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"Do you truly believe that?" he demanded, his voice rising, vibrating with a fierce, possessive anger that made her gasp. "Do you think I could ever be happy smiling for the cameras while another man stands beside you? I won't do it. I will not give you to anyone else!"
"It doesn't matter!" Diana cried out, terrified by the sheer magnitude of his obsession. "It won't work! I will ruin your life!"
"Then let it be ruined!" Marvin roared back. "Because I refuse to live a life without you in it!"
Seeing her still insisting. Marvin didn't argue. He didn't yell. Instead, he slowly reached for his own door handle.
"If that is what you truly want, Diana, then I will open this door," Marvin said, his voice a chilling, frosty calm. "I will step out of this car as your friend. I will smile for the driver, and I will leave you to go back to your cold, empty palaces and your gilded cage. But know this: I do not share what is mine. If you let me walk out of this car without you, we go back to being nothing."
The footsteps stopped right outside the door. A shadow fell over the tinted glass. The handle on the outside was about to turn.
"Choose," Marvin whispered, his hand resting on the latch. "The cold world out there, or me."
The sudden threat of losing him—of going back to the freezing isolation of her life without the burning warmth of his presence—hit Diana harder than any scandal ever could. The fear of the press, the guilt, the age difference... it all vanished, incinerated by the absolute terror of a life without him.
"No!"
Diana lunged. The sheer desperation in her heart overrode every rational thought. She grabbed his jacket, yanking him away from the door and pulling him violently back into the deep shadows of the backseat. She crashed her lips against his in a starved, frantic frenzy, pouring every tear, every fear, and her total, surrender into his hungry mouth. The elegant, motherly People's Princess chose him. She chose the fire.
Marvin could feel her breaking and surrendering completely, her body melting bonelessly against his as he finally pulled away from the messy kiss, resting his forehead against hers. Diana panted hot and heavy, her swollen lips still brushing his, her tits heaving with every desperate breath.
"Diana," his voice was softer now, echoing in the quiet car. "Do you love me as a man?"
She hesitated for only a fraction of a second. "I do." This time, the words were expressed with full awareness.
"Then why are you afraid?"
He didn't let her answer. He cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her jawline with reverence.
"I know you are terrified," Marvin whispered. "I know you think I am too young to understand the consequences. But I know what I want. I want you." He leaned his forehead against hers, his voice a dark, unbreakable vow. "Don't worry about the world. I will manipulate the consequences. I will be the shield you never had. I will protect you from the press, from the Crown, from anyone who tries to hurt you. I swear on my soul, Diana, I will never leave you alone."
Those words were the final strike. The walls Diana had built around her shattered heart completely collapsed.
With a desperate, muffled sob, her head leaped up, crashing her lips against his again. Marvin caught her instantly, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing her body flush against his own. Her sweet, signature scent of rose and jasmine filled his senses. Their bodies trembled together as the blinding, love seed of the Incubus bond flared to life, sealing the connection.
They kissed as if the world outside the car had already ended, transferring every ounce of her starved love and his love. When they finally broke apart for air, Marvin looked down into her eyes. They were no longer filled with sorrow or shame; they were looking at him with a tender, all-consuming love.
*Click.*
The rear door swung open, the outside light threatening to spill into the cabin.
Moving with preternatural speed, Diana broke the kiss a fraction of a second before the door fully opened, instantly burying her tear-streaked face deep into the heavy fabric of Marvin's coat, pressing herself flush against his chest.
"Sir, we have arri—"
The driver paused, his eyes scanning the backseat. But he didn't see the kiss. He didn't see the ruined, flushed state of the Princess.
He only saw Marvin sitting tall and composed, his broad shoulders angled to completely shield the notoriously emotional Diana from view, his arms wrapped protectively around her trembling form.
"Give us a moment," Marvin commanded, his gaze locking onto the driver's eyes and leaving the man feeling slightly dizzy. His voice stayed smooth and completely unbothered. "Sister is feeling overwhelmed by the charity event tonight."
"Of course, sir. My apologies," the driver said respectfully. He swiftly pulled the door shut, plunging them back into their private sanctuary.
In the dim light, Diana let out a shaky, breathless sob of relief. She clung to Marvin's shirt, her fingers digging into the fabric as she breathed in his scent, completely and utterly his.
….
…
..
.
The driver stepped out and opened the rear door. As the cool night air rushed into the cabin, the driver's nose twitched. He caught an odd mixture of expensive perfume, heavy scent of sex—expensive perfume, sweat, feminine arousal, and that strange, ozone-like crackle of energy.
'What is that weird smell?' the driver muttered internally while still feeling dizzy. He cast a suspicious glance into the back of the car.
The interior remained cloaked in darkness.
Marvin stepped out onto the driveway. He looked entirely composed, his suit impeccable, not a single hair out of place. He flashed the driver a polite, dismissive smile with thank you and safe drive.
The driver blinked, feeling foolish. He laughed at his own paranoia. 'What was I thinking? He's just a child.'
What the driver couldn't see in the shadows of the backseat was Diana. Diana remained slumped against the leather, blonde hair beautifully disheveled, face flushed crimson, lips swollen from frantic kisses, neck marked with love bites. Her white gown was rumpled, hiked up around her thighs, her body still trembling with the echoes of pleasure and feelings. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, utterly drained yet glowing with satisfied lust.
She breathed feebly, completely drained of metal and physical energy.
Before the driver pushed the door closed, Marvin paused. He looked back into the dark cabin. He offered a slow, proud smirk.
