According to Martin's original plan, Princess Haya was merely a bridge—a means to access the UAE royal family.
The idea of "helping the princess gain her freedom" was just an excuse he had devised, inspired by the memories of his other soul, to persuade her to introduce him to her brother, Abdullah.
Once he met Abdullah, Martin could use some minor tricks to extend his network further into the UAE royal family.
In a feudal system where royal authority reigned supreme, securing the support of the royal family would all but guarantee success in claiming the oilfield—a small matter by then.
However, Martin had now changed his mind.
Perhaps... it might be worth expending a little magic to directly convince Haya's brother.
After all, for a succubus, beauty was not something to be wasted.
In the car driving Princess Haya away from the hotel, Leo Sebastian glanced at the rearview mirror.
Several unremarkable Mercedes-Benz sedans were trailing them at a consistent distance.
Unable to suppress his skepticism, Leo said, "Your Highness, do you truly trust that man? I think he's just a fraud. If Abdullah, that selfish tyrant, could be persuaded, you would have been free long ago!"
Haya remained silent for a moment before speaking softly, "I don't know. I have no other choice. He's the first person in years to give me even a glimmer of hope. Besides—"
She recalled Martin's eyes—calm, confident, unwavering.
"There's a kind of unparalleled confidence in him that makes me want to trust him, to rely on him... It's strange. The only person who's ever made me feel this way before was my father."
The thought of a 16-year-old boy giving her a sense of fatherly assurance unsettled Haya, filling her with a mix of curiosity and unease.
Leo frowned deeply, muttering indignantly, "If he's a fraud, I'll make sure he pays dearly for it."
Haya chuckled. "If he deceives me, his oil company will never secure a single drop of oil from this land. I promise you that."
After meeting with Princess Haya, Martin returned to the Corniche Hotel with Gordon.
As soon as they exited the car, they saw Evans Crookes, the CEO of Texas Oil Group, standing at the hotel entrance. It appeared he was waiting for someone.
Upon spotting Martin, Evans gave a smug, condescending smirk.
"Been out networking? Any luck? The Arab world is very different from the West. Your usual tactics won't work here," Evans remarked with an air of superiority.
Sensing the lecturing tone, Martin burst out laughing. He walked forward, and just as Evans assumed Martin would engage him directly—
Martin passed by without even glancing at him.
The best form of disdain is indifference.
Martin understood this principle perfectly.
Evans was visibly irritated. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, a gleaming gold Rolls-Royce pulled up to the hotel entrance.
A driver dressed in a white robe quickly exited, hurrying to open the rear door.
The overpowering stench of alcohol wafted out of the vehicle, causing Evans, who had stepped forward to greet the occupant, to falter. Though his face showed a brief expression of disgust, he quickly masked it with a professional smile as he continued toward the car.
From the backseat emerged a heavily intoxicated man with a bushy beard, supported by the driver. His bleary eyes landed on Evans.
This was none other than Hasfah, the UAE's Minister of Oil and a member of the Dubai royal family.
"Mr. Hasfah, good evening. I'm Evans Crookes, CEO of Texas Oil Group."
Despite his revulsion at Hasfah's overwhelming stench, Evans forced himself to extend a hand, his smile unwavering.
Hasfah lazily returned the handshake, his expression vacant for a moment before he seemed to remember something. "Oh, right. I'm here to meet you."
With a wave of his hand, he began staggering toward the hotel, supported by the driver. "Come on! Did you prepare the good stuff? Let's keep drinking!"
Inside the lobby, Martin and Gordon watched the spectacle unfold—the minister's drunken antics and Evans' barely concealed frustration.
Martin couldn't help but chuckle. Hasfah was nothing more than a peripheral royal member, and his position as Minister of Oil was purely ceremonial. Real decisions about national matters—like the offshore oilfield bidding—were made by the core royal family.
Evans has miscalculated, Martin thought with amusement.
Behind him, Gordon was less amused and more confused. He leaned closer and whispered, "Martin, aren't Arabs supposed to follow Islam? Doesn't the religion forbid drinking?"
(P.S.: According to Islamic teachings, alcohol is considered impure and intoxicating, leading Muslims to abstain from its consumption.)
Martin shook his head. "Indulgence and decadence have long eroded such restrictions. In the Arab world, except for places like Saudi Arabia and Iran, the prohibition on alcohol has been largely relaxed. Even core members of the royal families indulge openly in drinking and revelry."
"Even in Saudi Arabia, high-ranking officials and royals drink in private. Once they're abroad, they indulge without restraint."
Martin's voice grew quieter as he added, "Easy wealth is quickly corrupting the upper echelons of these desert oil nations."
As Martin and Gordon watched Hasfah and Evans enter the elevator, Martin shook his head and headed to his room via the private elevator.
The game was far from over.