Zenith of Desire: The Hollywood Incubus

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******

Immediately after being released, Lindsay’s parents permanently divorced in a public media circus.

But this divorce was not the end of the nightmare.

Ever since Lindsay became a multi-millionaire, her lazy parents never bothered to look for a job. They lived entirely off her blood. Severe alcoholism, promiscuity, and daily drug abuse became normalized in their lives.

What was unforgivable was that they did not hesitate to push their daughter into the fire pit for a quick paycheck.

Her father, desperate for drug money, tried to sell Lindsay’s private diary—which she had written while locked inside a rehabilitation center—to the highest tabloid bidder.

For money, her monstrous mother forced young Lindsay to perform a degrading striptease at a producer’s private birthday party, and began letting her terrified daughter accept roles in highly questionable pornographic movies just to keep the cash flowing.

Under the suffocating influence of her toxic family, Lindsay rapidly degenerated in the public eye. In order to numb herself to the daily pain and exploitation, she became hopelessly addicted to alcohol, cocaine, and prescription drugs.

Although she entered luxury rehabilitation centers many times, she failed to stay clean.

The demons were simply too deep.

As Lindsay’s global star declined, and she earned less money for the parasite family, her toxic parents did not care about their daughter’s health. They continued to work together as ”Lindsay’s managers” even after they divorced.

They sat in the paid interview seats of daytime talk shows, broadcasting Lindsay’s darkest private affairs, exploiting her downfall for an interview check.

Later, as she became addicted to heavy substances, Lindsay’s professional status became notoriously unstable, and her massive studio income decreased. She became uninsurable on a movie set.

Her mother coldly persuaded her desperate daughter to accept a $1 million check from *Playboy* magazine, and shoot a series of explicit nude photos and videos. This final move permanently restricted Lindsay’s legitimate acting career and mainstream development.

She lost the required negotiation qualifications for selecting prestige film resources.

In order to make basic rent money, Lindsay had no choice but to accept everything that came across her desk, and the seedy jobs got worse and worse. There was nothing she could do to stop the bleeding.

For example, in the 2013 erotic thriller *The Canyons*, Lindsay’s daily salary for filming this low-cost indie film was reportedly only $100 a day. A humiliating fall from her $7 million per-picture Disney quotes.

By late 2010, she was so utterly broke that she got involved with Saudi Arabian oil billionaires. In a deeply tragic way, she became a high-class international escort.

It didn’t help her public image that her own father was quoted in vicious tabloid reports, openly stating to the press that Lindsay was *”getting paid to date rich men in the Middle East.”*

According to the reports, these ”dates” lasted for several days on private islands, and the older men would shower her with lavish gifts like diamond jewelry and luxury watches in exchange for her time.

It certainly didn’t help that she began living heavily in Dubai—a city notorious for secretive ”yachting” parties, where famous beautiful women often subject themselves to very degrading sexual acts for wealthy, untouchable men.

Plus, being constantly photographed on yachts, cozied up with older, wealthy men... along with her failed acting career, her mounting legal expenses, and her potential drug habit... the global gossip sites were convinced she was nothing but a high-class hooker. That was how she maintained her lavish lifestyle without booking a single movie.

It was profoundly sad to go from being a universally beloved A-list child star to that degraded situation.

From his memory, Marvin could tell that Marvin from Earth had genuinely liked Lindsay as an actress. But his appreciation was strictly limited to the golden era of *The Parent Trap*, *Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen*, and the peak of the *Mean Girls* period. He had felt very sorry for the tragic, broken Lindsay that emerged subsequently.

At the same time, Marvin clearly saw that the criminal records of Lindsay’s toxic parents were endless. And tragically, so did her own criminal record grow. Lindsay had her name attached to many petty crimes—DUIs, theft, assault, drug possession—but the vast majority involved her constantly violating probation by failing random drug tests, or erratically not showing up to her mandatory court hearings.

