America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz-Chapter 542 - 535: The True Face Behind the Mask

The film crew’s residence was in the 16th Arrondissement, and as the weekend sky darkened, Martin, Mene, and Ellen Page left the hotel they were staying in, all in the same car.

Mene looked at Ellen with surprise, "We’re going to pick up girls!"

Ellen, her long hair tied into a bun, dressed in a fitted black suit, replied, "I’m here to pick up girls too."

"You?" Mene’s eyes widened.

Ellen nodded, "Who says women can’t pick up girls?"

"What a waste! Shameful waste!" Mene had become more casual after mingling for a while. He raised two fingers, lamenting deeply, "You’re wasting two people at a time!"

Ellen teased deliberately, "Just keep an eye on whichever one you like, be careful I might snatch her from you."

Mene shook his head, "No use, you can’t take her."

He was brimming with confidence in this area: "Not you, not even the boss could take her."

Ellen looked at Martin in astonishment, "Is he bragging?"

"No, he’s not bragging." Martin was able to calmly accept that he was less successful than Mene in certain aspects: "When it comes to the ones Mene has his sights on, I really can’t compete with him."

Ellen couldn’t figure it out, full of puzzlement.

Bruce drove them to the villa area on the west side of Boulogne Forest Park, nearing a large villa with a courtyard.

Isabel Huppert, after many years in the film industry, was quite wealthy.

The four of them parked the car and arrived at the villa entrance, where several men in suits checked their invitations, handed out four gold masks that left the mouth uncovered, and gestured for them to put them on.

A masquerade party, as the name implies, sought to create this kind of mysterious atmosphere.

One of the men in suits reminded them, "Please don’t remove your masks before leaving."

Martin put on his mask but took off his suit jacket, tossing it to Bruce, and as he walked inside, he also undid one of the buttons on his dress shirt. The fitted white shirt accentuated his muscular build, adding a touch of wildness to his ordinarily gentlemanly demeanor.

In the courtyard, there were a dozen or so men and women, all wearing gold masks, their true faces indiscernible.

Ellen Page spotted a petite woman dressed in a red dress and said, "I’m going to split off here."

Martin waved his hand and entered the villa hall with Mene.

The spacious hall was filled with about twenty or thirty people. Most of the women were in figure-hugging dresses, their faces hidden by masks, but all had impressive figures.

The men varied, some were fat, some thin, and a few looked quite old.

A woman in a strap dress walked by, and Mene’s gaze instinctively shifted her way as he said, "Boss, I’m off too."

"Go ahead," Martin was still looking for his own target.

Bruce followed Mene’s gaze to the woman in the strap dress and asked, "Do you know her?"

Mene replied, "At the Cannes Film Festival red carpet, I took a lot of photos of her wardrobe malfunctions. I’ve studied the... revealing spots in detail, and there’s no way I could mistake her."

He clenched his fist, "Sophie Marceau, that’s her."

Martin also heard and said, "Buddy, good luck."

Mene nodded and quickly headed in that direction.

Perhaps this guy really had a special charm that attracted older women. When Martin’s gaze swept across the hall and then back to Mene, he had struck up a lively conversation with the strap dress lady.

Another woman, dressed in a black and white flowered dress, had been observing the contours of the muscles under Martin’s shirt and quickly approached, inviting, "Would you like to join me for a drink?"

The woman spoke French, and Martin understood the simple phrase.

A masquerade party was like opening a blind box; if you didn’t know the person, no one knew who was behind the mask.

But, this kind of blind box involved mutual selection.

Martin caught the scent of perfume on the woman, Chanel No. 5.

Leonardo and Nicholson, those two rotten men, were knowledgeable about perfumes. Women who liked Chanel No. 5 were usually a bit older and more mature.

Martin tactfully declined, "Sorry, ma’am, I don’t feel like drinking right now."

The mask hid the face and any potential embarrassment; the woman did not linger and moved on to another target.

Martin wandered around the hall. During this time, four or five women greeted him, all of whom he politely declined.

From the scale of their bust and skin color, he was able to tell they were not his first target of the evening, Eva Green.

"Hey, buddy." Suddenly a man came over to greet him, "Alone?"

Martin shook his head and walked away directly.

At Yuper’s party, there really was a mix of people.

Not finding his target in the hall, Martin decided to go to the backyard; upon entering, he saw many people looking towards the third floor, and he turned to look as well.

On the balcony of the third floor, a man and a woman leaned against the railing, discussing horse racing.

With the same gold masks, their identities were unknown.

The masks hid more than just faces; they also covered people’s embarrassment and shame.

Martin took advantage of the distraction provided by the pair on the balcony to scan the crowd, settling his gaze on a woman just coming out of the side door.

The woman was around 1.7 meters tall, her brown hair cascading behind the gold mask, with a blue dress that was quite ample both front and back.

Martin walked towards her, drawing on his extensive experience to conclude from her pale and delicate skin that she was around twenty-five years old.

The woman’s gold mask also turned towards Martin.

The mask hid her expression, but Martin could tell from her demeanor that she seemed interested as well.

