747 Chapter 747: Couple Dance

As dusk settled, a standard Chevrolet eased into the serene community of single-family villas just beyond the glamorous reach of Beverly Hills.

Behind the wheel, Martin navigated while engaged in a brief phone call, swiftly pinpointing their destination. Pulling into the courtyard of a villa, he brought the car to a halt.

The villa's door swung open, revealing the radiant figure of Saoirse Ronan standing there, eagerly waving Martin inside.

Exiting the car, Martin made his way directly into the villa, Saoirse following suit as she closed the door behind them.

Inside, the living room exuded an aura of transformation. Thick curtains shrouded the windows, and daily furnishings were notably absent. Mirrors adorned walls and ceiling, while the smooth wooden floor beckoned for movement.

Martin's gaze swept the hall, taking in the sight of a ballet bar stationed before one mirror, complemented by a row of plush black sofas opposite, and towering vertical bars nearby, a dance studio in every sense.

Turning to Martin with a smile, Saoirse inquired, "Teacher, what do you think of my new dance space?"

Eyeing the mirrored ceiling, Martin confessed, "It's certainly unique."

Undeterred, Saoirse pressed on, "I've prepared a new routine. Care to watch?"

Taking a seat on one of the sofas, Martin nodded, "Of course."

"I'll change into my dance attire," Saoirse announced before disappearing into the adjacent locker room.

Emerging moments later in sleek black practice gear, Saoirse warmed up diligently before initiating the music with a remote control.

With grace and precision, she moved to the rhythm, her porcelain skin accentuated by the attire. Each challenging move showcased her remarkable flexibility, a testament to her dedication to the art of dance.

As the music reached its crescendo, Saoirse executed a flawless finale, leaving Martin awestruck and applauding fervently.

"Bravo! You're incredible, Saoirse!" Martin exclaimed.

With a humble smile, Saoirse took a deep breath, then approached the center of the room, grasping the steel pole with practiced ease. Spinning with fluidity and grace, she mesmerized with her skill.

As the music resumed, Saoirse shed her outer layer, revealing the strength and agility beneath. Her movements became a mesmerizing display of power and elegance, captivating all who beheld her performance, a testament to the captivating allure of dance.

The transition from solo to duet was seamless, each step a testament to the harmony between Saoirse Ronan and her newfound passion.

As dawn broke, Martin and Saoirse came out from the villa, their bond evident as they slipped into the familiar comfort of the Chevrolet.

"Take a break today; I'll drive you home," Martin offered, igniting the engine.

Nodding gratefully, Saoirse quipped, "I'm the model student, always following the teacher's orders."

Martin playfully tapped her lips with a finger, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Where did you learn all these tricks?"

With a hint of mischief, Saoirse replied, "From an art film in the San Francisco Valley. Lily crafted a replica for me, and I've been practicing with it diligently."

Martin's expression shifted, a flicker of concern crossing his features. "I need to have a word with Lily about her extracurricular activities," he muttered under his breath.

Sensing his unease, Saoirse intervened, "Don't blame Lily; it was my idea. She's been nothing but supportive."

Martin conceded, resolving to thank Lily properly later, a silent promise to express his gratitude.

As Saoirse bid farewell at her doorstep, she extended an invitation, "If Elizabeth ever leaves LA and you need a dance fix, just give me a call. I'll be waiting at the villa."

Martin nodded in agreement, "Rest up, Saoirse."

With a radiant smile, Saoirse exited the car, backpack slung over her shoulder, whistling a carefree tune as she made her way home.

Meanwhile, Martin rendezvoused with Nicholson and Leonardo for breakfast in Century City. Nicholson, ever the bearer of news, delivered a tidbit: "Word is, 'The Lone Ranger' tanked so hard at the box office that the bank's pulling the plug on Megan Ellison's loan."

Martin, peeling an egg with practiced ease, raised his glass in a toast. "Here's to silver linings," he mused, savoring the taste of newfound opportunity.

Leonardo clinked glasses with Martin, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Annapurna Pictures must have taken a $400 million hit from 'Transcendence' and 'The Lone Ranger,' mostly from Megan Ellison's loan."

He couldn't help but marvel, "Megan's got nerves of steel. Any other investor would've jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge by now."

Nicholson chimed in, "Well, when you've got a billionaire daddy..."

