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"Baby, push!"

Now I know why Hollywood stars love buying detached houses. The noise is so loud that anyone too close could call the police. People who don't know the situation might think a murder has occurred.

An hour later, the panting in the room gradually subsided, and Ernst walked into the bathroom with a satisfied look on his face, at least proving that he was alright.

Young people don't know the value of married women and mistakenly take young girls for treasures.

Are those underage girls who haven't fully grown up really that good? I don't know why that scumbag in the original body liked to choose such targets so much.

In Ernst's memory, only two of his girlfriends were over twenty-five years old, including his current girlfriend, Naomi Watts.

After a quick rinse, Ernst emerged with water droplets clinging to his body, glistening under the lights.

On the bed, Watts was still lying there lazily, the curve of her buttocks so exaggerated that it made one want to commit a crime.

You look a little different today.

Ernst paused for a moment. According to his memory, he had slept with the other party no more than five times. Could it be that the other party had discovered something?

"What's different?" Ernst asked nervously.

"You are very excited, extremely excited."

Standing by the bed, with the mammoth facing him, Ernst didn't see anything wrong with it. "Shouldn't it be normal? If he could remain calm in front of you right now, he wouldn't be a man."

Naomi Watts gave Ernst a serious look, then sat up with difficulty. "It seems that Jessica's matter has changed you a lot. Before, you were always excited during foreplay, but the main act was rushed. But today, your foreplay was clearly not passionate enough; I didn't even feel that piercing pain."

What a freak! He made Ernst see Hollywood all over again.

No wonder they say hell is empty, and demons are on earth.

How could someone write such a script without experiencing it firsthand?

Then Ernst remembered Jessica. Wasn't the bitch who sued him Jessica Alba?

"Maybe," Ernst replied dismissively.

There are no secrets in Hollywood. Less than 24 hours after I entered the police station, Naomi Watts knew everything that had happened.

Ernst also wanted to use the other party to convey his changes in taste.

After all, he wasn't the original owner of this body, so he wasn't that interested in flower buds; he didn't like them if they were too small.

And then there are those perverse hobbies, some of which are truly unacceptable.

Naomi Watts didn't dwell on it. She found a comfortable spot on the bed and held up two fingers.

"What do you mean?"

Naomi was stunned again, staring at Ernst with an incredulous expression.

"Are you really Ernst? Didn't you used to have one after every time?"

Familiar memories flooded back, and Ernst pointed to the headboard, "Take it yourself. I have something to do, so I won't sleep with you tonight."

Ernst dared not linger any longer. Women were too calculating, especially those in the entertainment industry. He feared he would reveal too many flaws and needed to familiarize himself with the original owner's consciousness as soon as possible.

Ernst, who had been busy all night in his study, was woken up by Craig's doorbell.

"FXXK, you've become someone of high status, why are you still acting like a beast of burden? This habit is not good."

Omna Watts left at some point, leaving the rooms in a mess, both the master bedroom and the living room.

Craig seemed used to it, tossing the sticky props off the sofa aside and curling up in it with his chubby body.

"Ernst, you should calm down and start writing. You know you only have less than four months left on your contract with the publisher."

"You must release your next work before October 1st, or you will have to pay an exorbitant penalty for breach of contract."

His first book made it onto the bestseller list, and Ernst was hailed as a rising star.

Otherwise, why would so many Hollywood women be so eager to date him? It's all about investing in potential future adaptations and roles.

Of course, the most important person is his father, who wields immense power at MGM.

Because of his talent and connections in Hollywood, the publisher signed a five-year, three-film contract with him, with a signing bonus of $120 million, payable in five installments.

October 1st was the latest deadline agreed upon by both parties for the delivery of the first work. Ernst had to produce the first work for review and publication before then, or he would have to pay five times the signing fee he had received.

This is the second year, and the second signing fee of $24 has already been deposited into Ernst's bank account.

If the contract cannot be fulfilled, the publisher will have to pay $240 million in damages.

"I'm already preparing, and I'll start writing soon."

Ernst's words were met with Craig's resentment: "You said the same thing to me half a month ago, and then what? You almost caused a death; that girl was strangled to death by you."

"You said the same thing ten days ago, and what happened? You took that little bitch to Washington state, and yesterday you even ended up in the police station."

Craig picked out a pair of ripped fishnet stockings, which Ernst recognized as the ones Naomi Watts had worn the day before.

"Now, do you think I'd believe that? I think we should find a rural area, away from this glamorous world."

Craig kept rambling on and on, showing no sign of stopping. Ernst really couldn't understand why he had chosen such an agent in the first place.

With his head buzzing, Ernst pressed his temples, which felt like they were about to explode, and said impatiently, "Alright, I know what to do. Now tell me what you found out. Don't tell me you didn't find out anything."

Craig pouted in dissatisfaction. "That's an insult to me. Have you forgotten what I used to do? No information in Hollywood can escape my grasp. Otherwise, how could I have found so many girls with dreams for you?"

Before Ernst, Craig was one of the more well-known paparazzi in Hollywood.

His fame doesn't stem from discovering major news, but from his adept social skills.

Many reporters who discover big news and want to find clues to prove their case will come to him. He always manages to give them a satisfactory answer by relying on his powerful connections, making him a middleman among paparazzi.

"Alright, enough nonsense, just tell me the result."

"It's Koklian."

"MGM?" Ernst immediately grasped the key point.

Cochrane, the tycoon who made a fortune by repeatedly joining and leaving MGM, was actually setting a trap for himself.

In 1969, Cochrane acquired a 40% stake in MGM and then used the MGM brand to enter the hotel and casino industries.

In 1986, the other party sold MGM to Tyler Turner of Warner, but quickly bought it back at a low price.

In 1992, Coccrian sold MGM again to an Italian consortium.

Even the Italian consortium couldn't save this former Hollywood giant. The two sides reached an agreement, and Cochrane planned to take over MGM again. They even agreed on a price of $13 billion.

But no one expected that this deal would encounter a stumbling block: Ernst, who had inherited his father's shares.

Ernst knew that Cockley was incapable of running MGM well, but he hoped MGM would thrive. For no other reason than that if MGM prospered, he could potentially expand his hunting grounds to higher circles.

With Ernst holding only a small number of shares, theoretically, only the approval of two-thirds of the shareholders is needed to pass major company decisions, so his opinion is completely unimportant.

However, in practice, it's not like that at all, because there's a process for acquisitions that requires confirmation from all shareholders, including facial recognition and signatures.

Ernst refused to sign, so the shareholding change could not be completed.

"Korkrian," Ernst muttered, a fierce glint flashing across his face.

He was originally going to enter the media industry, and he initially looked down on MGM, but now, Ernst was not going to let them have their way so easily.