Morthisal shouldered his way into the hotel room, the door's hinges protesting with a rusty whine. His suitcase bumped over the metal threshold and the wheels caught momentarily before he yanked it through.

  Morthisal narrowed his eyes as he took in his temporary domain. The Hollywood Hacienda offered him little to impress. Yellowed wallpaper peeled at the corners, and a faint, musty odor hung in the stale air. A single bulb cast harsh shadows across a nightstand bearing cigarette burns. The bed itself surprised him. The comforter appeared freshly laundered. A faded floral pattern was still visible beneath the stiff fabric. His shoes sank slightly into the low-pile carpet, which, despite its worn pathways, had been recently cleaned and vacuumed. The parallel lines of the cleaner were still visible near the walls.

  "It is only for one night," Morthisal muttered and tossed his bag on the bed.

  He had to dig out most of his clothing and toiletries before he found his phone charger and cable. Morthisal quickly found an outlet and plugged it in, shuddering as he contemplated how many times he had been shocked while refueling his powers. The TENS machine worked well enough, but it was more of a trickle charge, as Travious might have said.

  Speaking of Travious, he wondered how the man was doing. They hadn't spoken for most of the week since Morthisal had bid his first minion farewell.

  "Man. Just go kick some Hollywood ass. I got family down there. Might have to visit. Can you get me on a set?"

  Morthisal had promised Travious he would. He was surprised at himself for caring about Travious. Still, one thing Morthisal had always respected in his minions was their confidence and the ability to challenge him on certain aspects of ruling his kingdom. Being an absolute ruler meant taking advice when needed.

  He needed some now.

  Once his phone had charged enough to turn on, Morthisal messaged Travious.

  "I need help."

  A moment later, three dots appeared.

  They got therapists in LA, right? I ain't much of one.

  Morthisal sighed and typed back.

  It concerns Yvette. As you know, she witnessed my powers.

  The response came quickly

  Yeah. And that's why she dumped your ass?

  Morthisal frowned at the screen.

  Temporarily. She needed time to process what occurred.

  When a woman says she needs time, it usually means forever.

  Morthisal stood and paced the small hotel room, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He typed again.

  Should I pursue her and explain everything?

  Hell no. That dude with the hat tried to kill you. He knows who you are. Your cover is blown. Explaining won't help - she saw what she saw.

  Morthisal sat on the bed, the mattress sagged beneath his weight.

  What do you suggest?

  Give her space. Let her come to you. If she doesn't, move on. Hollywood got plenty of fish. I mean that's what you would normally do. Yvette is different. She's rich as fuck.

  She called. I wish to know why. My cell phone ran out of power as I answered.

  So she thinks you sent her to VM. Did she leave a message?

  Morthisal checked his voicemail, but there was nothing new.

  No.

  Dark Lord got it BAD. Look, that rich lady probably dated guys who lied about normal shit like their job or height or whatever powerful dudes say to powerful chicas. You lied about being HUMAN. Course, she don't know that. Right?

  I am as human as you. Flesh and blood.

  But you're not. Not really. You're not from this world.

  Morthisal considered this. His fingers tapped against the screen, but Travious sent another message first.

  Truth won't matter if she scared of you. That dude with the hat - he come back?

  No. After he fled, there was no trace. Jackson tried to locate him and watched my apartment for a few days after. The man did not reappear. I still have his gun tucked into my suitcase.

  Did you check it in?

  What?

  Jesus… don't fly with a gun in your checked luggage again. You could get in deep shit. Anyway, keep that thing close. If he found you once, he'll find you again.

  I will remain vigilant. But about Yvette...

  Look, I'll be straight with you. You got two options. One: forget her, focus on Hollywood. Two: wait for her to contact you. Ball in her court.

  Three: I return her call.

  Morthisal leaned back against the headboard. The thought of never seeing Yvette again created an uncomfortable sensation in his chest.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  What would you do?

  The dots appeared and disappeared several times before Travious responded.

  Me? I'd send one text. Something simple. "When you're ready to talk, I'm here." Then I'd leave it alone. But that's me.

  Morthisal nodded to himself.

  Your counsel is appreciated, Travious.

  That's what minions are for. Gotta bounce - patient coding. Later, your Dark Lordship.

  Morthisal placed the phone down and contemplated his next move. He needed a drink, but before that, he needed to act, so he took Travious's advice and sent a single message to Yvette with the precise words the man had provided.

  He should put his phone down and find something to drink. Surely, there was a bar nearby. Morthisal realized he was pacing the room. He stopped, shoved the curtains aside, and peered out. Sure enough, he had a clear view of the pool. The twins had changed positions, and now both lay on their stomachs.

  A block away, a large sign for Golden State Final Cut rose dozens of feet into the air. A strong beverage seemed appropriate for the evening.

  Morthisal would give his phone another thirty minutes to charge before he departed. It suddenly buzzed. He glanced down and found that Yvette was calling him.

  Morthisal sat, then stood, then sat again. He cleared his throat and then answered in a neutral tone. "Good evening, Yvette."

  "Vince," her voice carried an edge of frustration, tinged with longing, at least to Morthisal's ears. "I've thought about you a lot. You and us. I’m still trying to process everything that happened that day on the waterfront. We need to talk, like really talk. Can I see you in the next few days?"

  "I would enjoy that; however, I am in Los Angeles."

  "So you did it. Good for you."

