Reborn: I Refused to Be the Side

Caleb seemed to spot Shane and me, shot me a dismissive look, then turned back to Sophie. "Sophie, you decide—whose car do you want to go in?

I'm not forcing you. I'll go with whatever you choose."

Ethan, not wanting to be outdone, quickly added, "Sophie, I'll go with whatever you pick, too."

Sophie hovered between them for a long beat without deciding.

If you didn't know better, you'd think she was picking a husband.

I was getting impatient when Sophie suddenly turned to me. "Lily!"

A bad feeling prickled. "…What?"

"Lily, you decide. I'll ride with you!"

Classic female lead move—so slick, pulling trouble toward someone else.

Ethan and Caleb both shot me icy, threatening looks. I quietly tugged Shane's sleeve. "Sorry, I was planning to take a cab with Vivienne."

Sophie hurried, "Then I'll take a cab with you."

"Grace!" Caleb glared at me. "Are you crazy? You always refuse rides. Fine, don't ride, but why are you dragging Sophie into it?"

You again?

You think I'm easy to push around?

I was about to roll up my sleeves when Shane—who had Vivienne draped over him—suddenly grabbed me and pulled me into his arms. Then, casually, he slung his arm across my shoulders and said, cool as a winter night, "Lily's coming with me. What's it to you? Besides, I'm a top actress. I have money. I like taking cabs. Got a problem with that?"

He'd yanked me so fast I stumbled, bumped my back into his chest, and oddly, it didn't hurt.

A sharp, cool scent washed over me, spinning lightheadedness that I couldn't explain.

Only one thought remained in my head.

Her chest… is so big.

So soft.

Mom, I love beautiful women.

I was floating on air when Shane made a muffled noise behind me.

I whispered, "You okay, bro?"

He ground his teeth. "Sis, your back bonked into my chest. It hurts."

I straightened up quick and turned to rub his chest, but his hand shot out and pinned mine. "Greta, what do you think you're doing?"

Busted. I sheepishly pulled my hand back, and when I turned I saw Caleb standing there, staring at us with eyes like knives.

"Hah… top actress?"

Caleb sneered. "Vivienne Shaw—maybe you've been up there so long you've forgotten how you got there in the first place. If Director Rowe hadn't pulled some strings for you, with your acting that day, how on earth would you have gotten the role of Princess Changping?"

That line had clearly been simmering in his chest for a while; when he said it, his emotion leaked through. He glanced at Sophie as he spoke.

The implication was obvious: Vivienne—no, Shane—had stolen the female lead role, leaving Sophie with the supporting part of the brothel singer, cutting down the scenes they shared. How Vivienne originally climbed to that position—supposedly with backstage maneuvering—was something I didn't know.

Shane met Caleb's barbs with a nod of agreement. "Exactly. I think Director Rowe fixed things. Otherwise, with his 'count to three and let the dubbing cover it' line delivery, how did Mr. Brooks get cast as the male lead without an audition?"

Shane and I were basically sisters by choice—he dug right into Caleb's sore spots when they sparred.

True enough, Caleb's face drained of color, and he sputtered no comeback. He seemed pretty aware of his own limits as an actor.

Come to think of it, Caleb's story was a bit of a legend in the original: he studied a minor language, was scouted his first semester, signed as a trainee, dropped out to join a talent show and exploded in popularity halfway through. He debuted in the center position after a freakish spike in votes. After that, he didn't work on his stagecraft much—then the agency steered him toward acting, where his skills worsened with each project and ratings dipped. Yet thanks to fangirls, he still managed to snag a few awards—awards that were mercilessly mocked online.

The tension ratcheted up and Sophie tried to calm things. "Caleb, Vivienne, please stop fighting. Lily, tell Vivienne. Caleb, let's just go to the banquet so Director Rowe doesn't get upset."

She stepped aside and whispered to Ethan, pleading with him with her eyes.

Ethan gave Caleb a long-suffering look, patted Sophie's head, and said, "Sophie, you're always so considerate. Fine. I won't make this hard—I'll go back for now. If that Brooks guy bullies you, come find me."

Sophie nodded fast. Then she added, "You don't have to worry, Ethan. Caleb treats me well. He won't bully me."

Ethan sulked as he left. Sophie bit her lip and tugged at Caleb's sleeve. "Caleb, let's go."

Shane snorted and hooked his shoulder under mine. "We're leaving, too."

Once we were in the car I suddenly remembered and asked, "Wait—aren't you a top actress now? Why are you taking a cab? Where's your agent, your assistant, your company car?"

Shane said, "Because yesterday I beat up Vivienne's gold-digger benefactor. Now the studio's negotiating with me.

Don't talk about agents or assistants—today my makeup artist is just one of the extras from the crew."

?

Me: "What? Gold-digger benefactor?"

Shane: "When Vivienne first started acting, a wealthy second-generation guy took a shine to her. She played him, used his connections to get roles and ads, and by looks and craft she climbed up to the top.

But they never had any real relationship. The guy got impatient and wanted to get hands-on yesterday—tried something inappropriate. I threw him in a shoulder throw and broke a bone."

"…"

I looked at Shane and praised him with total sincerity. "Bro, you're insane—in a good way."

When Shane and I arrived at the hotel, most of the crew had already gathered.

After Shane showed where he wanted to sit, a member of the crew glanced at me awkwardly, probably thinking I was a stranger. "Ma'am, who are you with?"

"I'm Vivienne's assistant," I said.

He brightened and pointed to a corner table. "Assistants and managers sit over there."

I glanced at the lonely corner and was about to head over when Shane yanked me and planted me beside him. Then he looked up at the crew member with a warm smile. "You don't get it. She may look like my assistant, but she's my sister. My sister sits by me. No other seats."

The crew member stammered, "…Okay, Miss Carter."

I finished two cans of cola at my seat, and Sophie and Caleb finally arrived—escorted by Marcus Lang, who looked serious.

In the original, Marcus was one of the drama's investors, so he attended the kickoff banquet. Watching the male lead, female lead, and second lead take the seats at our table, I couldn't help but click my tongue.

Shane asked what was up. I said, "Who knew the battlefield had a sequel."

Sophie sat right next to Shane, then Marcus, and Caleb sat beside me.

No sooner had he sat than Caleb turned to me with a cold face. "Lily, are you even part of this crew? How can you sit at this table?"

Shane said flatly, "Lily and I are half-sisters. I put her here. Any problem?"

Caleb sneered, "Do you have that authority?"

"Director didn't say anything. So what's it to you? Did you pay for this banquet? Is this your table?" Shane snapped. "Mind your own business."

"You—" Caleb was about to explode, but when he looked across at Marcus Lang, he swallowed his anger and sat down.

As the male lead, Marcus carried an icy reputation and a stack of prestige—his A-list actor status made Caleb, whose popularity was mostly surface-level, look small by comparison.

Still, because Caleb had rebuffed Vivienne's public confession earlier, whenever Marcus looked at Shane his gaze carried a trace of arrogance. But when Marcus glanced at Sophie, his expression softened in an instant.

I slipped a lamb chop onto my plate and leaned over to Shane. "The A-list actor still thinks you like him. Look at the way he looked at you—like you owe him money."

At those words, Lily looked up at Marcus, and their gazes met.

He furrowed his brow, a look of thinly veiled disgust on his face. Coldly he said, “Vivienne, now that you’ve accepted the role of Princess Changping, act the part. Don’t disappoint Director Rowe’s expectations.”

Lily: “Oh.”

The A-list actor’s face darkened further.

I leaned in, trying to be helpful. “Why don’t you go give him a punch to show you don’t like his attitude anymore?”

Lily: “Shut up and eat your food.”

In the original, Vivienne noticed Marcus’s unusual attention to Sophie at this kick-off banquet. With Caleb constantly defending Sophie, Vivienne’s jealousy flared — she splashed wine in Sophie’s face and purposely got her drunk, planning to have investor Leonard take Sophie away.

But Marcus had already set a counter-trap: he had Vivienne and the drugged Leonard locked in a room, and he took the drunken Sophie away himself.

That scene is crucial — it’s when Vivienne starts to turn truly dark — so I whispered back at Lily in a hushed tone, “When it’s almost over, if you see Caleb take a call and walk away, grab an excuse and leave too. And whatever you do, don’t make things hard for Sophie.”

Lily lowered her voice as well. “Why would I make things hard for the female lead? I avoid her whenever I can. If the director hadn’t put her next to me, I’d stand twenty meters away.”

We had barely finished our whispered exchange when Director Rowe, who’d been laughing with Marcus, turned to Lily. “There’s no misunderstanding that can’t be solved. I’m sure Vivienne only admires Mr. Lang’s acting. Vivienne, raise a glass to Mr. Lang and let this be past.”

Lily was more than willing. She filled a glass to the brim and stood, about to toast Marcus — then her hand slipped and the entire cup poured straight down onto Sophie’s head.

I: “…”

I was dumbstruck. So was Lily.

Sophie cried out — part shock, part bewilderment, part wounded — then lifted her head, lashes dripping, eyes like a frightened fawn. “Sister Vivienne…”

Lily’s mouth twitched. “Friend, calm down. I can explain—”

Caleb snapped to his feet. “What are you doing?!”

Marcus’s face was stone. He took two tissues with a slow, precise motion and gently wiped the wine from Sophie’s face. Then he looked at Lily and spoke each syllable slowly: “Vi-vien-ne.”

The top actor’s eyes were icily murderous. I’d been about to jump in, but remembering how ruthless his character plays in the source, I quietly shrank behind Lily and jabbed his back with my elbow. “Buddy, good luck.”

Lily’s eyelids twitched. “Hannah, aren’t you going to be loyal?”

Before I could answer, Sophie’s soft voice pleaded, “Mr. Lang, please don’t blame Sister Vivienne. I know she didn’t mean it…”

“Yes, yes, friend, soulmate, you know me so well!” Lily put on a show of contrition, looking positively moved. “My hand just slipped. I never intended to target you!”

Marcus glanced at Sophie. The look was complicated — part admiration, part pity, and a thread of frustrated anger.

He spoke in an even, cold voice: “I know you’re kindhearted, but sometimes your desire to smooth things over only emboldens others. Once you’re in this circle, don’t keep pretending innocence.”

Ugh, the patronizing, fatherly lecture. If I were Sophie I’d slap him.