Martin interjected, "For us mere mortals, the bank's pressure alone would be suffocating."

Setting down his cup, Leonardo mused, "With that much money, I'd probably spiral into decadence. Hard to find joy in it."

"That's where you're wrong," Martin countered, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You could cozy up to a wealthy heiress and call yourself a winner in life." He paused, adding slyly, "Like Uncle Mene?"

The mention of Uncle Mene left Martin and Leonardo momentarily speechless, a true epitome of life's winners.

Their conversation shifted as they reminisced about attending Celine Dion's party in Las Vegas after the Oscars, accompanied by Dion's husband, and how they entrusted Dion to Mene with solemn reverence, something only true bastards could comprehend.

Martin sighed wistfully, "I wish I'd met Celine Dion or Megan Ellison back in Atlanta."

Nicholson, ever perceptive, understood Martin's sentiment. "Back then, you were scraping by, willing to betray your brothers for a buck, dreaming of a class leap all on your own."

Leonardo nodded in agreement, "Now, Martin's a billionaire bastard; he's not about to share that fortune with anyone."

He tapped the table solemnly, urging Martin, "Stay true to yourself, mate. Don't lose sight of where you came from."

Martin continued to munch on his eggs, nonchalantly remarking, "My goal's always been to make a mountain of cash and charm my way through a bevy of beauties. Hasn't changed a bit."

Leonardo glanced at Martin's plate, inquiring, "Is that why you're loading up on high-protein?"

Nicholson chuckled, "No need to guess; he blew tens of billions last night."

Martin shrugged, "High-protein keeps the engines revving, mate."

After breakfast, the trio headed to the Los Angeles courthouse, passing by the Columbia Building where Johnny Depp and Amber Heard once resided.

Pointing to the rooftop, Martin quipped, "Anyone interested in a penthouse? Depp's old pad's going for a steal at $9 million."

Nicholson shook his head, "Downtown's too hectic for my liking. I prefer peace and quiet."

Leonardo wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I can't stand the stench of this place." He leaned in, a hint of gossip coloring his tone. "Did you hear? Johnny Depp's got a new moniker: Domestic Abuser Depp."

Martin's expression darkened. "That label's gonna haunt him forever."

Nicholson chimed in solemnly, "Depp's Hollywood career's as good as buried."

Thirty minutes later, Martin and his entourage pulled up at the Los Angeles courthouse.

Today, justice would be served as three of Depp's followers, led by Howard Butt, faced charges of attempted murder and public endangerment, a trial where Martin and Bruce served as both victims and witnesses.

Initially hopeful of a Depp sighting, Martin was disappointed by the actor's absence. Even the flashy legal team Depp boasted about in the media was nowhere to be seen.

With his own legal battles looming, Depp had bigger concerns than court appearances.

As the trial unfolded, prosecutors secured a significant victory, with Depp's associates receiving prison sentences ranging from 3 to 8 years.

Privately, arrangements were made for the trio to share quarters in the same state prison wing as the Affleck brothers, a silver lining for the latter, who now had company in navigating the pitfalls of incarceration.

Mene's childhood cronies kept the revolving door of visitors turning, ensuring a constant stream of companionship—a small comfort in their newfound reality.

*****

Meanwhile, at the Glendale DreamWorks Campus...

In the post-production chamber, the "Seventh Son" crew let out a collective sigh of relief as they wrapped up special effects and editing.

Producer Wilson sought out Megan Ellison, who had made a special visit that day. "Madam President, the film's in the can."

Megan pondered for a moment before inquiring, "Any word from Warner Bros. on the release schedule?"

Wilson's expression faltered. "Unfortunately, the slot booked for 'The Seventh Son' got snagged by other projects. After Annapurna's recent setbacks, distributors are wary."

"We might be looking at a September release, off-peak for the box office," he added.

Megan pressed further, "What about cutting ties with Warner?"

Wilson hesitated before confessing, "That's actually Warner's proposal."

Without missing a beat, Megan issued her directive. "Proceed with our contingency plan. Secure a venue at DreamWorks, send out invites to major studios, and pitch 'The Seventh Son' for distribution deals."

Wilson nodded, already formulating a plan of action. "Consider it done."

Megan's hopes soared, aiming for a lofty $300 million in box office sales, a figure that would cement Annapurna Pictures' resilience in the face of adversity.