GodofPleasure - CH : 393 They Like Sacrifice

Here is another bonus chapter for you. All thanks to — Devante

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Compared to everything she'd witnessed, Nicole and Marvin sharing quiet nights hardly registered.

Besides...

She had seen the way they looked at each other.

Not with scandal. With trust. With admiration.

And beneath it all, something warmer that neither of them seemed ready to name.

Pat had no intention of standing in its way.

Hollywood wasn't a town that rewarded appearances.

It rewarded relationships.

Real ones.

Those were rarer than blockbuster openings.

If Nicole had earned the genuine trust of the brightest young filmmaker in the business, Pat certainly wasn't going to discourage it.

Professionally, it was an opportunity every leading actress in town would envy. Marvin had already become the name every studio wanted on a project, and if his astonishing streak continued, there was every chance Nicole would find herself at the top of his casting list again.

But that wasn't what pleased Pat most.

For one evening, Nicole would be with someone who made her laugh again.

Someone who reminded her there was still life beyond red carpets, headlines, and the quiet loneliness waiting behind the doors of her own home.

---

The secure line clicked dead.

Marvin set the receiver back into its cradle and let the silence settle for a moment before turning his attention to the woman across the desk.

A faint smile touched his lips.

"My apologies." He gestured lightly toward the phone. "Studios have an unfortunate habit of catching fire one department at a time."

Charlize smiled. "I gathered it wasn't your dry cleaner."

"It rarely is."

The mood eased again.

Steam drifted from the untouched coffee between them.

Marvin folded his hands. "Now... where were we?"

Charlize tilted her head. "You were telling me I'd have to make peace with looking terrible."

"I was."

He studied her for a second. "And judging by your face, you don't entirely believe me."

"I believe you." She smiled. "I just don't particularly enjoy hearing it."

"You should."

Her eyebrow rose.

"If everyone enjoys watching you," Marvin said, "they applaud your beauty."

"If they stop recognizing you..."

"They start applauding the actress."

Charlize leaned back. "That's a cruel distinction."

"It's Hollywood."

Neither of them smiled.

Marvin continued. "The Academy has always rewarded transformation."

"They like sacrifice."

"They want to see an actor give something up."

He looked directly at her.

"For men, it's usually vanity."

"They grow beards, gain weight, lose weight, shave their heads."

"For women..."

His eyes lingered on her flawless face for only a heartbeat.

"...it's beauty."

Charlize sighed through her nose.

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

"You already knew."

"I did." She wrapped both hands around her coffee. "I just hoped you had a different answer."

"I don't."

"You must become ugly. If you want to be universally recognized by the old-fashioned, conservative voters at the Academy, you must utterly destroy your beautiful face."

Marvin made a theatrical expression of disgust, his voice weaving a sweet voice. "You have to understand the psychology of the voters, Charlize. Those old guys in the Academy love to see handsome leading men turn into greasy, overweight uncles, and they particularly love watching beautiful, untouchable women turn into ugly, broken slobs. It satisfies a perverted desire for power and control. It proves to them that your beauty is just an act, and they hold the keys to your true worth."

He reached for a folder and slid a few production photographs across the desk.

"Julia Roberts."

Charlize glanced down.

"Erin Brockovich. The legal drama?" Charlize asked, nodding.

"Yes. My parent company quietly invested some backend money in it through a proxy, so I know the inside story and the dailies," Marvin revealed casually.

"Let me put it this way: Julia, the ultimate American sweetheart, uses foul language every single minute in this drama. She deliberately plays a loud, slovenly, lower-class single mother wearing cheap, trashy clothes." Marvin nodded. "She's not trying to look glamorous. She's trying to disappear."

Charlize looked over the photographs for another few seconds before setting them down again.

"So am I."

"You'll have to go further."

He spoke without hesitation.

"Far enough that people forget they're looking at Charlize Theron."

"They need to believe they're looking at someone who's had every hard break life could hand her."

Charlize was quiet.

Then she laughed softly. "You know, most producers spend the first meeting telling me how beautiful I am."

"They're usually hoping you'll sign before reading the contract."

"And you?"

"I'd rather make a great film."

She held his gaze for a moment longer. "You really mean that."

"I do."

She slowly uncrossed her long legs, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound as she leaned forward across the desk.

Her blouse shifted with the deliberate movement, the silk parting just enough that the full, heavy curves of her breasts pressed against the polished wood, the deep valley between them suddenly impossible to ignore. The lace edge of her bra peeked into view for a heartbeat before disappearing again, a calculated flash of skin and shadow. She rested her forearms on the desk, shoulders rolling forward so that the soft weight of her breasts settled even more prominently, the thin fabric of her blouse doing almost nothing to hide the way her breasts had already begun to tighten under his stare.

The movement was effortless, practiced without ever looking practiced—pure muscle memory. She held his gaze a fraction longer than politeness required, one corner of her mouth lifting into the kind of slow, knowing smile that had opened more doors in this town than any résumé ever could. It was the smile of a woman who understood exactly what she was offering and exactly how much it was worth.

Hollywood had taught her long ago that people noticed confidence long before they noticed words. That a well-timed lean, a soft swell of cleavage, a lingering look could rewrite an entire meeting.

She knew how meetings like this usually went.

A producer's eyes would drop and stay too long.

A financier would forget the budget numbers mid-sentence.

Someone would stop talking about the film and start talking about dinner… or a private screening… or a suite upstairs.

It was almost a ritual—one she had perfected over years of watching the same hungry pattern play out across polished desks and darkened screening rooms.