Sophie bit her lip and shook her head at Marcus anyway. “No, Mr. Lang. I believe people are basically good. I have no grudge with Sister Vivienne. She wouldn’t do this on purpose.”

“No grudge?” Marcus snorted. “She had no grudge against Song Xin’er either — until three months ago when she slapped her half a dozen times on set. No grudge with Xiao Xiao? They were close friends, yet she deliberately smeared her on variety shows. This woman is vicious by nature and a professional at acting innocence. If you think she’s innocent, you’ve been fooled.”

He even looked at me as he said it.

Why look at me? Is he thinking I was fooled too?

I whispered to Lily, “Did you do all these awful things?”

“Been here only half a month. That was the original girl,” Lily said. Then she looked up at Marcus. “Mr. Lang, why are you so fixated on me? You even remember who I splashed on variety shows. Do you like me?”

Marcus: “?”

Me: “…”

He took a breath, irritation flashing across his face. “Vivienne, have you no shame?”

Lily: “Nope, I don’t. Thanks.”

His tone clearly set Marcus off. The atmosphere tightened until Director Rowe stepped in to defuse things. “Alright, everyone — tonight’s the crew’s kick-off. Let’s all back down a bit. Vivienne, give Mr. Lang and Miss Sophie each another toast to show you apologize sincerely. Mr. Lang, it’s the first day of production…”

He sounded almost pleading, not like the lofty director he usually is. Marcus’s star power is real.

Marcus said coldly, “I want to hear a sincere apology.”

Sincere? That’s easy. After all, Lily used to be a software engineer before being transmigrated in — which modern programmer doesn’t know how to apologize?

After the apology, Sophie got up to freshen herself in the restroom. Lily and I were about to keep eating when Lily’s phone rang.

The banquet was winding down.

Lily glanced at the caller ID; her expression changed slightly. “It’s my manager.”

“Why is she calling?”

“Probably some company game again.” Lily stood, patted my shoulder. “You eat. I’ll step out and take it.”

I nodded. Lily left with her phone, and I reached for a piece of pan-seared salmon when Caleb sneered at me from beside my seat. “You freeloading guest — you eat more than anyone.”

I didn’t look up. “If you don’t like it, eat more yourself.”

He was momentarily taken aback, then jabbed at me. “Lily, you have no conscience. Sophie treats you so well and you collude with the woman who stole her role…”

Smack.

I slammed my chopsticks on the table. Caleb jumped. “What are you doing?! Want to start a fight?”

“Be right back.” I didn’t wait for him. I’d seen Marcus follow Lily out the door.

This matches the original scene.

Sophie was lightheaded from the alcohol — just a few drinks got to her. After Vivienne splashed wine on her, she stumbled out to sort herself when Lily went out to take her call and saw Sophie. Lily took the drunken Sophie upstairs to a room.

Then Lily drugged another investor, Leonard, planning to bring him into that room so he’d be the one found with Sophie. But Marcus saw Vivienne take Sophie. The moment Vivienne left, Marcus went in and carried Sophie away.

When Vivienne finally got Leonard into the room, the door was locked from the outside.

Marcus was ruthless.

I ran down the corridor and turned right on instinct.

At the end, Marcus had Sophie cradled against him, her face flushed from the booze. Lily was propping herself against him with a stunned expression. A shattered phone lay on the floor, its rhinestones and stickers matching Lily’s style.

I opened my mouth to speak when a surprised male voice came from behind: “What are you all doing here?”

It was Caleb.

The tiny bathroom doorway somehow held all four main players — male lead, female lead, second male, and antagonist. If the restroom had been sentient, it probably would’ve passed the time with some popcorn.

Silence hung heavy. I asked Lily first, “What happened?”

She looked at Marcus, then explained between clenched lips, “I stepped out to take my manager’s call. I’d barely said anything when the male lead — the A-list actor — rushed over and slapped my phone out of my hand. When I looked back, Sophie was leaning against the wall, dizzy.”

I looked at Marcus.

He’d gently supported the flushed, drunken Sophie against his chest, then turned cold-eyed to Vivienne. “You said some vicious things. Don’t you know what you did?”

Lily ignored him and told me, “My manager called about that rich kid with the hurt arm at the hospital. She wanted me to go see him. I told her off. I said if he’s that thirsty I’ll introduce him to a man. I didn’t even get to say the word ‘man’ before my phone was smashed.”

Ah. A misunderstanding. But one that’s awfully convenient.

Marcus didn’t answer us. Sophie murmured, sleepy and soft, “Mmm… so warm…”

The actor’s whole body changed.

Then he looked to Caleb. “I’m taking her with me.”

It was a statement, not a question.

Caleb, furious, objected: “On what grounds? Sophie is my sister. Even if she’s drunk, I should be the one to take her home.”

Marcus’s voice was icy. “Because you didn’t protect her. She’s suffered too much harm already.”

That line landed like a punch. Caleb froze.

Marcus picked Sophie up in his arms. Her head rested on his chest. He bent his head; his eyes shone with tenderness. Then he left with her.

Lily told me, “I have to go back to the company. Tonight my manager, the boss, and that injured rich kid might grill me.”

“Want me to go with you?”

She shook her head and smiled. “How would you even come as my plus-one? Just get some rest. Filming starts the day after tomorrow — you’ll have to be there.”

I bit my fingers, silently swooning — Vivienne’s smile really was stunning.

Lily patted my shoulder, picked up the shattered phone, and left.

Before he left he reminded me several times: when you take a taxi, remember to note the plate number, and text me once you're in the car.

I glanced at the phone in his hand. "Your phone got smashed by Marcus. How am I supposed to text you?"

Ethan sighed and, with genuine exasperation, muttered, "You idiot."

Of course he wasn't cursing me.

Finally he said, "If anything happens, call Sophie. The A-list actor's with her—he won't ignore you."

I nodded. I watched Ethan's figure disappear into the elevator, turned to leave, and jumped when Caleb was still standing behind me. "You're sneaky."

Caleb's mouth twitched. He actually said, "I'll walk you back."

Me: "?"

"Bro, you got the wrong person, right?"

I stared at him in disbelief. "I'm Lily Carter, not Sophie Wells."

"I know.

I'm doing this for Sophie, not you."

Caleb sounded impatient. "This hotel is kind of out of the way and it's late. You're a girl—it's not safe to go back alone."

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

I tested him: "Caleb, are you really Caleb Brooks?"

You didn't also transmigrate, did you?

"If I'm not, are you?"

Caleb's tone got more annoyed. "Just drive. My manager called me, I have to go back to the studio."

Even as we climbed into Caleb's flashy Ferrari and drove toward home, one question kept nagging me: what could make this secondary male lead, who only ever had eyes for Sophie, suddenly flip?

Maybe Ethan's speech earlier made him realize he's actually a man?

No answer. My thoughts wandered back to Ethan: how did his drink end up spilled on Sophie's head?

Could the plot really be forcing events to follow the original book, unchangeable?

I casually asked Caleb, "Did you see the other investor, Lewis Grant, when you came out?"

"You, an irrelevant person, sure know our production's investors intimately," Caleb scoffed, but he still answered. "I glanced. He seemed wasted—went upstairs to get a room to sleep."

Wrong… wrong!

My chest dropped. If the original plot wouldn't let us deviate, leaving a drunk Ethan alone would be leaving him in danger.

He's a man, yes, but right now in this book it's Sophie's body he's using.

I couldn't sit still. "Turn back. Drive back to the hotel, now!"

"Why? Are you crazy, Lily?"

This ungrateful jerk didn't slow—he sped up.

"Sophie took the elevator up. Lewis is upstairs. He's the sort who abuses power and likes taking advantage. I'm worried she'll get hurt!"

I said urgently, "Turn now, or I'll jump out!"

Caleb slammed the brakes, turned and frowned at me. "Lily, if I remember, you're friends with Sophie, right? She always causes trouble for Su—Sophie gets bullied and loses roles. Why are you defending her? And I heard she might be screwing some rich guy—maybe she wanted it—"

I slapped him.

He gaped at me; if not for the seatbelt, he would've nearly jumped out. "Lily, what the hell?!"

"What does whether I'm friends with Sophie—or with Su—have to do with this?" I said coldly.

This was the first time since transmigrating that I'd really been angry. "A girl's possibly about to be violated. I guessed that possibility, so I'm going to save her. Even if she's a stranger, I'll save her. Understand, idiot?"

Caleb kept staring, so I lost patience and yanked open the door to get out.

Just as I swung my leg over, Caleb's voice: "Don't be impulsive. I'll drive back, okay?"

I shut the door and glared at him. "Hurry."

He gritted his teeth and stomped the gas. I realized he was a bully who feared pushback: in the original, Lily is meek and he bullied her mercilessly; now that I stood up to him, he obediently complied. Damn masochist.

Half an hour later, his car pulled up under the hotel again.

He'd barely stopped when I threw the door open and dashed upstairs. Caleb shouted after me, "Lily, slow down!"

I ignored him and sprinted to the elevators.

The doors opened just as I arrived. I dove in, but froze as I hit the floor buttons.

God… I didn't know which floor Lewis's room was on. The original book never mentioned it!

While I stood dumbfounded, Caleb had parked and come in. Seeing me hesitate at the elevator panel, a smug look slid across his face. "See? You ran here fast but don't even know the floor."

He pressed "8" and we rode up together.

As soon as the elevator stopped, I bolted out.

Thick, plush red carpet muffled my steps. Two paces in, I stopped dead.

By some green planter against the wall, a woman slumped, leaning on the corridor, head back, eyes closed, breathing hard.

Her dress's neckline had been ripped open; huge swaths of pale skin showed bruises and blood.

Her hand hung limp at her side; blood had pooled and dripped in slow drops to the floor.

"Ethan… Ethan!"

For two stunned seconds I crawled to her and gently grabbed Ethan's hand. Only then did I see the deep, jagged cut along his slender arm—some sharp tool had torn it wide, the flesh peeled back, and blood was pouring out.

I was so scared I nearly cried. I wanted to drag him to the hospital but worried any movement would worsen the bleeding—so I froze.

He heard my voice and opened his eyes. Long lashes shadowed most of the light in his gaze.

"…Greer Hayes."

He seemed to breathe out like a weight was lifted, his body going slack as he folded into me. In a hushed voice at my ear he said, "I've already risked myself to test it—the world's storyline actually forces every accident to correct itself, pushing us to follow the original."