Whenever she would get dragged into court, she would get a harsh sentence... and then bail herself out, using money to get out of doing actual jail time, or get out of doing ordered community service. Rinse and repeat that toxic process multiple times per year.

Lindsay, a girl who lacked parental love, would also have a chaotic romantic history in the future. She was dangerously easy to fall in love with anyone who showed her a sliver of affection. She was publicly dumped by both famous men and women, and fell back into a drug scandal every single time to cope with the rejection.

The most humiliating time was when she showed up uninvited to a party hosted by her gay DJ lover, Samantha Ronson. Lindsay was loudly kicked out of the house in public, crying on the sidewalk in front of the blinding paparazzi cameras.

After this horrific incident of being publicly dumped and humiliated, Lindsay’s life collapsed. She entered a career of total failure, and she would never be able to pull herself back to the staggering height of popularity or the massive money she had possessed around the year 2004.

It is truly a very sad destiny.

If he named a girl who had suffered more than she had, it would definitely be Britney.

’Maybe,’ the demon thought to himself, his blue eyes narrowing with a cold, protective intensity as he looked at the fragile twelve-year-old girl sitting in his car. ’Of course, I have to save her. I control her career, and I have the power to reshape her reality just as I orchestrated during Diana’s incident. Transforming the lives of these broken girls will undoubtedly be my greatest accomplishment in this world.’

He let the silence hang in the cabin for a fraction of a second longer, letting his presence anchor her frantic nervous system. He wasn’t going to offer her pity. Pity was cheap. He was going to offer her the one thing her parents had entirely failed to provide: an unshakeable, protective gravity.

”Gordon,” Marvin’s voice rang out, rich and commanding, breaking the quiet of the car.

---

Inside the leather-scented cabin of the Mercedes-Benz, the silence hung heavy and expectant.

The four girls sprawled across the plush seats.

The rhythmic amber glow of Los Angeles streetlights illuminated their faces. They waited for Marvin to make a decision. In that quiet space, the girls’ eyes met in the dim light.

A silent, protective communication passed between them—an unbreakable agreement forged in the crucible of teenage sisterhood. Jessica, Dorothy, and Beyoncé, despite their different backgrounds, arrived at the same conclusion regarding the youngest member of their group.

Lindsay was the one, so is her home.

Marvin missed this silent exchange. He lost himself in a reverie. His memory pulled up the tragic future of Lindsay Lohan. The ghosts of her impending drug addictions, the humiliating arrests, the predatory paparazzi swarms, and the degradation of her soul flashed through his mind. He plotted the destruction of her parasitic parents, mapping out the architecture required to overwrite her doomed reality.

”Well, Marvin? What do you say?” Jessica prompted. She nudged his shoulder, her dark eyes demanding action.

”Well,” Marvin sighed. He snapped out of his reverie, light flaring in his eyes. ”Let’s go to Lindsay’s house.”

He shifted his gaze from Lindsay’s pale face to Gordon’s silhouette in the driver’s seat.

”Gordon,” Marvin ordered, his velvet voice cutting through the hum of the engine. ”Take us to Lindsay’s address first. We will not leave her alone in an empty house tonight.”

”Yes, sir.” Gordon nodded sharply. He shifted the car into gear and accelerated into the night.

”Wow, that’s great! You’re all staying at my house tonight? Sleeping in my room?” Lindsay breathed.

Her voice trembled, breaking her usual chaotic persona. The relief in her tone was heartbreaking. She sounded like a drowning victim thrown a life preserver.

”I have no problem with that,” Jessica said, offering a warm smile.

Jessica’s response was casual, but the mind behind it mattered. Jessica came from a healthy home. She had never been parentified or forced to pay her parents’ rent. Because her foundation was secure, she possessed the emotional bandwidth to accommodate Lindsay’s trauma without being triggered. She offered her stability freely. ”I can sleep anywhere. Even in a bathtub if I have to.”

”That’s fine with me too,” Dorothy added from the corner. She pushed her dark glasses up her nose. Like Jessica, Dorothy remained normal. She offered quiet reliability. ”I brought my toothbrush in my purse anyway.”