"The sacrifice Julia's making is enormous," Charlize said quietly.

"It is." Marvin didn't look away from her eyes. "Which means yours has to be even greater."

He spoke without hesitation. "You're carrying something Julia Roberts isn't."

"What?"

"Expectation."

She frowned.

"People already know what Julia looks like."

He gestured toward Charlize.

"You walk into a room and people notice you before you speak. That's an advantage in almost every film." He paused. "It becomes a handicap in this one."

Charlize's smile faded into concentration. "So you really mean it."

"I do."

"You want people to forget I'm Charlize Theron."

"I want them to stop seeing Charlize before they ever have the chance to meet Aileen."

He reached for the script. "The audience shouldn't spend two hours thinking about how beautiful the actress is."

"They should spend two hours wondering how someone became that broken."

Charlize was quiet.

The room seemed smaller than it had a minute earlier.

"Marvin, when you say 'destroyed'..." Charlize hesitated, a flash of vanity surfacing. "You don't mean permanently destroyed, do you?"

"Of course not. What do you think I am, a sadist?" Marvin sounded playfully dissatisfied.

Charlize smiled awkwardly. Mainly because when Marvin said "destroy your face," the expression in his eyes gave her the impression that he did want to ruin her, just to see if he could put the pieces back together.

It was clear his supernatural influence was growing stronger by the day. Marvin sometimes couldn't fully control the passive, leaking power of his "infectious influence." His language, his minute facial expressions, his fluid movements... his charm radiated from every aspect of his behavior, making it impossible for mortals to look away.

"When you said destroy..." she said carefully. "I wasn't sure whether you were exaggerating."

"I wasn't." He turned another page. "We'll reshape your eyebrows."

"Damage the colour and texture of your hair. Prosthetic teeth. No flattering wardrobe. No glamour lighting. I'll also need you to wear thick contact lenses to make your bright eyes look cloudy, bloodshot, and dead inside… And by the way, I also need you to gain at least thirty pounds of pure junk-food weight… You'll carry yourself differently. You'll stop moving like Charlize Theron."

His eyes drifted across her face, not admiring it but studying it with the detached concentration of a sculptor already imagining the marble chipped away.

"The audience has to forget you exist."

"They have to believe only she exists."

Charlize gasped, her hand flying to her chest.

As Marvin laid out his uncompromising vision, she already had a horrifying picture in her mind of how she would look on camera. That appearance—God, no one in the world would recognize her unless the poster explicitly told them it was the girl from *The Devil's Advocate*.

Charlize instinctively brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear to calm herself down. "I've spent years trying to make people notice me."

"And now you're asking me to disappear."

"I'm asking you to become unforgettable."

The distinction lingered between them.

She laughed softly. "You're dangerous."

"I've heard that before."

"No." She shook her head. "I mean creatively. Most people tell me how to protect my image. You've spent the last twenty minutes explaining how to destroy it."

"Images can be rebuilt. Careers rarely survived playing safe forever."

She studied him for several seconds.

Then, almost absent-mindedly, she loosened her posture, testing him one last time. It wasn't crude. It wasn't obvious. Just another quiet reminder of the advantage she'd relied on since arriving in Los Angeles.

Nothing changed.

His attention never wandered.

He remained interested only in the woman who would eventually stand in front of his camera—not the one sitting across the desk.

That, more than anything else he'd said, unsettled her.

"So..." She folded her hands over the screenplay. "If I trust you. If I let you tear all of this down..."

She gestured lightly toward herself. "...will you make the picture?"

Marvin considered her for a moment. "I'll make the right picture."

She smiled. "You really don't answer the question people ask."

"I answer the one they should have asked."

A laugh escaped her. "I've met studio heads who were easier to negotiate with."

"I don't doubt it. Most men become considerably more flexible after ten minutes alone with me."

"I'm aware."

"And you're still talking about the script."

"I'm trying to work out whether you're pitching me a film..." His voice remained even. "...or trying to convince me to stop judging it."

For the first time that afternoon, Charlize genuinely lost the rhythm of the conversation.

Only for a second.

Then she smiled again. "In Hollywood, those two things usually happen together."

"They aren't in this office." He tapped the book once. "I don't finance faces."

"I finance films. If the film deserves to exist..." He closed the folder. "...then everything else is secondary."

Charlize leaned back slowly.

She'd spent years learning how to read powerful men.

Most advertised exactly what they wanted.

Marvin was different.

He'd noticed she was beautiful.

He simply refused to let it influence the decision sitting on the desk between them.

For reasons she couldn't quite explain...

She found that far more compelling than if it had.

He is far more interesting than any man she had met in this industry.

Marvin rested his chin on one hand and let out a quiet, almost amused laugh.

"You're about to make the greatest sacrifice of your career," he said. "Not for the audience. Not even for the film."

His eyes met Charlie's.

"For the Academy." He leaned back. "They like to believe they've rewarded courage. Transformation. Suffering. The more beautiful the actress, the more they want to see what she's willing to give up. Only after they've watched you strip away everything they associate with glamour do they convince themselves they're rewarding the performance."

Silence settled over the office.

Charlize stared at him.

Finally, she nodded.

"...I'll do it." The words came quietly, but there was no hesitation left in them.

If that was the price of becoming one of the finest actresses of her generation, she would pay it.

She was willing to risk everything for Marvin's financial investment and a guaranteed shot at an Oscar.

Marvin smiled. "You won't regret trusting me."

The decision had been made.

Charlize Theron would become the first actress whose path to an Academy Award Marvin intended to shape from beginning to end.