My heart sank, but this wasn’t the time to debate. I steadied Ethan and asked, "Weren't you supposed to meet your manager and that rich kid? How did you wind up here?"

He wheezed twice; I said urgently, "Enough. We'll get you to a hospital."

"I'm fine."

He laughed softly—Sophie's voice carried a twisted, lingering tenderness that startled me. Warm breath, the smell of blood mingled with a faint perfume. My face burned.

"The other person inside is probably worse off than me," he said.

He told me that after we parted, he'd taken the elevator without noticing it was going up. At the eighth floor two suited men stepped in.

Before he could react, they glanced at one another, covered his mouth, and dragged him out—straight into Lewis Grant's room.

"Lewis was drunk, but he wasn't weak. When I struggled I grabbed a glass and smashed it over his head. He turned and sliced my arm with broken porcelain."

I looked at the wound—maybe from blood loss the torn skin had paled and the flesh was curling, blood starting to clot in his palm.

He touched my hair. "Why that look? Don't worry. I kicked that guy in the balls and smashed a cigarette ashtray over him—he's out cold on the floor now."

Before I could reply, Caleb blurted, "Sophie Wells, you knocked the investor out?!"

"Yeah."

"That's the investor! You want to get fired?"

Caleb's expression shifted. Finally he said to me, "Lily, you take Sophie to the hospital. I'll call my manager to come handle PR."

"Handle PR how?" I asked.

Caleb answered with action. He pulled out his phone, dialed, and told the person on the other end, "Jing, you free? Can you get to the Kate Hotel? Yeah… I ran into trouble. Uh… I accidentally knocked out the investor."

He hung up quickly before his manager could blow up, then met my incredulous stare.

"You still claim you didn't transmigrate!" I said.

"Transmigrate my ass," Caleb snapped. "I'm just afraid if this doesn't get solved the shoot stops, okay? Don't you get it—Sophie's company is already planning to shelve her. If she gets blamed for assaulting an investor, she's done. If this project stops, how am I supposed to act opposite Sophie and build chemistry?"

I blinked. "Dude—if Sophie angers the investor and gets shelved, wouldn't Sophie Wells step up to lead and become the female lead opposite you?"

Caleb froze. "…You're right. Why didn't I think of that?"

I said nothing.

Caleb hesitated to call his manager off, but before he could, Jing arrived. She must be used to cleaning up his messes—her crisis response was fast and practiced.

Jing came straight up to him. "Where is he?"

Caleb pointed toward the room. "Out—out cold inside."

"On the bed?"

"Uh, on the floor."

Jing inhaled deeply, trying to restrain her anger. "What happened?"

Caleb was speechless. I quickly filled in, "Hero saves damsel."

Right then Jing turned to me, gaze sharp as a blade. "Who are you?"

"I'm Sophie's assistant—Lily Carter."

My mouth opened, brain racing; I blurted a hasty lie. "At the opening ceremony Mr. Brooks took a shine to Sophie. At the wrap party he made a point to look after Ms. Wells. He even told me to take care of her and to tell him if anything happened—don't hesitate."

"I never expected that after the kickoff banquet Miss Shaw got drunk and some investor brought her here.

I hurried to find Mr. Brooks. The moment he heard, he came straight over. He pushed the door open and saw the investor making a move on Miss Shaw.

So he grabbed an ashtray and knocked the investor out, then rescued Miss Shaw."

At first I stumbled a bit over the lie, but by the end it flowed smoothly. I looked at Caleb with fake admiration, voice soft and moved: "Don't worry, Mr. Brooks. Miss Shaw will definitely be touched by your heroics.

If you keep trying, you might actually win her heart."

Caleb gaped. "Lily, you really—"

"Make things up."

He swallowed the last word because a cold flash of threat glinted in my eyes.

Reluctantly Caleb said to Director Rowe, "Yes, that's how it happened."

Director Rowe took a deep breath, then another, glanced at Shen Lang—who was nearly unconscious from blood loss—and, expressionless, told Caleb: "I'll handle things here. You and this assistant—Lily, what's her last name—take Miss Shaw to the hospital. Don't let this turn into a casualty.

I'll call the studio and have someone wait downstairs at the hospital so you don't have to go in. And whatever you do, don't get photographed by reporters."

Caleb helped get Shen Lang into his car and they sped to the hospital.

I sat in the back, careful as I let Shen Lang rest his head on my lap, shielding his face with my hand.

He opened his eyes with difficulty and looked at me.

From that angle his eyes slanted up slightly at the corners. His skin was pale as snow, drained of color, his gaze foggy and soft—like some fragile little animal. His hair fell long and silky against my fingers.

I touched his cheek and asked quietly, "What do you want to say?"

Shen Lang breathed twice, his chest rising and falling hard, then he murmured to me, "Vivienne Shaw… being a woman is really not easy."

Shen Lang stayed in the hospital three days.

In that time he bought a new phone, but his agency never contacted him—like they'd completely forgotten he existed.

On the fourth day he couldn't stay any longer because Director Rowe turned up every day, sitting by his bedside nagging, "Vivienne, you're the female lead. If you don't come to set, the funds burn away and we can't keep shooting."

Shen Lang's mouth twitched. He turned and looked at me.

I put on my most sincere face. "Director, don't worry. Miss Shaw's wounds are healed. She said she'll be discharged tomorrow and return to the crew."

Shen Lang: "?"

Satisfied, Director Rowe sprang back to life, stood and said, "Then Vivienne, rest well. See you tomorrow," and left briskly.

Shen Lang turned to me, teeth clenched, "Vivienne—"

I grabbed an apple from the bedside table and started peeling. "Stop pretending, man. The doctors say it's just surface injuries. Change your dressing once a day and wait for it to heal.

If you're dragging your feet because you don't want to go back to work, is that it?"

He froze. "…Yes."

I laughed. "Hahahahaha."

I already had a sense of Shen Lang's acting from the audition. With his level of skill, forget getting a Best Actress trophy like in the original novel—if you tossed him into a crowd of extras, not even offering pay would find a director willing to take him.

Shen Lang took the half-peeled apple and bit. With a sigh he said, "What should I do? Maybe I'll tell the agency I'm retiring. Quitting showbiz."

"That's useless."

I kept chewing. "You've tried that before. No matter what we do, the original plot won't change.

Maybe if you announced retirement today, some event drags you back tomorrow and you lose everything."

At that thought a new suspicion popped into my head. If the original plot is immutable, maybe once it runs its course and reaches its ending, we'll be able to return.

Do we just have to follow the plot to the end? Do we have to accept it?

No. I don't want to end up like the Lily in the book—burned and disfigured.

And if I die and find out I can't go back, that's even worse.

I hurriedly asked Shen Lang, "Hey, do you remember how the original ends? I stopped reading in a rage when Lily was bought off with money by Marcus Lang. I don't know what happens after."

"What a coincidence," he said. "I only read until Vivienne Shaw was thrown in jail."

We stared at each other. A ridiculous but plausible idea popped into our heads. "Could it be that we only saw Lily's and Vivienne's endings, so we ended up in their bodies?"

"That's it?!"

Shen Lang's face lit up with sudden realization and then regret. "If I'd known, I would have read straight to the end. One chance to transmigrate and I end up in a character who isn't the adored heroine. What a waste."

"…"

We let that theory rest. I steered us back to practical matters. "Fine. Since we can't avoid it, go back and shoot. Use all your tricks to fool the producers and clients. Act your heart out. Maybe you'll actually get that Best Actress award.

In real life we're cubicle drones pulling 9-to-9 jobs for lousy pay. Everyone dreams of being an actor who can film a project and earn millions…"

"I don't want that."

Shen Lang said, "Before I transmigrated my annual income was already over a million."

"Shut up, humblebrag."

The next day Shen Lang checked out and returned to set. Before he left, he surprised me by offering to hire me as his assistant—on a salary I couldn't refuse.

I was about to think it over when he reached up and ruffled my hair, smiling. "Come on, Vivienne. We transmigrated—you still want to go back to being a cubicle drone?

Try a different life."

As he touched my head a cool, woody scent swept over me, like spring opening up. More than that, his suggestion lit up another path in my dull life.

I suddenly wanted to follow that unknown, shining road.

I ducked his hand and mumbled, "I'm worried you can't afford my salary. You're practically blacklisted."

"Not possible. I'm a top actress with tens of millions in the bank. I checked."

Unfair. Why me—why did I end up as Vivienne? I wanted to know what being a rich, beautiful woman felt like.

When we arrived at the studio gate, Caleb stood there looking stern, like a gatekeeper.

I tried to ignore him, but he had helped us big time that day, so I greeted him politely. "Good morning, Mr. Brooks."

Caleb glared. "Lily, I didn't expect you'd really betray Sophie!"

?

Is he having one of his moods again?

I forced a fake smile. "Mr. Brooks, I'm not sure I follow. Can you explain?"

"You really became Vivienne Shaw's assistant? You know Sophie is new to entertainment and unfamiliar with everything—she needs you."

Caleb wore a look of wounded righteousness. "Is it because Vivienne pays more?"

"Yeah, I don't want to, but the pay was too high."

Caleb was speechless. "…How can you value money over loyalty?"

"Mr. Brooks, what can I say? I'm ordinary. Maybe you're born rich and can earn more, but I still have to eat."

I stepped forward and patted his shoulder, covertly knocking him twice with my fists. "Mr. Brooks, talk is cheap. If you put ten thousand a month on my payroll for Sophie, I'll dump Vivienne and come back to you."

"Fine, eleven thousand," Caleb snapped.

A lazy, husky voice came from behind us—Shen Lang. He reached out, hooked me back, rested his chin against my shoulder and said to Caleb, "Lily is mine. No matter how much you pay, I'll always outbid you by a thousand."

A faint scent clung to his hair as it brushed my ear, and my pulse stuttered.

I tried to struggle, but he held me firmly and whispered, "Don't move."

Caleb scowled at Shen Lang. "Ungrateful! If I'd known, I wouldn't have saved you."

"Thanks, Mr. Brooks, for saving me," Shen Lang said with a crooked smile, leaning his head on my shoulder. "A lady can't repay you—so how about offering her hand in marriage?"

"Shameless!" Caleb stormed off.

Shen Lang straightened and strode into the lot with me.