The conquest of the Incubus never relied solely on physical, sexual completion. There were a myriad of ways to break a defense.
He was still young. His physical vessel was developing. He understood that completing everything at once would be too overwhelming and make Diana feel too much guilty, so he proceeded gradually.
But an Incubus possessed ten thousand ways to conquer, to intoxicate, and to bind a soul without crossing any physical threshold or using magic.
His confidence, his proximity, and the weight of his charm were more than enough to claim victory.
And tonight, in the velvet darkness of the car, Diana had willingly offered hers—age, scandal, and doubt be damned.
Marvin couldn't help but grin at the dizzy driver!
"Well, my hypnotic power over people is only getting stronger with each passing day, driven by my ever-expanding mana pool, which grows with my soul and surging popularity."
The door clicked shut. The car pulled away, and its taillights faded down the street.
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. He brought his fingertips to his nose to catch the lingering scent of juices, then licked them clean.
"Sweet… Next time, I'm not settling for a snack—full meal it is!"
He smiled, turned his back on the street, and walked through the open doors of his villa.
The day proved very productive.
---
The library of the Connecticut estate underwent a swift transformation. It shifted from a quiet reading room into Marvin's temporary East Coast headquarters. Stacks of financial reports, demographic charts, and translated manga manuscripts covered the dark table.
Outside the window, a bitter April wind drove snow against the glass, an unforgiving New England winter that felt a world away from the palm trees of Los Angeles.
Marvin sat behind the desk. A glass of milk rested near his right hand, next to two stationed landline phones. Amy sat in the adjacent chair, her notebook open and a pen poised over the paper. The connected call hummed on the speaker.
Tokyo sat seventeen hours ahead. Tuesday morning broke there, while Monday evening held Connecticut.
The voices came through the speaker with the distinct, hollow quality of international landline calls in the 19s. The static provided a layer of geographic distance to the audio texture.
"Seven hundred and fifty thousand copies,"
Tanaka said in Japanese. Even through the transatlantic wire, the gravity in his voice remained clear. As a veteran editor, he spent twenty-eight years in a rigid publishing industry where such numbers belonged only to entrenched, decades-old institutions. Now, those figures accumulated in a magazine that existed for only six months. "Issue thirty-one went to print. We are adding fifty thousand new weekly readers per issue."
"The lead properties hold the retention rate?" Marvin asked. He leaned back in his chair.
"Bleach and Fullmetal Alchemist serve as the primary circulation drivers," Tanaka reported. The rustle of paper echoed through the speaker as he checked his notes. "Death Note closes the gap. The reader response letters for Death Note carry a different tone. Fans write long, detailed theories about the rules of the notebook. They dissect the morality of the protagonist. The engagement runs deep."
"Death Note rewards that kind of engagement," Marvin said. "It treats the reader like an adult. They recognize the respect."
"Avatar, Cyberpunk 2047, and Kaguya-sama form a strong second tier," Tanaka continued. "The longer-form works—Boku Dake ga Inai Machi, The Witcher, Aldnoah.Zero, Vinland Saga—are developing the slow-burn reader loyalty that serializations require. Our market research shows that people who follow those titles are our most consistent repeat purchasers at the convenience stores."
"Good," Marvin said. "The architecture is functioning as designed. The broad, action-oriented entry-point works drive the initial purchase, and the deeper, psychological works build the committed base."
Gregg Araki spoke next. The director served as Marvin's liaison in Tokyo, and his tone signaled a transition from positive growth metrics to complicated political realities.
Gregg delivered his account of the regulatory situation with the precision of a filmmaker who blocks out a scene. He understood the sequence of events mattered just as much as the raw facts.
"We have a problem with the Ministry of Education," Gregg said. "And the Tokyo Metropolitan Government. They prepare to impose a 'harmful publication' designation on the magazine. A coordinated network of parent groups filed formal complaints. Media pressure builds across three major television networks. The attacks bear the fingerprints of Shueisha's corporate relationships, though they keep their hands clean of any direct attribution."
Marvin listened. His eyes remained fixed on the speakerphones. Beside him, Amy wrote in rapid shorthand to capture the names and the threat vectors.
When Gregg finished his summary, the line fell silent, save for the crackle of static.
"Walk me through the mechanics of the harmful publication designation," Marvin commanded.
"The Tokyo Metropolitan Government maintains a registry," Gregg explained. "It targets books or publications deemed harmful to the youth demographic. Being placed on the list does not constitute a legal ban. You can still print. But the practical effect damages the supply chain. Distributors in the Tokyo prefecture become reluctant to carry the product on open shelves. Convenience stores, which account for sixty percent of our distribution channel, pull the magazine from the front racks and place it in the restricted adult sections. The reduction in shelf visibility translates directly into reduced casual circulation in our most important market."
"What is their legal threshold for the designation?"
"Content deemed excessively violent or sexual in ways that could harm the moral development of minors," Gregg said. "The wording is vague. It gives the government broad discretion. In practice, the authorities apply it primarily to sexually explicit material. We didn't feature that just yet. But the critics are targeting The Witcher and Cyberpunk. They argue the violence, the moral ambiguity, and the absence of the conventional shōnen framework of 'friendship, effort, and victory' cause psychological harm, even without explicit sexual panels."
"And Shueisha's involvement?" Marvin prompted.
"Indirect, but obvious," Gregg said. "Opinion pieces appear in major newspapers that share editorial board members with Shueisha's publishing group. Television panel discussions feature cultural commentators who hold historical financial ties to the established manga monopolies. They build a narrative.
****
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