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****
"Interesting," Jobs murmured, and looked at Marvin not as a child actor, but as a peer. "You have a point."
He straightened his posture, and his demeanor softened. "Fine. I will have my assistant discuss the rights to *Kung Fu Panda* with your agent tomorrow. But let's schedule a private meeting to talk about these proxy shares."
Marvin smiled back as the tension broke. "Happy to help a visionary, Mr. Jobs."
….
…
..
.
The two men, engrossed in their discussion, continued to engage in a detailed conversation about the fluctuations and performance of Apple shares, until the charity auctioneer tapped the microphone on the stage. As the room quieted down, Jobs offered a nod and returned to his table across the ballroom.
Diana, seated to Marvin's right, leaned in closer. The faint scent of jasmine drifted from her skin, and the chandeliers caught her long blonde hair.
"What were you two talking about?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur over the sound of the auctioneer taking the first bid.
"Mr. Jobs wants to buy the film rights to *Kung Fu Panda*," Marvin replied casually, and picked up his glass of sparkling water.
"Really? That's fantastic!" Diana beamed, her blue eyes lighting up. She remained unaware of the silent corporate war they just waged over Apple's stock structure, and focused only on the creative victory.
She watched Jobs navigate through the crowded tables, acknowledging studio heads, investors, and executives with little more than a curt nod. Her expression shifted ever so slightly.
"I don't think I like him very much," Diana admitted. "He carries himself with such certainty. It feels as though the rest of the room is expected to adapt to him rather than the other way around. He didn't even properly greet us."
Marvin chuckled and set his glass down.
"I agree, Sister. He's difficult. But sometimes the people who change industries aren't particularly pleasant while they're doing it. Their confidence becomes part of the machine."
Diana hummed thoughtfully.
"Perhaps. But confidence and kindness don't have to be enemies."
Marvin smiled.
That sounded exactly like something Diana Spencer would say.
Even after everything she had endured—the scrutiny, the betrayals, the endless cameras—she still believed people should treat one another with basic warmth.
Marvin turned his chair slightly to face her. He let a look of mock, wounded concern cross his features. The stage lights caught the amber flecks in his eyes, which emphasized the mature depth that stripped away the illusion of his physical age..
"Although now that I think about it," Marvin said, lowering his voice dramatically, "aren't people always saying the same thing about me? Arrogant. Overconfident. Impossible to manage. Tell me honestly, Sister—have you secretly disliked me all this time?"
Diana burst into laughter.
The sound was bright and genuine, carrying across the table.
Several nearby guests glanced over, but she paid them no mind. The rigid protocol that dictated her life in London was gone. She looked at him, her eyes shining with genuine affection. She saw right through the theatrical act.
"That performance might have worked on me once," she said, lightly tapping his arm. "Not anymore."
Once.
Not now.
Not after all the conversations.
Not after the long flights, private dinners, charity events, and hours spent in each other's personal space.
She knew him far too well.
Marvin sighed dramatically.
"I knew I should have rewritten the script."
"The script?" she echoed, amused.
"Obviously. This is the part where you rush to defend my honor." His expression became increasingly tragic. "You tell me I'm wonderful. You insist the critics are blind. your cheeks turn that shade of red, and perhaps you even shed a sympathetic tear for the poor me. I get to admire the view. You ruin my direction."
Diana's laughter softened. A warm flush rose to her cheeks, coloring them exactly as he described. She rested her elbow on the table and supported her chin with her hand. She looked at him, and admired the flawless, chiseled line of his jaw and the gravity he commanded.
Diana shook her head. "You've become predictable."
Marvin placed a hand over his heart. "A devastating accusation."
"Accurate, though."
"Even worse."
She laughed again.
For a moment she simply watched him.
The room saw a phenomenon.
A prodigy. A celebrity.
A little man who seemed determined to make her smile more.
Diana saw it all.
She saw the person underneath.
The young man who worried about his parents.
Who still became excited when discussing books.
Who sometimes carried responsibilities no child should have to carry.
"I think the difference is that I know you now," she said softly.
The joking faded from Marvin's expression.
He listened.
"When we first met, I wasn't sure what to make of you."
She smiled to herself.
"You were intimidating, actually."
Marvin blinked. "Me?"
"Yes, you."
The disbelief on his face only made her smile widen.
"You were impossibly intelligent, far too observant, and entirely too comfortable saying whatever happened to be on your mind."
"That sounds charming."
"It was terrifying."
He laughed.
Diana rested her chin lightly against her hand.
"When people spend enough years around royalty, politicians, and powerful families, they learn to recognize genuine arrogance."
Her gaze drifted briefly toward Jobs. "Mr. Jobs wears his confidence like armor." She paused. "Perhaps he has reasons for that. Perhaps he believes he needs it."
Then she looked back at Marvin.
"But you aren't the same."
"Really?"
"No."
Her voice carried the calm certainty that had comforted hospital patients, grieving families, and nervous children all over the world.
"You wear confidence when the situation demands it." She studied him carefully. "But I've also seen you when nobody is watching."
The words landed more heavily than she intended.
"I've seen how you treat waiters, assistants, drivers, secretaries, and people who can do absolutely nothing for you."
Marvin looked away for a moment.
Diana continued. "I've seen you give away credit. I've seen you listen. I've seen you stay behind after everyone else left because someone needed help."
A warm smile touched her lips. "Truly arrogant people don't do those things."
She reached under the edge of the tablecloth. Her hand found his resting on his knee. Her fingers laced through his, and her thumb traced the smooth skin of his knuckles.
The noise of the event seemed to fade slightly.
Around them, deals were being negotiated.
Careers were being advanced.
Millions of dollars were changing direction.
Yet the conversation felt strangely private.