Just then I saw Sophie in costume—ornamental forehead decoration, a sad, hesitant expression—coming toward us.

Shen Lang nudged me. "Vivienne, you're on."

"…"

Sophie stopped in front of us and looked at me with eyes full of sorrow, like she'd been betrayed by an unfaithful lover. Then she glanced at Shen Lang and asked timidly, "Miss Shaw, can I talk to Lily for a moment?"

"Sure, sure, go ahead."

Shen Lang stepped back, leaving the stage to Sophie and me. "Lily's just my assistant, not my servant. Talk all you want—I'm off to hair and makeup."

He slipped away, leaving Sophie and me alone like a scornful ex and the man who replaced him.

Sophie gazed at me earnestly. "Lily, how have you been lately?"

I gave a forced laugh. "Doing fine."

"Sophie told Caleb about what you did. I'm happy you could help her. Since you'll still be on set, we can still see each other."

She smiled in a pitiful, pleading way. "We're still friends, right?"

"Yeah… I guess."

Satisfied, she drifted away.

I watched her go and noticed Caleb standing there, eyes complicated as he stared at me.

Over the next few days I watched Shen Lang grow on set.

After all, before being transported she was considered pretty sharp. He took so much flak from Director Rowe and, after being cut and re-shot dozens of times, actually started to get into the acting.

Still stiff and a little theatrical, but much better than at the audition.

Of course, compared to the female lead Sophie Wells, there was a clear gap; as for Caleb Brooks—well, they were more or less on equal footing.

When the two of them rehearsed scenes together, the director sat behind the camera. At first he frowned, then watched with a blank face, and finally he lowered his head and started playing a game on his phone.

During that time, the A-list actor Marcus Lang came by. He arrived while Sophie was filming a scene with Caleb: a spoiled playboy meeting a courtesan in a riverside teahouse.

The original script had Caleb throw out a few flirtatious lines, but Marcus decided to embellish it. He hooked a finger under Sophie’s chin and ad-libbed the line.

When he finished, I glanced back. The top actor’s face had gone as dark as if someone had scorched a pan.

During the break, Shen Lang usually did two things: memorize lines and tap away at his laptop.

I asked, “What are you doing?”

“Writing code.”

“I’m serious—coding?”

“More accurately, I’m looking for a way out. A way to break the loop and save myself.”

Shen Lang looked up at me. “I just ordered you a milk tea. It should be here soon. Go get it.”

“Oh.”

I turned to leave but halfway to the door couldn’t help glancing back. In a shadowed corner of the period-set alley stood two people: Marcus Lang and Sophie Wells.

Sophie leaned against the wall, looking up at Marcus. He had one hand braced on the brick and stared down at her with a heavy look.

Sophie said something I couldn’t hear, and Marcus lowered his head—and kissed her.

I never expected to witness such cheesy idol-drama nonsense in real life. I almost forgot the milk tea and wanted to stay and watch.

Then Sophie shoved him hard. She looked around, spotted me, and shouted, “Lily, help me!”

Me: “?”

In the original novel Sophie would have been bashfully coy. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

But if Sophie didn’t want it, I was going to help.

I marched over, glared at Marcus, and said, “Do you know that groping someone can get you detained? If it’s serious, you could be criminally charged.”

Marcus sneered. “Mind your own business.”

I snorted and waved my phone. “Leave, or I’ll call the police.”

He left, shooting me a threatening glare as he went.

When he was gone, Sophie clutched my sleeve and thanked me in a whisper.

I sighed and looked her in the eye. “If you don’t like that, why didn’t you say so?”

Sophie froze.

“But… I actually like him…” she tried to explain.

Ah—so she was already starting to fall for Marcus.

Caleb, don’t struggle. You lost.

“This has nothing to do with whether you like him. Even if you like him, he crossed a line. You still have every right to stop him.”

Sophie stared at me, and for a second an incredibly complicated emotion flashed in her eyes—so layered I couldn’t read it.

She seemed lucid for that moment, but I worried she’d flip back and run to the A-list actor and throw me under the bus. So I left it at that and took the milk tea back to set.

That afternoon they shot a drowning scene. As a famous courtesan in the capital, Sophie’s character, Yan Liu, is entertaining the prince consort on a painted boat when the princess appears, draws her sword, and knocks the consort into the water—then slaps Yan Liu.

In the script that should have been a staged strike.

But in the original book, out of spite, antagonistic actress Vivienne Shaw insisted on a real hit to make it more authentic, and even purposely botched takes to hit the other actress multiple times.

Caleb watched in pain. Later, when Caleb performed opposite Vivienne, he also took the chance to get physical.

It was the dead of winter. Vivienne was on her period, and Caleb shoved her into the freezing water.

Shen Lang would never actually hit Sophie. He would have preferred Sophie hit him twice instead. But the novel’s force of inevitability was terrifying. When Shen Lang tried to fake the slap, Sophie unexpectedly stepped forward two paces—so his hand landed solidly on her face.

The slap rang clear. I froze. Shen Lang froze.

Director Rowe frowned. “Cut—again. Vivienne, what are you spacing out for? Keep going.”

I turned around trembling. Caleb stood to the side, staring murderous at Shen Lang.

…Crap. Things weren’t clear.

Shen Lang was ruthless.

Before Caleb could shout, “Why are you picking on Sophie?” Shen Lang paused two seconds, then slapped himself across the face.

Me: “…”

Caleb: “?”

Shen Lang stepped forward, took Sophie’s hand, and apologized earnestly. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I didn’t mean to. I only meant to stage it, but I used too much force. I’m sorry. When we redo it, I won’t do that.”

Sophie looked moved. “I know Vivienne wouldn’t do it on purpose. You just wanted the scene to be better.”

Director Rowe was touched too. “Since you both insist, I’m not calling this shot done until it’s perfect.”

So they shot the scene another seven or eight times. Every take, for some inexplicable reason, staged blows turned into real ones.

To stop Caleb and the sometimes-returning Marcus from picking further fights, every time Shen Lang accidentally hit Sophie, he immediately slapped himself back.

By the time wrapping came, both of them had swollen faces.

I ran to the convenience store and bought an ice pack for Shen Lang. He pressed it to his cheek, then asked, “Did you notice the secondary lead’s expression earlier? How did it seem?”

“Like he hates you,” I said honestly.

“Damn, I’ve sacrificed more than I gained. What else does he want?” Shen Lang said, then his expression shifted.

I noticed and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Gail Winters—you mind going out again to buy me…that thing?” His face flushed and he doubled over, clutching his lower belly.

I blinked, then realized. “You started your period?”

He nodded, despair all over his face.

Wow. Intense.

I’d wondered before: how could you make men truly understand cramps? So when they’d mock you for taking leave, the boss couldn’t call you fragile. Now I understood. You can describe the pain for a thousand words, but nothing beats letting them experience it.

I ran out and bought menstrual pads, painkillers, and some warming patches.

Back in the room, he awkwardly accepted the items, still wearing Vivienne Shaw’s bewitching face. “Teach me how,” he said helplessly.

I led Shen Lang to the bathroom and gave a step-by-step: how to unwrap and place a pad, how often to change it, differences between day and night pads, where to apply the heat patch.

When I finished, I asked, “You’ve been here over a month, right? You never had this before?”

He nodded, equally puzzled.

Then it clicked. Vivienne Shaw is a star who’d wear off-the-shoulder gowns in winter for events. With hectic schedules and little rest, menstrual cycles become irregular. I’d skimped on sleep during crunch times too and sometimes went months without one. Being a glamorous actress isn't as comfy as it looks.

I went back to the hotel with Shen Lang. In the elevator we ran into investor Leonard Pike, the one who’d tried to pressure Shen Lang. He had a woman in his arms and his eyes flashed when he saw Shen Lang. “Vivienne, you—”

I leaned in and hissed into Shen Lang’s ear, “Play faint.”

After days on set his acting had improved. He shut his eyes, collapsed into my shoulder, and I supported him, wailing, “Miss Vivienne? Miss Vivienne! Why are you so dedicated to your craft you didn’t sleep for three days and now you’ve fainted from cramps? Wake up!”

Leonard’s face changed. He tightened his arm around the woman and left.

I got Shen Lang into the bed. Pale and curled up, he still mocked me: “Your acting’s terrible.”

I let it slide given how miserable he felt.

In the days that followed, Shen Lang stayed on guard in every scene, afraid Caleb would reenact the book and shove him into the water again.

The scene had already been wrapped, and I thought it was over—then Caleb suddenly hooked an arm and Shen Lang fell into the lake.

Fear flushed through me. My limbs went cold. “Crew! Lifeguard! Somebody, rescue him!”

By the time they pulled him out he was frozen white. I wrapped him in blankets and shoved him into the changing room to swap his wet clothes, then poured hot water and doubled his pain meds.

When he came out, Caleb stood in the doorway looking grim. He warned him: “Vivienne, there’s no next time. If you ever touch Sophie again, I’ll make you pay a hundred times more.”

Then he looked at me. “Lily, remember this: no matter how much Vivienne pays you, short-term gain doesn’t last. Sophie is your real friend.”

“Done?” I raised my eyes.

Caleb blinked.

I steadied Shen Lang, took two steps forward, grabbed Caleb by the collar, and fixed him with a stare. “Caleb Brooks, Vivienne’s been unwell these past few days. I don’t believe you didn’t notice. In this weather, throwing her into cold water—are you sure that wasn’t deliberate?”

He shrugged with weak bravado. “Deliberate… so what if I meant it? She hit Sophie first. I wanted her to suffer a little. What’s wrong with that?”

“Sophie?” I sneered. “Yes, she hit Sophie—but didn’t she immediately hit herself back right after?”

"If you don't like the look of it, come over and prove it—stand by the lake during filming and shove the actress who's on her period into the water. Have you no shame?"

Caleb Brooks' face darkened. "Lily, you really think I wouldn't hit you?

If not for Sophie's sake—"

"Don't, don't—please don't do me the favor of holding back. Come on, hit me."

I let him go and took a fighting stance. Before I was transmigrated, I’d spent two years learning Brazilian jiu-jitsu for self-defense—I wasn't sizing him up for nothing. "Caleb Brooks, if I call you an idiot, will you agree to it?"

He gritted his teeth and stared at me for a long beat before flinging out, "A good man doesn't fight with a woman," and walked off.