”Wait, really?” Lindsay gasped. Her green eyes welled with hot tears of relief. She stared at the older girls as if they had performed a miracle. ”You guys are coming inside?”

”Of course we are coming in, Lindsay,” Beyoncé stated. Her Texas drawl thickened with a fierce, maternal authority.

Beyoncé reached across the seat and squeezed Lindsay’s trembling hand. The contact was electric. Unlike Jessica and Dorothy, Beyoncé carried her own bleeding trauma. She knew what it felt like to be a valuable commodity to her father. She knew the suffocating pressure of conditional love, the exhaustion of the Hollywood machine, and the terrifying fear of not being ”perfect” enough to earn affection.

Beyoncé’s maternal instinct flared. She recognized a fellow hostage.

”We aren’t going to let you sit alone in a dark, empty house after watching Leonardo DiCaprio freeze to death for three hours,” Beyoncé declared, her brown eyes flashing with conviction. ”That is a recipe for depression. We’re having a sleepover. Period.”

Warmth bloomed in Marvin’s chest. Something felt different about the girls’ sudden unity. They built a fortress around each other, an ecosystem of healing that he had catalyzed but they now independently sustained. But he remained too immersed in plotting against the Lohans to overthink it.

”Okay,” Marvin shrugged. He offered a dimpled smirk that instantly lowered the emotional temperature of the car, giving Lindsay permission to breathe. ”I suppose I’ll sleep on the floor.”

”Yes!” Lindsay cheered, pumping a fist into the air. The dark aura of anxiety suffocating her shattered, replaced by the bright energy of a normal teenager.

”Wait... a sleepover with Marvin Meyers?” Jessica laughed. Her dark eyes flashed with wicked mischief, instantly weaponizing her humor to normalize the situation. ”I sincerely hope your parents have a locked liquor cabinet, Lindsay. Because I am certain this boy is a terrible influence on our morals.”

”I am a flawless saint, Ms. Jessica,” Marvin purred innocently. He pressed a hand over his heart, looking offended. ”I am a beacon of moral purity, intellectual grace, and chaste virtue.”

”You are a terrifying, manipulative sociopath with a very nice face,” Dorothy shot back dryly from the corner. She didn’t look up from her lap.

”But we accept your personality flaws. Mostly because you bought the expensive popcorn.”

Lindsay beamed. Her posture transformed from a hunched ball of nerves into a glowing girl.

Although Jessica had initially invited Marvin to the movies, Lindsay had dreaded returning to her house. If not for the miraculous arrival of genuine friends like Jessica, Dorothy, Marvin, and Beyoncé, she would have run away from home tonight. She would have wandered the dark streets of Los Angeles just to avoid the crushing silence of a house where no one loved her unless she held a paycheck.

The Mercedes glided through the dark, winding streets of the Los Angeles hills. It pulled up to the gated driveway of the Lohan residence.

The house sat in total darkness. No warmth radiated from the windows, no welcoming porch light burned for a returning twelve-year-old child, and no sign of parental life stirred inside. It looked like an expensive, empty architectural shell. It looked like a tomb.

Gordon parked the car against the curb and killed the engine.

”Sir, do you need me to stay on the perimeter?” he asked, turning around in the driver’s seat. ”I can sleep in the front seat.”

Marvin waved a dismissive hand. His Incubus senses flared, reading the ambient threat level of the manicured neighborhood. ”No need, Gordon. The private security patrols in this area are top tier. Go home and rest. Come pick us up tomorrow morning before nine.”

”Okay. My phone will stay open,” Gordon nodded. To facilitate constant contact, Marvin had equipped him with a mobile phone—a rare luxury item in the late 90s, usually reserved for Wall Street bankers and cartels.

Watching Gordon’s red taillights disappear down the dark street, Marvin turned to the girls. ”Alright, ladies,” he said. He stepped out of the car and held the door open for them. ”Lead the way into the fortress.”

*****

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