  Morthisal was unable to read her tone.

  "Thank you. It is hot here. Too hot. I was supposed to stay with one of the producers, but have been relegated to a hotel of questionable reputation. It is nothing like the room we shared last week."

  "That was a nice room and a nice memory."

  "Yvette. I…"

  "What are you doing tomorrow?"

  "I do not know for certain."

  "Give me your address and room number. I need to take a trip to Singapore, and LA is an easy stop to add. I can stay for a few hours. Would that be okay with you?"

  Morthisal's mouth dropped open. He remembered to close it and said, "Yes. Yes. I believe that will work."

  "Like I said. We need to talk. If I come, will you be honest with me?"

  Morthisal's mind raced around those words. He would need something to tell her. He had been dishonest many times over the decades, but for some reason, he wanted to tell her everything.

  He knew he could not. The fact that he was here, from another world, inhabiting someone else's body, was so outlandish she was likely to walk straight back out the door and never talk to him again.

  "Well?"

  Morthisal took a slow, steady breath. "I want to be honest with you more than I've wanted anything in a very long time. But I fear the complete truth might push you away forever. Can we agree that some truths are better revealed gradually? I promise what I share will be genuine, even if it can't be everything at once."

  "I don't know if I can live with that. I want to know how you… The board meeting…" Yvette's voice trailed off.

  "Can we agree to patience as we navigate this conversation?"

  "Yeah. I can do that."

  Morthisal blew out a slow breath. "Thank you, Yvette. I don't think I'll be at this motel tomorrow. Marty Klein should have my accommodation sorted by then."

  "I hope you're not surprised if he doesn't. You know how the Hollywood types are."

  Morthisal's eyes narrowed. "You suspect him of dishonesty?"

  Yvette laughed. "I know you're not that naive, Vince. It's the city you're in now. That's how it goes down there. One minute, you're the hottest property in the world. The next time you can't get a callback. I dated an actor."

  "I am sorry to hear that." He wasn't. "Marty owes me an explanation himself if he does not follow through."

  "Tell him that. Don't let anyone step on you. I know you are bold and confident. That's one thing I liked about you from the start. You didn't act strange around me. You talked to me like a normal person. Anyway, use that. Don't let anyone walk on you down there."

  Morthisal didn't say that when he had first met Yvette in the break room at Corsair Financial, he hadn't known who she was. He'd also learned that she had a partial titanium plate in her head, which had prevented Morthisal from using his powers on her.

  Morthisal's voice lowered, "Oh, I shall. Thank you for the advice, Yvette. Tell me about the actor you dated. Did it not end well?"

  "It did not. He was vapid, obsessed with his image. Everything had to be perfect—his online presence, the restaurants we dined at, the places we traveled. Yet, behind the scenes, he was a mess. He'd crumble and cry at the slightest criticism from the press. He worked out for three hours a day. Half of that was spent posing on Insta, posting picture after picture of himself. It was exhausting."

  "Who was this man?"

  "I can't say. NDAs. You understand."

  "I do, yes."

  They spoke for another fifteen minutes about other things. Yvette was not her usual flirty self and was much more reserved. She briefly discussed the aftermath of the board meeting. Regina had left a few days later after an offer from a rival corporation.

  "I'm happy about her departure. Now I have a problem with replacing her. I knew she'd done a few questionable things, but the files you presented were eye-opening."

  Jeffrey had been keeping his head down and trying to pretend that nothing had happened. He'd also been kissing her ass at every opportunity. Thomas was on thin ice. She kept looking for a reason to fire him.

  "If I have learned one thing from Logan Roy, it's okay to simply tell someone to fuck off," Morthisal said, drawing from his knowledge of the TV series Succession.

  Yvette laughed. "I wish I could 'Logan Roy' some of these people out of my life. Great show, by the way. Thomas has woven himself into many aspects of my life, both professionally and personally, as well as my family. I need to come up with a really good reason to fire Thomas."

  Morthisal thought about this. His fingers drummed against the table. "I have an idea." Morthisal leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Those unwanted advances he made when you were younger? Make them public with the help of your PR team. They could scatter breadcrumbs about the other women." His lips curled into a cold smile. "Find one or two who will speak up and watch his reputation crumble to dust before your eyes. The world will cancel him, and he will greatly deserve it."

  Yvette grew silent for a moment.

  "Yvette?"

  Yvette finally responded, her voice tinged with a mix of contemplation and amusement. "I'm thinking. Damn, Vince. That is coldhearted, ruthless, and, I have to admit, entirely fitting for the situation. He deserves it," Yvette lowered her voice. "All those girls… He's an animal."

  "Treat him as such."

  "Look. I have a lot to think about, and I have to change my travel plans. Message me tomorrow when you're settled."

  "I must warn you. If I stay here, the motel is not what you would call posh."

  "Seedy? I like it. See you tomorrow."

  "Until then."

  Morthisal set the phone down, his gaze drifting out the window. Marty’s offer to help him settle in and provide a place to stay lingered in his mind. He could easily bend Marty’s will to suit his needs, but there was something intriguing about living among former actors, apparent models, and scriptwriters.

  The idea of staying here and immersing himself in this community felt like a strategic move. He had the resources to remain for months, thanks to Marty's generous payments once Yvette began backing the movie, and rumors about her and Morthisal spread.

  Tomorrow morning, he would discuss with Jazz the possibility of extending his stay.