I was about to chase after him when someone behind me called softly, "Lily Carter, don't go after him."

He'd just gotten out of the water; his hair was still damp, clinging to his cheeks, making his skin and lips look even paler. His eyelashes drooped, shadowing his eyes.

Sickly beautiful always tugged at people's hearts. I went over to steady him and heard his weak voice laced with amusement: "Lily Carter."

"Hm?"

"You don't need to go mess with him. Even if you've trained, I'm worried you'll get hurt."

His tone turned colder. "I'll take care of this grudge myself."

After the 26th, Caleb seemed rattled by what happened that day. He started giving me a wide berth on set.

And Sophie took the break to go find him and apologize.

"I'm sorry, Sister Su."

Her eyes were rimmed in red. "I just found out Caleb pushed you because he thought you were bullying me. But that day we agreed to do it to make the scene better… I've already cleared it up with Caleb. He promised he'd apologize to you."

"Caleb."

She called to him and dragged him over. He looked reluctant but said to the pale man, "Sorry."

I snorted. "If apologies actually worked, we'd still need criminal law?"

"What, Lily, do you plan to call the cops on me?"

Caleb snapped, annoyed. "Besides, I practically saved Vivienne Shaw that time, so we're even."

"Thanks for saving me, Mr. Brooks. Next time some rich woman goes after you, come beg me and I'll save you," the pale man said lazily.

Because he caught a chill from falling in, his voice had a touch of nasal tone that made his delicate sound more spirited. "I'm not actually calling the police. I just contacted a few media outlets that Harborview Studios hasn't partnered with and queued up a hot topic: 'Caleb Brooks Pushes Menstruating Actress Into Lake.'

Now, Caleb's always been marketed as a polite gentleman. Imagine the public reaction if he actually did this to an actress on her period."

Harborview Studios was Caleb's agency—their golden goose. Half the company's revenue came from him, so they protected his image fiercely. He even had endorsements for multiple women's products because of that gentleman persona. Rumor had it an international women's fashion brand was in talks with his team right now. Public opinion mattered more than ever.

At that, Caleb's face shifted. "Vivienne Shaw, what are you trying to do?"

The pale man propped his chin on his hand and smiled at him. "Nothing, really. I just got suddenly interested in winter swimming. I saw a trending post saying Caleb Brooks' butterfly stroke rivals a second-level athlete—I wanted to see for myself."

Sophie gasped. "Sister Su—"

Caleb's expression hardened. Without a word he stripped off his jacket, clenched his teeth, and dove into the nearby water.

The pale man didn't change his expression; calmly from the shore he called, "Butterfly stroke—remember the technique. If you're a man, swim twenty minutes. No coming ashore until then."

When Caleb came out he was soaked through and ghostly pale. Sophie almost started crying and wrapped a blanket around him. When she glanced at me there was a helpless, resentful look in her eyes.

The pale man grinned, delighted. Caleb shivered as he stomped over and pointed at him viciously. "Just you wait!"

Then Sophie helped him off to change.

The next morning, when the two of us arrived on set, something felt off.

Pushing open the makeup room door, I froze. Inside stood a stern-faced woman—the same agent I'd seen at the audition who represented Vivienne Shaw.

Beside her was a young man with cold, sharp eyes and dark circles under them, looking a little worn-out.

I glanced aside. The pale man kept his expression steady and even greeted them warmly. "Lu, you're here?"

"Vivienne Shaw, did you really think landing Director Rowe's role meant you could do whatever you want?" Agent Lu said, face stern. "You only got this because of Young Master Guo's backing. Instead of thanking him you got physical, and now you've offended Caleb Brooks. Do you really think the company won't blacklist you? Don't forget—you're already old. There's a whole line of young, pretty girls waiting to take your place. Don't be so full of yourself."

I was stunned. If I remembered right, Vivienne was only twenty-five in the original story. For most people that age is just finishing grad school. Old? Hardly.

Before my companion could reply, the exhausted-looking Young Master Guo raised a hand and told Agent Lu to leave. She immediately shut up and hurried out, taking the makeup room door with her.

Guo glanced at me. "You should go too."

I froze in place and stared at him coldly.

He laughed. "What, you want to join in? Fine. You don't look great, but you might pass as—"

"Guo Mingwei," the pale man said suddenly, using his full name. "You're probably not having the best time lately, right?"

Guo blinked. The pale man continued, "Your father Guo Jian's CloudTech stock has plunged—nearly forty percent. It's even been on Law & Policy news. He froze your credit cards and forbade you from partying, and handed some decision-making over to your older brother because he thinks you're useless…"

Guo Mingwei flushed with anger. "Shut up!"

He raised a fist at the pale man, who didn't flinch. "Heh. Men, I advise you not to strike me. Only I can fix the crisis your dad's company is facing."

"A pretty face knows nothing!" Guo spat, contemptuous.

The pale man pulled out a laptop, set it on the vanity, and typed while speaking casually. "The stock crash happened because your father's company rolled out a fifth-generation smart robot. After deploying it in banks and malls, its system accuracy and standard data diverged wildly, causing massive monetary miscalculations. Crisis PR won't cut it. The NLP algorithms' underlying logic is flawed—knowledge graphs and context linking code are wrong."

Guo stood dumbfounded. After a long pause, he stammered, "So…what should we do?"

The pale man ignored him, typed for a while, then shut the laptop and handed it to him. "Take this back to your company's core algorithm team. If they ask about the follow-up, contact me."

Guo took the laptop and left. That afternoon, at wrap, he stormed back into the makeup room, ecstatic. "It worked! My dad handed decision-making back to me so I can keep following up!"

The pale man shot him a raised eyebrow. "Pretty face?"

"No, no, Sister Su," Guo gushed, eager. "When can we go to your company?"

The pale man thought for a moment. "Guo, you called my assistant a 'chick' for no reason and I didn't get mad, and I just solved a huge problem for you. The least you could do is call me 'Dad,' right?"

I blinked. Then Guo glanced around to make sure no one else was there, took a breath, and actually dropped to his knees before the pale man. "Dad! You are my reborn parent!"

The pale man snorted and glanced at me.

Me: "…No need, no need."

"Alright, joking aside." He settled his expression and tipped his chin upward at Guo. "Apologize to her. After that, I'll go help you finish solving the rest of the problem."

Guo was practical. Once he realized the pale man could actually help him, he immediately and sincerely apologized to me. "Sorry, Miss Carter!"

I hesitated briefly, and Guo probed, "Miss Carter—should I kneel to you too?"

"No, no, don't." I waved him off but couldn't help asking, curious. "Guo, you don't seem irredeemably rotten. How did you wind up acting like such a villain before?"

Guo immediately opened up, pouring out grievances about his scheming, half-brother—how his brother played sweet to their father while belittling Guo behind closed doors, even insulting their deceased mother. Guo got emotional and nearly cried. "It's not like I meant to make life hard for Sister Su. I actually liked her. I gave her whatever resources she wanted. I wanted to date her…"

He sneaked a glance at the pale man, who casually laughed. "Guo, you still want to date me?"

Guo shook his head frantically. "I'm not worthy!"

I thought a moment, then sympathetically patted Guo's shoulder. "Guo, you can't be blamed. It's a scripting issue. In a mutual-salvation plot, you'd be the male lead."

Guo looked utterly confused.

I pulled my hand back slowly. "Don't let me keep you. You and Miss Su should head out and fix that problem."

Before he left, the pale man came over and asked, "You're really not coming with me?"

I shook my head and yawned. "Nope. I'm exhausted. I'm heading back to the hotel to catch up on sleep."

Watching him leave set and climb into Guo's flashy yellow car, I suddenly felt a spark of determination and walked the opposite direction from the hotel.

Last night, while scrolling on my phone in bed, I'd seen a bar near the lot advertising a live band.

And not just any band—it was a rock band.

I, Lily Carter, live for rock shows—just jump and scream and that's life.

About to leave, I suddenly remembered my charger was back in the makeup room at the set. I went back to grab it and ran straight into Sophie Wells. Her eyes were red like she'd just cried; when she saw me she lunged forward. "Lily—"

I couldn't dodge and ended up hugged hard. I asked, "What's wrong?"

Sophie shook her head and didn't say anything—just kept crying.

I waited, got impatient, and glanced around. She'd come out of Caleb Brooks's makeup room. I guessed, "Did Caleb give you a hard time?"

Sophie hiccuped and told me through tears, "I told Caleb not to blame Vivienne Shaw. She wouldn't hurt him on purpose. But Caleb wouldn't listen. He said I was tricked by you and Vivienne, said you're not a good person, told me never to trust you…"

I clenched my teeth inside, wanting to drag Caleb out and beat him.

"Where is Caleb? Is he still in there?"

I rolled up my sleeves. "Quit crying. Come on—we'll go find him and settle this."

Sophie shook her head with tearful eyes. "Caleb already left. Before he went he said I had no idea what was good for me… Lily, I'm really upset. Can you stay and talk with me tonight?"

I was torn. "Sophie, I'd like to, but I'm already planning to go to a bar to watch a show tonight."

"Then I'll go with you."

"That…isn't really a good idea."

I hesitated. "Bars like that might not be suitable for you…"

Character setup.

Sophie ignored that and insisted on coming. When I refused harshly, she looked at me with big tearful eyes like a helpless child.

Considering Caleb had yelled at her only because he thought he was protecting Vivienne and me—even though we didn't need her help—I gave in.

So in the end the night at the bar became just me and Sophie.

Sophie was a character. When we walked in and the bartender asked what she wanted, she blinked with innocent naiveté and asked, "Do you have warm milk?"

Bartender: "?"

I yanked her behind me. "One Long Island iced tea, one lemon soda."

I remembered the original had Sophie with a weak tolerance; at the opening banquet she drank only a bit and passed out.

Marcus Lang wasn't here tonight. If Sophie got drunk again, it would be hard to get her out of there in one piece.

We sat near the stage, but the band didn't come out. I told Sophie to sit and enjoy herself and slipped backstage. I bumped into a frazzled club owner and learned the band's guitarist had a sudden appendicitis and was in the hospital.

The singer was helpless. "If it comes down to it, someone just go on. Can't cancel the show."

He and the drummer and bassist passed by. As they brushed past, I couldn't help asking, "Are you missing rhythm guitar or lead? If it's rhythm, I can try. I know your songs—if I handle the harmonies and choruses, it won't be too hard."