He recalled the numerous times he’d seen "Dream Paris", Eva Green with brown hair, about 1.7 meters tall, impressively endowed in front, and around twenty-six or twenty-seven years old...

Martin grabbed two glasses of wine from a passing waiter’s tray and quickly walked over, offering one to the woman: "May I offer you a drink?"

The woman took the glass, their glasses clinked gently, and she sipped lightly.

According to the party’s rules, unless the other person agreed to leave with you, asking for names was not permitted. Martin took a small sip of his wine and, because his French wasn’t very good, he asked, "Do you speak English?"

"Of course," the woman said with a smile: "Although I’m French, I’ve specifically practiced American English."

Suddenly, strange cries rang out.

Martin and the woman turned their heads in unison. On another balcony on the third floor, a woman in a red dress had her hands on the railing, with a golden mask faintly visible behind her.

Possibly stimulated, two people on the adjacent balcony also began to shout and scream.

Between them, on the balcony in the middle, a third couple appeared.

Masks provided a great deal of courage.

There were seats by the pool in the backyard, and Martin made a gesture inviting her to sit: "Shall we sit and enjoy the view?"

The woman came over and naturally linked her arm through his: "This party is really something else."

The two moved to the edge of the pool and found a seat for two. Martin extended his hand to see if the woman would object. When she didn’t, he put his arm around her shoulder, and they both watched the spectacle while fostering an atmosphere.

The woman leaned into Martin, feeling his strong muscles, then suddenly reached over and touched his solid abs.

At the same time, Martin also confirmed that she wore no padding.

As for whether it was real or artificial, he could tell just by a glance, thanks to his experience.

Above, on the third floor, three sensational acts were unfolding with six actors, each one more exciting than the last.

Some people gradually left the backyard to enter the villa, possibly going to the second or third floor.

Others left the party directly.

After all, staying at the party meant you couldn’t remove your mask or inquire who others were.

Beneath the attractive physique, they might even have a face like Gutenberg’s.

The vast majority of people implicitly followed the rules.

Martin admired the spectacle and exclaimed, "Yuper truly is France’s foremost artistic goddess. The party she designed is very imaginative and filled with an artistic atmosphere."

The woman leaning on him was quite confident: "Maybe in a decade or so, I’ll surpass Yuper and become the leading lady of the French acting world."

Martin turned his head, only able to see the confidence in the woman’s eyes beneath her golden mask.

In such an artistically charged environment, they gazed into each other’s eyes, bodies leaning forward, closing in for a kiss.

With a soft bump, the protruding noses of their masks collided.

These cursed masks were cleverly designed, making kissing no easy task.

Martin reached out, invitingly suggesting, "Shall we find another spot?"

The woman nodded gently, pointing towards the villa and asked, "Inside, or shall we go up to the balcony?"

Martin, even with his mask on, didn’t want to be on display for an audience and replied, "How about we go somewhere else?"

The woman did not refuse, and as they stood up to leave, she said, "You really want to know who I am?"

Martin didn’t respond to her question, instead asking his own, "Don’t you want to know who I am?"

The woman replied, "I have some guesses, but it’s not appropriate to guess here; everyone at the party tacitly abides by the rules."

Struck by an idea, Martin said, "How about this—once we leave, we’ll write down our guesses, and check to see who is right after we take off our masks?"

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Seeing the potential fun in the game, the woman said, "Does the person who guesses right take the initiative?"

Martin, proficient in every direction and a true all-around player, replied confidently, "No problem."

They left the backyard, crossed the forecourt, and went to the entrance, arm in arm, stepping out of the front door together.

Seeing Bruce in the distance getting into a car and preparing to drive over, Martin asked a security guard at the door for a pen, saying, "Shall we write it in the palm of our hands?"

The woman took the pen, turned the back of her left hand towards Martin, and wrote a line in the palm, then passed the pen back to Martin.

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Martin similarly wrote a name in the palm of his left hand.

He gave the pen back, waited a moment, and Bruce parked the black sedan by the curb.

Martin opened the car door: "Get in."

They got into the car one after the other, and Bruce raised the divider between the front and back seats.

Martin, with a grin, said, "Let the game begin."

The woman closed her eyes, clasping her hands in a prayer: "I hope I’m not wrong, I hope my dream comes true."

She opened her eyes: "Ladies first, kind sir, please take off your mask."

Martin untied his mask and removed it.

The moment the woman saw Martin’s unmasked face, a brilliant smile lit up across the areas his mask hadn’t concealed: "I knew it was you. Yuper wasn’t bragging; she really did get Martin Davis to attend a masked party!"

She turned her palm over, revealing that she had indeed written Martin’s name.

Martin feigned helplessness: "Am I really that easy to see through?"

"Now it’s time to reveal my answer!" The woman removed her mask.

The face that was revealed was somewhat familiar to Martin, but he couldn’t quite recall her name, yet he was certain she wasn’t Eva Green.

"Don’t you recognize me?" The woman, with a good figure, now accentuated her assets: "I am Lea Seydoux, an actress."