Marilyn Monroe was awakened by the dazzling California sunlight.
Instinctively, she wanted to stretch, but the moment her arm brushed against Emily beside her and the other woman let out a soft moan, Marilyn quickly sat up straight.
That was when she remembered where she was.
Turning her stiff neck, she saw two beautiful, naked bodies entwined together.
And with her sudden movement, the two beside her began to stir awake.
Even after entering Hollywood, Marilyn had always positioned herself as sexy and open-minded. Yet last night's madness was still far beyond what she had ever prepared herself for.
She was also worried—would Evelyn, upon waking up, fly into a jealous rage for sharing Leo with her?
So she slipped out of bed, tiptoeing, hoping to leave before Evelyn woke up.
"Marilyn, where are you going?"
Her plan failed. Evelyn was already awake.
"Ah, I… I'm going to take a bath. We sweated so much last night, and I feel sticky all over."
Marilyn explained awkwardly, glancing at Evelyn, whose head was still resting on Emily's magnificent chest.
"Perfect timing. We're sticky too. Let's go soak in the hot spring together."
Evelyn showed not the slightest embarrassment. She casually pried Emily's legs apart and pulled her own long, glowing-white legs free from Emily's thighs.
That completely woke Emily up.
Still groggy and annoyed, Emily muttered wearily, "You two go. I'm tired. I just want to sleep."
Evelyn didn't push it. She tenderly pinched Emily's slightly chubby, baby-like cheeks before getting out of bed.
At 1.74 meters, her perfect proportions made her look even taller and more statuesque. From her neck to her collarbone, every S-shaped curve seemed flawless in Marilyn's eyes.
For the first time, the ever-confident Marilyn felt inferior about her own beauty.
"You have such a great figure," Marilyn said.
"Yours isn't bad either."
Evelyn strutted over like a catwalk model. While Marilyn was dazedly staring at her body, Evelyn suddenly raised her hand and smacked Marilyn on the rear.
Smack.
"Ah!" Marilyn yelped like a startled fawn, leaping up. She thought Evelyn really had a screw loose.
"Come on, stop spacing out. Let's hit the hot spring!"
Evelyn's natural ease calmed Marilyn somewhat.
Back at last night's battlefield of madness—the steamy hot spring—both women let out satisfied sighs as they sank into the water.
After a while, Evelyn said, "Marilyn, I can tell you're a very smart woman. I can also see the ambition in your eyes. For your hard work last night, I'll tell you something responsibly: your dream is about to come true.
Becoming a superstar may be hard for you on your own, but for me? It's easy. All you need to do is one thing."
"What is it?"
Success meant everything to Marilyn, who had already sacrificed much for it. Her desire was overwhelming.
"Have a child for Leo! Of course, I won't force you. You can become a star first—it'll only take a year or two. I can wait."
Marilyn rolled her eyes. She was now certain—Evelyn was absolutely insane.
"You're a woman too. Why can't you just have one yourself?"
"Of course I will. But Leo's empire will only grow bigger. He'll need many children to ensure at least one heir as extraordinary as him." Evelyn spoke as if it were the most natural thing.
"Right…" Marilyn thought this woman was beyond saving.
"You don't have to agree. If not, I'll give you a sum of money. But you'll have to keep last night a secret. And of course, if you want to be a superstar, you'll have to rely on yourself."
"I'm willing!" Marilyn said immediately.
She wasn't stupid. With such a thick golden thigh right in front of her, not clinging to it would be laughable.
Leo, however, knew nothing of the women's dealings. After a night of indulgence, refreshed and clear-headed, he was out on his manor's golf course hosting California Governor Earl.
Golf was perfect for business talks. After a swing, Leo and Earl strolled across the lawn.
"Earl, you can't be that impatient. Don't worry—I promise Southern Democrat congressmen will switch to the Republican side at the right moment." Leo said.
"I admit, I've been anxious. But since you've given your word, General Eisenhower and Mr. Taft both trust your credibility, as do I," Earl replied.
"So what brings you here this time?" Leo asked.
"Mr. Valentino, you've been making so much money. I wonder if you've thought about charity work?" Earl said.
Leo shot him a knowing look. "Don't you know the largest WWII veterans' welfare organization in America was founded by me? I've donated ten million dollars to it. I'm a famous philanthropist."
"Of course I know. I was even the guest speaker at the opening of the California chapter. What I meant was—besides regular charity, have you considered supporting education?" Earl asked.
"Education? Earl, stop beating around the bush. Just say it."
"Sir, have you heard of Stanford University?" Earl asked.
He asked this way because, at the time, Stanford wasn't yet a top American school.
"Of course I've heard of it. It's not far from my estate."
Leo's heart stirred. In his past life, he had once dreamed of Tsinghua or Peking University but had never even dared dream of Stanford. He already sensed where Earl was going and felt a flicker of excitement.
"Mr. Valentino, would you be interested in becoming a trustee of Stanford University?"
"But I heard the school isn't short on money," Leo replied.