The singer stopped and stared, then asked the owner, "Who's she…?"

The owner looked at me. "Who are you? How'd you get backstage?"

I ran through five excuses in my head and used none. I simply said, "I'm a guitarist too."

Before transmigration, I was a boring, by-the-book programmer. But before that I studied guitar for eleven years and once dreamed of being a singer-songwriter.

The year I graduated college, I nearly gave up the corporate job I had signed on to and entered a music contest. My mom chased me around the neighborhood with a clothes pole, yelling, "Lily Carter, stop dreaming! You know what our family's like—how can you compete with those people?"

I carried my guitar and ran, shouting back, "Why not? I've got the talent. My songs online have hundreds of thousands of plays!"

"So what?" she said like someone who'd seen through capitalism's lies. "We don't have money to buy you a debut spot. Look at your job—over ten grand a month straight out of school. Do you know how many people envy you? Lily, your dad died young. I raised you so you wouldn't go chasing some stupid contest."

I stopped. Mom accidentally bumped into me and clutched her nose in pain, embarrassed. I strapped the guitar into her arms and smiled. "Okay. I won't go. I'll start work tomorrow."

Dreams are airy; life is heavy. What I wanted to do demanded effort with no guaranteed payback. I couldn't make my mom carry that weight at her age. So I let it go.

When I stood on stage with a guitar later, I saw Sophie down in the crowd. She almost dropped her cup. Lights cut down from above and landed on me, the kind of feverish spotlight that makes everything loud.

The first time my fingers pressed the strings, something dormant inside me woke up.

I didn't play many songs, but by the time the set ended and I jumped offstage, the high still bubbled in me.

Sophie watched with a complicated expression. "Lily, when did you learn to play? Why didn't you tell me?"

"People learn when they want to. We're friends, but do I have to tell you everything?" I shot her a rebellious look and realized I actually felt rebellious.

Before she could respond, a sloppy voice from a nearby booth called out, "Hey pretty, nice guitar. Drinks on us."

I looked—some messy-haired guys were staring at us like villains in a cheap rom-com, openly predatory. I ignored them and checked my phone. Sure enough, Vivienne Shaw had texted: "Weren't you going back to the hotel to nap? Where are you?"

"Don't worry about the details," I answered, then decided to be honest. "I'm at Long Corridor Bar watching a show with Sophie."

Vivienne: "Send location."

I sent it. The creep squad came over, louder now: "Hey beautiful, why so quiet? Don't you like us?"

One of them with blue-dyed hair moved close and reached for my face. Without thinking, I flung my drink—cup and all—right into his face.

He howled. Sophie screamed.

A red-haired guy lunged at Sophie, but she shoved him away with everything she had and collapsed into the corner, trembling.

I cursed under my breath, vaulted the table cleanly, and planted myself between Sophie and them. "What are you doing? We're in a civilized society. And by the way, I know the owner and the band—don't touch anyone."

Blue-hair clutched his face and sneered, "That's no fun. The owner can't stop us from making friends."

Sophie whispered, "Lily, don't be scared. I already called Marcus Lang—he said he'd be here soon."

"Even the king of pop won't stop us. Buy us a drink—is that illegal?" Blue-hair smirked. "I'll tell you honestly—we've got people everywhere around here."

I punched him straight in the face. When I finished, I turned to Sophie and said calmly, "Call the police."

My voice was quiet but loud enough for the whole group to hear.

Blue-hair froze, anger flipping his eyes. He lifted his fist.

He never landed it. A cold, serious voice behind him said, "If that fist comes down, you can worry about keeping both your hands."

Blue-hair stepped aside and let the male lead pass. I saw Marcus Lang flanked by a tattooed tough-looking guy who looked like a big brother enforcer. Blue-hair folded like a quail.

Marcus walked up and stared at me icily. "You brought her to a place like this?"

I'm not taking that blame. "I didn't bring her—I'm here by myself and she followed me."

"You only need to answer yes or no. I only care about the result."

I: "…"

What are you playing at.

Before I could reply, Marcus ignored me and pulled Sophie by the arm toward the door.

Sophie turned, panicked. "Lily! Marcus—my friend is still back there…"

Marcus stopped but didn't look back. "I only take my people with me. The rest is up to you."

Then he left with Sophie.

Sophie tried to stay and help, but Marcus cut her off coldly, "Don't test my patience," and she was dragged away.

I remembered: in the original plot, Sophie had indeed gone to a bar, gotten in trouble, and been taken away by Marcus—but Lily wasn't supposed to be there, and that scene was later in the timeline.

I was confused. The tattooed big brother left with Marcus, and now it was just me with Blue-hair.

He sneered villainously. "Let's see who comes to rescue you this time."

Before he finished, a clear, cool voice came from behind him. "There's me."

It was Vivienne Shaw.

My muscles relaxed instantly. Strange—if I had come here alone into this novel world, I'd be on guard every second. But knowing Vivienne was around let me breathe. In this world, we could trust each other's backs.

With Vivienne's face like a famous movie star, of course people recognized her. Blue-hair went slack-jawed. "Vivienne? Goddess!"

Me: "?"

He pulled a blue glow bracelet from his pocket and clipped it on his wrist, then tied a blue ribbon around his forehead. Then he excitedly flopped down in front of me. "Vivienne Shaw, I'm your fan—I'm Ether!

Look at my support bracelet, my support ribbon—even my hair is dyed your support color!

Vivienne! Vivienne! Number one in the world!"

I: "…"

My mouth twitched. I asked Ethan, "Your fan's name is Ether? Sounds like it has some illegal undertones, doesn't it?"

Before Ethan could answer, Blue-Haired guy was already glaring at me, furious. "What are you saying? You hater—you're just jealous that Vivienne is so popular!"

Me: "…"

Ethan rubbed his forehead and sighed, then sighed again. He turned serious and said to Blue-Haired, "I came to pick up my friend. She told me you were giving her a hard time."

Blue-Haired looked between us, his smile a little stiff. "This… ma'am, are you Vivienne's friend?"

Ethan: "Yes."

Blue-Haired immediately came over, carefully brushed off imaginary dust from my clothes, smoothed my rumpled hair, then bowed and ushered his crew aside to make a path for us. "Please, please. Vivienne, I didn't mean to bully your friend—I just thought her guitar playing was good and wanted to ask about it. Since you're here to pick her up, we won't bother you."

With that he left, sharp and efficient.

You have to admit—Blue-Haired was a model fan. He ran into his idol and didn't ask for a photo or an autograph. He expressed his feelings and vanished. He truly practiced caring about the work, not the life.

Ethan took my hand. "Let's go."

I sniffed and obediently let him lead me.

By the usual banter rules we would've been teasing each other, but instead he seemed to see the fear buried in me. He didn't say anything; he just gripped my hand and guided me out step by step.

A female star's hands are carefully kept—each finger pale and soft, nails rounded and pink. But Vivienne was so thin that her hands were almost bony; when they settled in my palm they felt cool and like carved jade. Still, those long fingers had a vine-like tenderness that gently supported the panic and helplessness inside me, smoothing them in his palm.

We stepped out of the sweaty, noisy bar into quieter air. A cool night breeze rolled in, and I shivered—only to be pulled into a not-large but very warm embrace.

Ethan draped his coat around me and lightly stroked my head. "Don't be afraid. Didn't I come?"

I kept my head down and kicked at a little roadside pebble, whispering, "Marcus Lang was here earlier. He only took Sophie Wells. He even blamed me for bringing Sophie here and causing the danger."

Ethan's hand paused on my hair. "He didn't save you when he left?"

"No." Saying it made the anger and despair from that moment rise up again. "Isn't that exactly how those rich-CEO sweet novels go? In the male lead and all those other guys' eyes, anyone who isn't the female lead is invisible."

I was both regretful and strangely relieved.

When Marcus took Sophie and said, "The rest of you can do as you like," my legs were shaking with fear, but I forced myself to glare at Blue-Haired. I knew I couldn't show weakness—if they saw my fear they'd be even more ruthless.

That fear peaked when I heard Ethan's voice, because I suddenly remembered: the person trapped in Vivienne Shaw's body was him—still a woman. A fragile, salad-eating, body-watching actress.

If Blue-Haired hadn't been Vivienne's fan earlier, what would have happened? Would my sudden bravado have dragged an innocent person into the abyss?

Ethan didn't blame me, but I felt guilty.

He seemed to want to distract me with a teasing tone. "Hannah, I didn't know you could play guitar."

"I can." I murmured. "If my family's finances had been better, I would've entered music competitions long ago—maybe I'd be a pop star now. How did I end up in this mess, taking abuse from that dumb male lead? If pushed, I won't play along. Let Sophie and those stupid guys have fun on their own."

Long Island Iced Tea has a lot of alcohol. I was probably still a little drunk, dizzy, leaning against Ethan as I asked, "Did the issue with Mr. Guo's company get resolved?"

"Back to fixing bugs after work tomorrow."

"How are you a transmigrator who ended up in a female star's body and still debugging code?"

"A wage worker's soul never dies," he said.

I nuzzled into his chest and took advantage of being in a pretty woman's body. "Ethan, don't you think when we act normal in this kind of sweet celebrity novel, the whole world feels off?"

"I noticed."

My last clear memory before passing out was Ethan whispering in my ear, "The world might be messed up, but at least I'm normal by your side."

Then I crashed completely.

When I woke, the world had gone haywire.

Because Ethan—no, Vivienne Shaw's name—was trending. Seven or eight high-ranking hot searches in a row. The most visible one read, "Vivienne Shaw bullies Caleb Brooks," and it was topped with an EXPLOSIVE tag.

I stared at those eight characters, especially the verb in the middle, wondering if my eyes were broken or if whoever wrote that topic had lost their mind.

Other tags: "Vivienne Shaw drunken brawl at bar late at night"—paired with last night's photo of Ethan escorting me out. Whoever snapped it did a terrible job: Ethan's protective posture made me look like some crutch he was leaning on.

"Vivienne Shaw slept her way to the top"—a shot of Ethan and Mr. Guo in a bright yellow car was seized on.

"Vivienne Shaw's acting"—someone had leaked that long audition tape of Vivienne's Princess Qingping monologue, tied to the implication that Ethan got the role through favors.

