"If I were sitting where you are, I’d at least hear him out. Harvey just dragged *Shakespeare in Love* through an Oscar season most people thought belonged to someone else."

He shrugged lightly. "His influence isn’t imaginary."

"Me?" He smiled faintly. "I’m a fourteen-year-old writer asking you to trust a vision that doesn’t even exist yet."

Charlize held his gaze. "You really want to know?"

"I asked."

She leaned forward, resting her elbows lightly on the desk. "I know what Harvey buys."

Her voice had lost every trace of humour. "And I know what he expects in return."

The room fell quiet. "I’ve been in this business long enough to hear the stories."

She gave a tired smile. "No one says them loudly."

"They don’t have to."

Marvin said nothing.

Charlize continued. "Gwyneth became the example everyone whispered about. Even though Gwyneth was Steven Spielberg’s literal goddaughter, a Hollywood royalty—which gave her massive industry armor—she still had to sacrifice her body and her dignity to get Harvey’s full support for that Oscar."

"Whether this rumour is true or not doesn’t even matter anymore. They’ve taken on a life of their own."

She took a breath, the disgust evident on her face. "And Ben Affleck, who was supposedly her devoted boyfriend at the time, actually played the disgusting role of the matchmaker. He facilitated it. The whole sickening story spread like wildfire through the underground industry whispers."

"The point is that every young actress in Hollywood knows exactly what people think they’re walking into when Harvey suddenly becomes interested."

She looked down into the coffee before lifting her eyes again. "I don’t have Steven Spielberg looking after me. I don’t have that kind of protection. Harvey, that fat, old pervert, just wants to fuck me. The movie is just an excuse to get me into a hotel suite."

Charlize smiled again, softer this time. "You know what’s strange?"

Marvin waited.

"When I came in here today... I was prepared to use every advantage I had."

Her lips curved with quiet self-awareness. "I thought if the conversation stalled..."

She gave the smallest shrug. "...I’d flirt. Maybe a little shamelessly. If I have to fall, I’ll do it..."

She let the sentence die on its own.

Neither of them needed it finished.

A slow silence settled between them.

"I’ve seen actresses save films that way. I’ve seen careers built that way."

Her eyes searched his. "You noticed."

"I know you noticed."

Marvin nodded once. "I did. And?"

"You kept bringing the conversation back to the screenplay."

His answer was immediate. "Because that’s what we’re buying."

She laughed under her breath. "I was beginning to think something was wrong with me." It was quite apposite.

"There isn’t."

"Then why?"

"Because if I invest in this film," Marvin said evenly, "I’m investing in two years of your life." He tapped the book. "Not five minutes in my office."

The words caught her completely off guard.

For a heartbeat she simply stared at him.

Then she looked away with a faint, almost embarrassed smile. "Do you have any idea how rare that answer is?"

"I imagine rarer than it should be."

She nodded slowly. "It is."

She drew a quiet breath. "That’s why I turned Harvey down."

"It wasn’t because I believe you’re guaranteed to win me an Oscar. No one can promise that. It was because, sitting in this office... ...I never once felt like I was the product."

She looked back at him. "I felt like the actress."

Marvin smiled. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

"You should. It wasn’t easy to earn."

A warm laugh escaped him.

"I never expected the easy version."

Charlize smiled back. "No. I don’t suppose you ever do. I just had this gut feeling that being with you gives me a much better shot at success, and I can still stay true to myself. Plus, your track record really helps! You don’t want my body, Marvin. You want my greatness. And that is infinitely more intoxicating."

"Hahaha..." Marvin laughed, the sound was warm and genuine. "Not bad." He raised a thumb in approval. "You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Charlize. I like that."

Charlize’s pulse refused to settle.

It was absurd.

He’d done nothing more than compliment her judgment.

Yet somehow those few words had landed deeper than praise from directors she’d spent months trying to impress. They lingered in her head, warm and dangerous.

’Why does that matter so much?’

She shifted in the chair with grace, the soft scrape of leather the only sound as she rose slightly and leaned forward once more. This time she pressed herself more fully against the polished edge of his desk, the movement arching her back so that the full weight of her breasts spilled forward against the thin fabric of her blouse. The silk strained across them, outlining every soft curve, the deep cleavage now impossible to ignore as she rested her weight there—chin tilted, eyes locked on his, offering the view without a single word.

In almost any office on the lot, she already knew what happened next.

A lingering look.

A compliment that wandered away from work.

An invitation disguised as business.

That was the rhythm of Hollywood.

Instead...

Not once did Marvin’s eyes drift where she quietly expected them to.

It irritated her more than she cared to admit.

She brushed an errant strand of blonde hair behind one ear, holding his gaze a second longer than necessary.

Nothing. No hesitation. No hungry look.

Only that maddeningly patient attention.

It made her feel strangely... seen.

Not admired. Evaluated. Like he was weighing an investment instead of a woman.

She caught herself biting the inside of her lip. ’Pull yourself together, Charlize.’

She’d walked into this office intending to persuade him.

Somewhere during the conversation, she’d started wanting something much more dangerous.

She wanted his approval.

Charlize couldn’t help but feel a strange, intense rush of happiness blooming in her chest at Marvin’s simple approval. The reaction deeply surprised her.