Earl's eyes lit up. Not a rejection—that meant hope. He explained:
"Stanford was indeed wealthy—until my friend Frederick Terman became vice president. He has a PhD in electrical engineering from MIT. After returning to his alma mater, he became director of Stanford's Electrical Engineering Lab, and in 1945, vice president.
He's brilliant—humble, sharp-minded, dazzling. But his vision is too ambitious, his spending too great. Even with President Sterling's support, his new plans faced unanimous resistance from the trustees.
Fortunately, they allowed him to raise his own funds. If he could get all five million dollars from one person, that donor could become a trustee. But he knows mostly fellow researchers—geniuses with no shortage of one or two thousand dollars, but far from the five million he needs.
So he came to me, the only one who might connect him to someone wealthy enough—you."
As Earl spoke, his eyes shone, his gestures animated.
"Is he your family friend, Earl?" Leo asked curiously.
"No, no. I'm his admirer. I once attended one of his lectures in Los Angeles. Honestly, I expected a boring academic talk. Instead, with vivid metaphors and humor, he painted a picture of a possible future.
Mr. Valentino, you might not believe it—he predicted that someday, we'll talk on wireless phones, and tiny machines will do what room-sized supercomputers do today."
Earl chuckled, worried he sounded like a crank. "It may sound funny, but I'm not one to babble nonsense. His predictions feel almost within reach. If you doubt it, perhaps you should meet him yourself."
"Fine," Leo nodded.
Unlike Earl expected, Leo had seen far more outlandish things in his past life. That was why he was intrigued by Frederick—someone who could glimpse the future.
Even if Frederick turned out to be just another conman, five million was still a price worth paying for a Stanford trusteeship.
Earl was thrilled. He rushed off to fetch Frederick, and before long, Leo received the man at his guest villa.
But the meeting wasn't pleasant. Frederick showed not a hint of humility—only arrogance. His greeting was stiff, nothing like the charming figure Earl had described.
Leo's face darkened. He was one of America's few top billionaires. Who dared show him such disrespect?
Earl broke into a cold sweat. He knew Leo's temper. He glared at Frederick: I'm introducing you to a rich patron—don't blow it!
But Frederick's look back said: This nouveau riche? A dropout playing at real estate? What does he know about science or the future?
The two exchanged silent meanings, but Leo, a master of micro-expression, saw right through them. Frederick despised his youth and lack of education.
Normally, such fools ended up at the bottom of the ocean. But Frederick, as an MIT PhD and Stanford VP, might be a true genius. Leo decided to grant a tiny measure of patience.
"Vice President, why don't we sit and talk? Governor Earl praised you highly. You're asking me for five million—are you truly worth it?"
Frederick snorted. "Cheap provocation. Yes, you're America's youngest billionaire. But you're just another philistine who can't see the future. Look at what you do—real estate, banks—games the rich have played for centuries to trap the poor."
He plopped onto the sofa, straightening his collar, as though preparing to lecture Leo.
The talk began stiff, Earl sweating bullets, already planning how to save Frederick's life once Leo snapped.
But to his shock, as the discussion deepened, the two grew animated. Frederick shifted from opposite Leo, to the side sofa, and finally to sitting right beside him, furiously scribbling notes on a napkin.
"You're a genius, Leo! Your ideas—your vision—you must study electrical engineering. You could change the world!" Frederick exclaimed.
When the talk paused, Leo's smile faded. He studied Frederick. He had to admit—Earl hadn't exaggerated. The man had real substance.
They had discussed only one thing—miniaturizing telephones. On the napkin was a crude sketch of a bulky, brick-like mobile phone. Frederick had drawn it entirely on his own, detailing the key breakthroughs needed to make it real.
No need to dump him in the ocean, Leo thought.
Frederick, too, dropped his condescension. Now, he saw Leo as the ideal investor.
Driven by obsession, he grabbed his bag, ready to present his plans. But Leo stopped him.
"Frederick, your eyes are bloodshot. You must've been experimenting yesterday. You're exhausted. Rest first—we'll talk this afternoon."
Frederick agreed and let a servant lead him to a guest room.
Leo chatted briefly with Earl, then returned to the main house to spend time with his children. Putting them down for their nap was his daily ritual at the Valentino estate.
But perhaps from last night's excess, Leo dozed off alongside them.
"I'm going to grab breakfast. Anyone want me to bring food back?"
Another lucid dream. Leo barely blinked. Likely nothing to gain this time.
Through his past self's eyes, he saw he was back in his university dorm.
At his second-rate college, life had been all about playing games till dawn. Books untouched, nights sleepless.
The voice belonged to the dorm leader, the only studious one, who later made it into a little-known graduate school.
And what was Leo doing? Using the dorm rich kid's computer, obsessively playing the old turn-based game Westward Journey.
Suddenly, a cheap pop-up ad appeared in the corner. He instinctively closed it in a second—he'd closed dozens in a night.
But his eyes widened.
That ad had shown several book covers.
One title burned into his memory:
"Father of Silicon Valley: Frederick Terman."