"Vivienne Shaw had plastic surgery"—a few before-weight-loss pics were out; her rounder features contrasted starkly with a heavily retouched glam shot, and people jumped to conclusions.

…Reading all the out-of-context, made-up scandals could keep me angry for half an hour.

I left the room and went next door to find Ethan. He was sitting by the window playing a Switch, looking calm as ever.

I stared. "Since when do you have a Switch?"

"Mr. Guo gave it to me." He glanced up and gestured for me to sit beside him. "Director Rowe called—said there were reporters crowding the studio gate so I don't need to come to set this week. Oh, Mr. Guo also gave one to you; it was in my bag. I was going to give it to you last night, but you got so drunk you were out of it, so I carried you home."

His tone was steady, so I took a breath and matched it. I sat down next to him.

After a moment I asked, "What do we do about this?"

He looked at me and smiled. "What can we do? This is exactly the part in the original where Vivienne's smeared with scandals. Let the director and writers run their process. We don't need to worry."

Then he went back to his game, pressed a couple buttons, and his voice grew a little heavy. "Fortunately, the person now wearing Vivienne Shaw's name is me. I don't care about what people say, but it still hurts to see."

I was slow to catch his meaning. He meant he was the one reading those shameless, bottomless insults—he, not the original Vivienne.

What had driven the original Vivienne down the road to becoming a hated antagonist? The author painted only her malice and cruelty, skipping over the hardships she endured. But living it now, I suddenly understood.

She'd once been mocked for being fat and ugly and bullied; she clawed out of the mud and stood bloody but proud in the spotlight. She had loved bravely, stood up and confessed to Marcus only to be rejected and ridiculed in public. She'd pursued her craft with passion, wanted an acting crown, yet envy blinded people and pushed her into a place with no return.

All that complexity of life was flattened into the label "antagonist." Four words that boxed her into serving as a tool to highlight the protagonists' sweet romance.

I took the Switch from Ethan and looked at him with burning eyes. "Ethan, let's do something."

"What do you want to do?"

"None of those trending claims are true—especially that 'you bullied Caleb Brooks' one. It's complete nonsense." I spoke fast. "There's a gala for the social elite in three days—it's actually this year's annual charity ball. All the stars and the press will be there. We'll clear this up publicly in front of everyone. No PR doublespeak—just plain truths."

I grabbed a pen and sketched on paper. "If that doesn't work, we'll make a mind map and do a PowerPoint. We'll use our office worker skills and lay it all out."

What was a rescue became 'bullying'? What was saving someone became 'drunken buying'? What was losing weight and bouncing back became 'plastic surgery'? What was going to code became 'selling favors'?

Right or wrong is judged by others, but we can't sit back while slander runs unchecked. We're not saints—we're workers. We work only if we get paid—we count every penny.

I walked him through the plan in detail. Ethan watched me and smiled. "Okay."

Three days flew by. Ethan spent most of the time at Mr. Guo's company, fixing bugs.

I ran into Caleb Brooks once in the hotel corridor. The moment we saw each other I glared at him coldly. Caleb, who always bullied the weak, suddenly faltered. "You… why are you staring at me like that?"

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "Vivienne Shaw bullied you? You've got some nerve. Didn't you feel even a little guilty when you saw it trending?"

"That trending topic was bought by the company. It has nothing to do with me," Caleb blustered. "Besides, as soon as I saw it I had them take it down. Lily, I advise you not to stir up trouble."

"Stir up trouble?" I repeated, voice suddenly higher, sharper. "Stir up trouble?! Caleb, you have the gall to say that?"

"That top search was up for eight whole hours before it was taken down. Did you not look at your phone once in those eight hours? You posted a vague weibo saying you'd clarify later and tossed it off with a flippant 'please pay more attention to the work'—trying to dodge the issue. Do you think I can't see what you're playing at? 'The work'—what work are you even talking about?"

I stared at him, enunciating each word. "Do you know why Sophie Wells won't like you? Because you are a petty, cowardly, small man!"

I hit his sore spot and Caleb exploded, raising a hand to strike.

My stomach dropped and I reflexively stepped back. I didn't notice I bumped into someone.

At first I thought it was Ethan Quinn, but when I turned it was Sophie Wells.

Her eyes rimmed red. "Lily, are you okay?" she asked.

It took me a second to realize she meant that night at the bar. I shook my head. "I'm fine."

"After Mr. Lang took me away that night, I wasn't at ease. I had to go back to rescue you." Sophie's eyes were glassy. "On the way he and I argued and he got out of the car. I went back to find you and ran into my brother. He helped me find you and I learned that Ms. Shaw had taken you away."

That brother she mentioned must be Marcus Lang—he hadn't shown up in a while.

She hesitated, then asked, "I saw the trending topic. Is Ms. Shaw okay?"

"Not great," I lied on the spot. "She was devastated when she saw it. She cried in her room for two days and wouldn't come out. I'm out looking for an ice pack to help with her swollen eyes."

Sophie's gaze flicked to Caleb.

He had meant to hit me, but seeing Sophie appear, he quickly lowered his hand, awkwardly smiling. "Sophie, that's not what I meant. That trending topic really had nothing to do with me…"

"Sophie, I didn't expect you'd do something like that," she said, disappointed. She didn't look at him again and turned to me. "Lily, can I go visit Ms. Shaw later?"

"…No."

He was still debugging things for Mr. Guo. "Ms. Shaw said she's too upset—she doesn't want to see anyone connected to Caleb."

Caleb went pale. He clearly wanted to explain, but he also thought I was making a fuss and feared digging himself an even deeper hole in Sophie's eyes. I saw tug-of-war in his expression; in the end he swallowed whatever he wanted to say and shut his mouth with a miserable look.

I felt vindicated.

Sophie didn't press it. She patted my hand. "All right. Lily, take good care of Ms. Shaw. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

Then she turned and left without looking back.

Watching her go, I felt something different about Sophie—an unfamiliar change in her.

The moment Sophie left, Caleb snapped back and jumped up to argue. I wasn't interested. I tossed out one line: "I happened to record you pushing Vivienne Shaw into the water."

Satisfied, I watched his face go slack as if someone had suddenly grabbed his throat.

I grabbed snacks at a convenience store. When we returned, Ethan Quinn was back, slumped on the couch, exhausted.

Rewriting that massive algorithm solo wasn't easy—I felt a pang of sympathy. I rifled my paper bag, picked out my favorite sandwich, and tossed it to him. Then I asked, "By the way, the charity gala the day after tomorrow—how are we getting there? It's an elite event, they're closing the roads. Do the agency people have a plan? Can't exactly take a cab, can we ride a shared bike?"

Ethan opened his eyes and smiled faintly. "Mr. Guo said he'll drive us there."

That night I had a dream.

It fast-forwarded to the book's later arc. To protect Sophie, I told her to run while I stayed to handle a few thugs. They doused me in gasoline and burned my face beyond recognition.

The scorching, gut-wrenching pain in the dream felt real. I screamed awake and Ethan came barreling in from the other bedroom.

I looked up at him. "Is this dream a hint that I can't escape the original plot?"

He stroked my hair and said softly, "Don't overthink it. It was just a dream."

When Ethan and I left the hotel it was five in the afternoon and a light snow had started. Deep winter makes the sky dark early; clouds lay like lead paint across the sky and a few flakes sifted through.

Streetlights were sparse. I exhaled a white puff and regretted not wearing another layer. Luckily Mr. Guo's brash yellow sports car was parked not far off.

As we neared I noticed Mr. Guo was dressed sharp—suit, styled hair. He even opened the car door for us with a grin. "Ms. Shaw, Lily, hop in. We're leaving."

I slid into the heated car and couldn't help but say, "Mr. Guo, you've changed."

He wasn't the arrogant villain from when I first met him anymore. He spoke with genuine respect. "All thanks to Ms. Shaw. After she fixed those bugs and updated the system, our company's stock shot back up—even more than before."

"But Ms. Shaw," he added earnestly, a trace of sadness in his tone, "you seem different from before."

I remembered his earlier words: at first Mr. Guo gave Vivienne help and resources that opened doors for her career; later, it turned into pressure. Maybe back then he had genuinely liked the original Vivienne.

The car stopped in front of the Garden Hotel. The whole street was cordoned off and luxury cars lined the curb—many with brands I didn't even know. I pointed at a car I'd seen earlier with Sophie. "Look—that's the male lead's car."

Ethan glanced, "Rolls-Royce Phantom. Classic male-lead choice."

Just then Marcus Lang stepped out.

No denying it—he looked like a male lead. Sleek suit, diamond cufflinks glittering. The top actor's gaze locked onto a corner and I followed. There was another car where Marcus' eyes fell, and Ethan was opening the door to help Sophie out.

Sophie was dressed to kill tonight: a gossamer off-shoulder white gown, a translucent jade necklace at her throat; her hair was carefully styled. Marcus looked impressed, but when his eyes shifted to Ethan and then to Caleb—dressed up on the other side—the expression curdled into jealousy and anger.

This was the book's first three-male-lead showdown, but I had no appetite for the spectacle.

I checked my pocket—USB stick was still there—and glanced at my phone to confirm backups. Then I gave Ethan a small nod.

He smiled faintly. "I'm ready."

Mr. Guo practically vibrated with excitement. "Yes! Ms. Shaw, show up! You beat that Sophie any day. Her dress is expensive but you won't lose to her! Take off your coat!"

Ethan unzipped and removed his down jacket, revealing—surprisingly—a blue-and-white plaid shirt and jeans underneath.

Mr. Guo blinked.

"That's fine," Ethan said.

He swung the door open to step out. Mr. Guo tried to stop him. "Ms. Shaw, you can't go to the gala dressed like that. It's full of stars and socialites. The red carpet is where actresses battle for attention—"

Ethan paused and looked back.

I turned to Mr. Guo seriously. "Is the point of the gala charity or fashion? If it's about charity, does clothing matter? If it's about fashion, why is it billed as a charity event?"

Mr. Guo froze at my question. I gave him a big smile and headed out with Ethan.

Nearby, the three male leads were bickering over which of them Sophie should walk the red carpet with. In the end, the idiot Caleb declared victory. "Sophie and I have been filming together lately. Now Vivienne's got scandals. The director is going to cut her scenes and promote Sophie to female lead. It'll be perfect for Sophie and me to walk the carpet together—"

He trailed off when Ethan and I stepped up next to him.