’Why should I feel so incredibly good just from his casual praise?’ she thought, her heart rate spiking. ’Was this exactly what it felt like to seek approval? Or was I starting to desperately care about his personal opinions of me already? Was I falling under some kind of spell?’

She shifted in her chair, aware of the heat in the room.

Marvin, entirely unaware of her inner conflict, chose to completely ignore her emotional changes.

People revealed far more in silence than conversation.

By the time she looked back at him, he’d already reached his conclusion.

"So," he said, folding his hands together, "here’s my offer."

His voice remained calm.

"If you commit to the transformation completely..."

He nodded toward the screenplay.

"No compromises. No negotiations halfway through production. You disappear into the character. You stop worrying about whether Charlize Theron looks beautiful in every frame."

He held her eyes. "And you trust me from the first day of prep until the final cut."

The office became very still. "Then I’ll finance it."

Charlize searched his face. "All of it?"

"The entire picture." She didn’t blink. "And the awards campaign?"

"I’ll build one."

Not buy one. Build one.

There was a difference.

She noticed it immediately. "You sound awfully certain."

"I am."

"That’s a dangerous amount of confidence."

"It usually is."

She smiled despite herself. "You really think you can promise someone an Oscar?"

Marvin’s expression barely changed. "I don’t make promises I can’t keep."

There wasn’t the slightest hint of bravado in his voice.

That frightened her more than arrogance would have.

Most producers exaggerated. Most executives sold dreams.

Marvin spoke like someone quietly describing tomorrow’s weather.

Charlize studied him for several long seconds.

Then she laughed softly and shook her head.

"I honestly can’t decide whether you’re the most confident man I’ve ever met... ...or completely insane."

"A little of both."

"I was afraid you’d say that."

He smiled faintly. "It’s worked out so far."

She looked down at the book resting between them.

*Monster*.

A film every sensible producer had passed on.

A role almost guaranteed to make her look terrible.

Months of discomfort.

Weight gain. Prosthetics. No glamour. No vanity.

Everything she’d spent years building would disappear for one film.

Slowly she looked back up.

"If I do this..." Her voice had become quieter. "If I really hand myself over to the process... ...you won’t lose your nerve halfway through?"

"No."

"You won’t suddenly ask me to look prettier?"

"No."

"You won’t panic because audiences won’t recognise me?"

"I hope they don’t."

That answer made something inside her settle.

For the first time since she’d started carrying the book from office to office, someone wasn’t trying to protect Charlize Theron.

He was trying to protect the film.

Oddly...

That made her trust him.

She extended her hand across the desk.

"Then I think we’re about to make something very strange."

Marvin looked at her hand for a moment before taking it.

His grip was firm.

Steady. Strong.

No lingering touch.

No hidden invitation.

Just an agreement.

As their hands separated, he leaned back in his chair.

"One more thing." Charlize raised an eyebrow.

"What now?"

"If we’re doing this... ...forget the Oscar."

She frowned. "You’ve spent the last hour talking about it."

"I know."

"Then why forget it?"

"Because the second you chase the statue instead of the character... ...you’ve already started giving a bad performance."

Silence settled between them again.

Charlize smiled.

Another real smile. "You’re an impossible man to negotiate with."

"I’ve heard that."

"I’ll probably regret saying yes."

"Probably."

She laughed. "I still can’t decide whether that’s reassuring or terrifying."

"It can be both."

Marvin had already made up his mind. Charlize would become his first Academy Award-winning actress.

Not by chance. Not by luck. By his own hand.

If everything went according to plan, she would stand on the Oscar stage holding the golden statue, the first masterpiece he had personally shaped from start to finish.

And if the road proved more difficult than expected... if those fossilised Academy dinosaurs decided their egos still needed more stroking... or they just felt like they didn’t get their dicks wet enough.

Then even if he had to bend the game itself to reach that ending—even resorting to mind control to sway the thousands of aging voters—then so be it.

To Marvin, the Oscar was never the destination.

Charlize was.

She would be proof that he could take a talented actress, guide every crucial decision, and turn her into Hollywood’s newest Academy Award winner.

Once that was accomplished, convincing other stars to place their careers in his hands would become far easier.

Success attracted belief.

In Hollywood, nothing spoke louder than an Oscar. Even decades later, when much of the public had stopped caring, the industry never did.

---

Harvey Weinstein’s office still felt as though it had been hit by a storm.

The crystal ashtray lay in two pieces across the Persian rug. Tobacco and grey ash covered the polished desk. The sharp smell of expensive Cuban cigars lingered in the air.

Harvey stood behind the desk, breathing heavily.

"What do you mean she said no?"

Ben Affleck kept his hands in his pockets. "I mean exactly that."

"I called."

"I made the introduction."

"She wouldn’t even hear the offer."

Harvey’s jaw tightened. "She wouldn’t hear my offer?"

Ben nodded. "She said she’d already committed."

Harvey barked a laugh. "Committed? To who?"

Ben hesitated. "She didn’t say."

Harvey stared at him.

Then he snorted. "I don’t buy it. Nobody says no to money. They say no because somebody else is offering more."

He grabbed another cigar before realising he’d crushed the last one into splinters.

Bob Weinstein watched his brother for a moment before speaking. "Harvey."

No response.

"Forget her."

Harvey ignored him.

Bob sighed. "I’m serious."

"If someone doesn’t want to work with us, move on."

****

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