"You know," Diana continued gently, "for someone who worries so much about becoming arrogant, you spend an awful lot of time asking whether people think you're arrogant."
Marvin groaned.
"That's because I know exactly how dangerous ego can be."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Yes."
She smiled.
"The day you stop worrying about it is the day I'll start worrying."
For a moment, neither of them spoke, holding hands and gazing into each other's blue eyes.
Then Marvin shook his head.
"You're supposed to be encouraging my delusions, Sister."
Diana laughed. "I think the world already does enough of that."
"And what do you do?"
She smiled warmly. "I remind you that you're human."
For the first time in several minutes, Marvin was left genuinely speechless because her comment was way off from the truth.
Diana considered that a victory.
Marvin held her gaze, the Incubus charm radiating not as a manipulation, but as a blanket of quiet protection. He squeezed her hand and felt the warmth of her palm.
In truth, Marvin wasn't lying about the toll the evening took. The brief encounter with Jobs drained more of his mental energy than he cared to admit. The man's domineering personality and stubborn will exhausted him, and required constant, calculated pushback.
But sitting here, holding Diana's hand under the table as the auctioneer called out numbers, the fatigue washed away. The results of the night justified the effort.
With Pixar interested in his publishing properties, and Jobs warming to the idea of Marvin's financial involvement with Apple, the pieces were falling into place for the coming new decade.
---
The Twentieth Century Fox charity auction operated less like a fundraiser and more like a theatrical production. Hosted by Jim Carrey, the Beverly Hilton ballroom hummed with electric energy. Carrey deployed his trademark comedy and manic delivery to captivate the audience.
He paced the stage. He contorted his face and fired off rapid jokes, transforming the formal bidding process into a stand-up routine.
Marvin watched from his table, a half-smile on his face. He observed the crowd laughing at Carrey's exaggerated expressions. He knew the history of comedians, recalling the grim reality hidden behind the stage lights. The paradox remained a constant in the entertainment industry: the men who projected the brightest light often harbored the deepest shadows, bearing heavy burdens the public never saw.
Marvin's musings came to an abrupt halt when Jim Carrey suddenly pointed toward the wings cutting the musings short.
"Oh, no, no, no. We are not done yet."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
A glass display case rolled onto the stage. Curious murmurs swept the ballroom.
Jim widened his eyes.
"Oh, now you're interested."
Fresh laughter erupted.
He approached the display case like an explorer discovering an ancient treasure. "Ladies and gentlemen, this next item defies reason."
The room quieted.
Jim motioned for a pair of white cotton gloves.
A stagehand hurried them over.
Carrey slipped them on and adopted the exaggerated seriousness of a museum curator with a priceless artifact.
"You think I'm joking."
He kept his face deadpan.
The audience leaned forward.
Jim opened the case.
Inside sat a thick stack of bound parchment.
A camera operator zoomed in and projected the pages onto the giant screens beside the stage.
The moment people recognized the item, a wave of surprised whispers swept through the crowd.
Jim grinned. "Oh, you know what this is."
He lifted the manuscript. "This, ladies and gentlemen, is the original English manuscript of *Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone*."
The ballroom erupted.
Several guests gasped.
Heads turned toward Marvin's table. The added flourish belonged to Jim alone.
A murmur swept the room as Jim pointed straight at Marvin.
"And Marvin hopes the bidding climbs to the moon!"
The audience responded with enthusiastic applause.
That last part came straight from Jim.
Fox's organizers approached Marvin about donating an auction item. He agreed and selected the manuscript on a whim. He delivered no inspirational speech. He skipped the talk of record-breaking bids. He never asked Jim to announce his hopes to the ballroom.
Jim possessed the instincts of a veteran showman.
He learned the donor's identity and noticed Princess Diana beside Marvin at a highly photographed table. He recognized the golden narrative.
A beloved princess.
A child prodigy.
A priceless literary manuscript.
It provided the exact feel-good Hollywood narrative audiences adored.
Better yet, it encouraged people to open their wallets.
Every extra laugh, every additional round of applause, and every emotional push invited a bidding war.
If that happened, the charity won.
So Jim embellished.
He held no malice.
He just knew how to work a room.
Jim pointed toward Marvin. "And before anyone asks, yes, our favorite overachiever donated it."
The spotlight hit Marvin.
The audience broke into applause.
Marvin shook his head.
Jim held his ground.
"Seriously, what was I doing at thirteen?" he asked the crowd. "Eating cereal. Watching cartoons. Making weird faces in the mirror."
The room laughed.
"This kid is donating literary history to charity."
Another round of applause followed.
Jim paced across the stage with the manuscript.
"Now, Marvin never told me to say this..."
He lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper.
"...which means I'm going to say it."
The crowd laughed again.
"He told us he'd donate something."
Jim pointed toward the manuscript.
"He did not tell us he'd bring the nuclear weapon of charity auction items."
The ballroom roared.
Even Marvin covered part of his face with his hand.
Jim forged ahead.
"Some people donate watches." He held up one finger. "Some people donate paintings." A second finger joined the first. "Some people donate luxury vacations."
A third finger appeared. "Marvin walks in and says, 'Here's one of the most valuable literary manuscripts on Earth. Good luck, everybody.'"
The audience erupted once more.
He did walk to the stage, he did not make a grand speech accompanying the gesture. There was no carefully rehearsed statement, no dramatic display of generosity, and no attempt to draw attention to himself in the moment. Marvin donated the manuscript because Diana was attending the gala with him, and she remained the primary focus of his evening.
That did not mean the donation lacked purpose.
Marvin understood exactly what the headlines would say the following morning. Every newspaper would remind readers that, despite being only thirteen years old, he was already contributing to charitable causes. Every article would reinforce the image of a young prodigy whose success was accompanied by generosity and social responsibility.
****
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