Sophie looked back, astonished. "Ms. Shaw, you came dressed like that?"

"What’s wrong with this?" I asked.

Ethan glanced down. "It suits my usual professional vibe."

He'd grabbed the plaid shirt and jeans on a whim before leaving. Even without makeup, an actress's face was still a notch above ordinary.

Marcus and Ethan's eyes flicked over us. When they looked at Ethan they were expressionless; when they looked at me, their brows knitted—at different levels. Caleb averted his gaze.

Ethan shot Caleb a look full of obvious contempt, then led me straight toward the red carpet.

A ring of reporters had already gathered. Seeing Vivienne Shaw—who'd been the subject of scandal the past few days—appear sent them into a frenzy. They pushed forward with cameras and microphones and hurled questions: "Ms. Shaw, what do you think about the trending topics the past two days?" "Ms. Shaw, did you really bully Caleb on set?" "Ms. Shaw, what is your relationship with Mr. Guo of GuoTech?" "Ms. Shaw—coming dressed like this—is this giving up?"

Ethan scanned the crowd, took the microphone and said, “One last question—and my answer is this: I showed up dressed like this because I, willingly, chose to.”

The reporter who’d asked the question blinked at him in shock. Ethan tossed the mic aside and led me up the red carpet.

Security moved in to block the reporters, so they could only take pictures from the sides, their faces full of displeasure.

A security guard, spotting me, looked surprised. “Staff, this way.”

He was about to shepherd me off the carpet when Ethan put a hand out to stop him. “She’s not staff. She’s my guest for the gala.”

So there we were—plaid shirts and flats, bare-faced—walking into the banquet hall.

The noise behind us blurred into nothing. A warm wash of laughter and chatter rolled over us as we found a corner, grabbed some food, and looked at the still-empty stage.

Everything went according to plan because the banquet’s giant screen system ran on the same AI platform from CloudCount Tech. A couple days earlier, while Ethan was fixing bugs, he slipped something extra into the version that would be used tonight, pulled an all-nighter, and pushed the update to this venue’s system in time.

And after we stepped out of the car, Mr. Guo—using his authority at CloudCount as cover—went backstage to “fix” a vulnerability and plugged the USB drive I’d given him into the main console.

There wasn’t anything fancy on it: just a PPT and the mind map I’d spent an entire day drawing.

We were hiding in the glow of crystal chandeliers and murmured gossip, waiting for the moment.

The point of a charity gala is simple: celebrities donate luxury items or antiques for auction. Highest bidder wins; proceeds go to charity.

When the screen showed the donated item, the donor would come up and introduce it.

I was sneaking cherries from a full plate, hiding in the corner, while Ethan favored sliced pineapple and strawberries.

Halfway through, the stage displayed a translucent blue jade snowflake pendant. Ethan beside me lifted a paddle: “Two hundred fifty thousand.”

I hadn’t even swallowed my cherry when I gaped at him.

Then a cold voice cut in: “Three hundred thousand.”

Of course—Caleb Brooks.

I glanced at him and whispered to Ethan, “Don’t bother. He’s probably bidding for Sophie. Don’t compete with that idiot wealthy influencer.”

Ethan shook his head and raised his paddle again: “Five hundred thousand.”

Then he put it down and let out a soft laugh at me, low enough that only I heard, “Besides, it’s not my money.”

His smile was incandescent, dizzying, and for a second a thought bubbled up in my fuzzy head: who could resist a handsome man?

Caleb seemed poised to keep bidding, but Sophie slammed his hand down and held the paddle back.

Soon the pendant was brought down to us. Ethan paid, then handed the box to me. “He Gui Xue—now yours.”

“…Huh?”

“The Gui Xue pendant, it suits you.”

I took the blue jade snowflake, cool and smooth, its fine carving pressing against my palm.

After a long moment I put it away and stood.

Onstage, the host called out, “Next auction item… Su… Su Yunyi. Auctioneer—Lily Carter?!”

The shock made her stumble over the name; the final syllables rose like a question.

No one here—outside the main cast—knew who Lily Carter was. Least of all that chaotic, impulsive name.

The part that mattered most: her auction item was Su Yunyi herself.

Ethan and I rose and walked onto the stage, him behind me. Hundreds of eyes fixed on us, rushing toward us like a tidal wave that threatened to swallow me.

My stomach fluttered with nervousness, but beneath that, a fierce thrill. I wasn’t only fighting the absurd plot I already knew—I was declaring war on this world.

“Good evening,” I said, gripping the mic and inhaling deep. “Standing to my right is the item I’m auctioning tonight: Su Yunyi.”

“She’s 25, 172 centimeters tall, weighs ninety-one jin”—I heard my voice steady—“with measurements 84/60/88. Her starting bid is thirty-nine thousand.”

The crowd watched. Many of them wore practiced, impassive masks, smiles precisely angled. Reporters in the back perked up and grabbed cameras; some hurried forward. They smelled news.

Of the four leads in the front row, Sophie looked confused, Caleb frowned, and the other two were expressionless.

I smiled. “Why thirty-nine thousand? Because that’s the baseline price used by those marketing accounts. A few days ago someone spent dozens of times that money to get her trending, to invite judgment. Reporters—if you want a real scoop, bid now. Buy an hour with her, and you’ll have the right to judge.”

Silence.

No one raised a paddle.

Behind us the giant screen switched to the mind map I’d painstakingly drawn.

“I will walk through this map now and, supported by clear evidence, debunk those fabricated trends. First: ‘Su Yunyi bullied Caleb Brooks’—that’s not accurate. It’s more like ‘Su Yunyi bravely fought back against Caleb Brooks’ bullying.’”

Caleb shot up from his seat, panic and rage in his face. “Lily Carter, what nonsense are you spouting?!”

“In one scene on set, for dramatic effect, Su Yunyi and another actress staged a real fight. To avoid rumors, Su Yunyi would even slap herself after the scene—to be fair.”

He was about to retort when someone backstage cut the microphone on him. Caleb’s agent was impressive at crisis control.

I glanced at the screen; the mind map stayed put. Guo—reliable.

I wasn’t fazed. I pulled the wireless teacher’s megaphone from my denim pocket. Back in college, when I’d tutored at after-school programs, I’d used one of these. Loud, durable, long battery life. This time I’d bought an upgraded model.

I put it to my lips and went on. “Caleb Brooks shoved Su Yunyi into the lake while she was on her period. Later she forced him into the water—tit for tat.”

The screen flipped to the PPT. The first piece of evidence was a short video: Caleb pushing Su Yunyi into the water. I’d gotten it from a crew member’s phone that day. She’d meant to snag candid couple shots, but instead caught him shoving Su into the lake.

The hall erupted. All eyes turned to Caleb.

He sat without expression, drained his wine in one tilt of the head, then raised his eyes to me—cold and unblinking, his pupils like shards of ice.

I smiled. “Caleb, you’re a top actor with a family fortune. You can’t understand ordinary feelings. We, the people treated like props, have emotions too. When we strike back, they call it bullying. That’s absurd.”

Sophie tilted her head, looking at me with a faint gleam in her watery eyes. Marcus Lang snorted beside her.

I continued: Su Yunyi went to the bar to pick me up at the hotel; she got into Guo’s car to go sort out company issues; the lead actress choice was Director Rowe’s decision, unrelated to the others; she hadn’t had plastic surgery—diet and makeup can transform someone.

My voice echoed through the banquet hall via the megaphone, a slight electrical distortion to it. Belief or disbelief didn’t matter. I’d presented the truth behind those trending lies as plainly as I could.

A female reporter who’d come up front shone with excitement. “Who are you, then?”

“I’m Su Yunyi’s assistant.”

“You claim these trends are faked, that someone bought them to smear Su. Who do you think did it?”

Ethan took the megaphone from my hand and looked at me once. My whole body relaxed. He was telling me he’d take it from here.

Facing the reporter, Ethan held the megaphone steady. “Does it matter who? I’m only here to prove my client’s innocence. As for investigating—that’s the police’s job.”

Another reporter sneered, “Miss Su, you’re just an actress. What can Mr. Guo’s company possibly need your assistant for? Are we talking… biological issues?”

The innuendo was shameless, meant to shame.

Ethan didn’t flinch. “Oh? Sorry—on weekends I teach myself Python and Java and study natural language processing algorithms. I was just helping Guo Mingwei fix a bug.”

He glanced at the reporter’s badge and, with a calm, almost casual precision, read the name aloud.

The reporter named Mark Hayes froze for a moment. He pressed on, unwilling to give up: "But Ms. Shaw, as the ancients said, a gentleman doesn't stand beneath a crumbling wall. You and Mr. Quinn were alone in a car together, two unmarried adults, and you went to pick up an assistant from a bar in the dead of night—"

"A gentleman doesn't stand beneath a crumbling wall, but he never said the whole world is made of crumbling walls."

Ethan cut him off without courtesy, a cold smile curling at his lips. "Mark, are you saying that if someone snapped a photo of you in a cab with a male driver, that would prove your sexual orientation?

What's wrong with me picking up my assistant from a bar?

Are my assistant's rights somehow unequal to mine? Should I not be allowed to take her home when she's drunk?

Imagine I'm standing on an empty lot and you come over and bonk me on the head with a brick, then tell me a gentleman shouldn't stand beneath a crumbling wall.

Did the ancients teach you nothing about 'when you want to assign guilt, you'll find an excuse'?

I'm willing to take full legal responsibility for what's been said about me and my assistant. Can you say the same?"

Ethan's gaze swept across every face in the crowd, then he let out a short, amused laugh. "Since no one captured Ms. Shaw on film, then this merchandise fails to sell."

"Everyone, enjoy your evening. Good night."

He tossed the microphone and megaphone aside, then turned, his clear eyes fixed on me.

We walked down the steps side by side, cutting through the press and toward the exit.

The staccato of cameras clicked behind us, but neither of us looked back.

I threw open the heavy doors. Cold air and a flurry of snow rushed in.

The night had grown deep. Only a few lonely streetlights dotted the road. The red carpet that had been a cacophony of people and spectacle a moment ago was now deserted.

Without looking back, Ethan and I walked toward an uncertain future and toward a hard-won freedom.

Continue to read Section 9: "Do What You Want to Do"

A Heart Like Snow: Turning into the Antagonist in a Romance with the Male Lead