JULIA POV

I immediately grabbed the remote with trembling hands, frantically pressing the buttons to switch the TV to another channel. My heart pounded so violently in my chest that it created an unbearable ache.

I was terrified that if I was even a second too late changing the channel, the beautiful image of a hero living inside my little girl’s head would shatter into pieces in an instant. I did not want her to see her mother being treated like garbage in front of the public.

“Sweetheart...” My voice caught in my throat, sounding hoarse and pathetic.

Jilly looked at me, tilting her head slightly, now nearly bald from the endless rounds of chemotherapy. The eyes, usually dim and exhausted, now looked deeply disturbed.

“Why did they do that to you, Mom? Why were the people on TV yelling at you?”

Damn it, too late!

I quickly shook my head, forcing a smile that felt as stiff as an iron mask on my face.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart,” I lied, and the lie tasted hollow on my tongue.

I hurried to sit on the edge of her narrow hospital bed that smelled faintly of medicine. I wrapped my arms around Jilly’s small body as carefully as possible, restraining every movement because I was afraid of hurting her thin arm, which still had an IV needle taped into it.

But lately, every time I hugged Jilly, my embrace felt emptier.

Her body felt lighter with each passing day, as if she were nothing more than a wisp of smoke that could disappear from my arms at any moment.

That reality made my chest tighten so painfully that it felt as though I had been struck by a sledgehammer.

I buried my face in her thin shoulder, breathing in her scent, now heavily mixed with the sharp smell of hospital antiseptic.

“No, sweetheart. They were not angry at me. It was all just... a misunderstanding,” I whispered softly near her ear.

I squeezed my eyes shut and bit the inside of my lip as hard as I could.

I refused to let the tears fall.

Because I did not want Jilly to see my swollen, red, broken eyes.

It would only make her sad and blame herself.

My daughter was only six years old, but months spent in this oncology ward had forced her to grow far beyond her years.

She had become incredibly sensitive to every emotional shift around her, especially mine.

“Does Damon hate you, Mom?”

Jilly’s innocent question suddenly pierced straight through my heart.

I flinched and slowly loosened my embrace so I could look directly into her clear, round eyes.

Jilly pointed toward the TV screen, even though the channel had long since changed to a noisy cartoon program.

“On TV, they said Mom hurt Damon. That cannot be true, right?” Jilly shook her head firmly, as though she was trying to convince herself while building a defense for me. “Damon is a good person. He is brave and never afraid of anything. There is no way he could hate Mom.”

Seeing the pure hope and admiration shining in her eyes, I could only nod helplessly, betraying all the anger raging inside my head.

“Yes, sweetheart. The news is completely wrong. None of what was on TV is true.”

“But... did Mom really meet him?” Jilly asked again.

Her eyes instantly lit up, radiating a spark of life that had long disappeared from her pale face.

I fell silent. My tongue suddenly felt numb and stiff.

How could I possibly tell a wonderful child like this the truth?

That the hero whose photos covered every corner of this room—the man whose face she hugged every night in the form of a pillow—was actually nothing more than a selfish and arrogant twenty-year-old?

A drunken actor who raged inside his trailer, shouting with alcohol on his breath, and dismissed a desperate mother begging for help as nothing more than cheap drama threatening his privacy?

“No, sweetheart. I didn't meet him. Security would not let me in. I’m sorry, okay?” I replied, swallowing the pain that relentlessly burned through my chest.

At this moment, I felt like the most useless and failed mother in the world.

“I really wanted to meet him, Mom. Since he is here in town, I wanted to see him in person. Especially... before I—”

Jilly paused, her gaze drifting down to her thin fingers attached to the heart monitor.

“Before, I could not see him anymore...”

“Stop, Jilly!” I cut in quickly.

My voice came out louder and sharper than I intended.

Regret hit me instantly when I saw Jilly flinch. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the violent tremor inside my chest.

I could not bear hearing her talk about death. I was not ready. And I would never be ready to let her go.

“Hey, baby... I'm sorry. I did not mean to snap at you,” I said gently, taking her fragile fingers and kissing them over and over. “I just don't like hearing you talk like that. You are not going anywhere. You have to stay here and keep fighting with me. Understand?”

Jilly looked at me for a long moment. “Okay.”

Then she nodded softly, wearing a resigned smile that was far too mature for her age.

“I knew it,” Jilly continued, trying to ease the tension that had briefly settled between us.

A small smile returned to her dry lips.

“If Mom had really met Damon and gotten his autograph, Mom would have cried happy tears the moment she walked through that door.”

My forehead creased as I fought desperately to hold back the tears already gathering in my eyes. “Why would I cry?”

“Because Mom always cries whenever she is too happy,” she answered innocently.

The moment those words left her mouth, every defense I had built since being dragged from that film set like an animal collapsed completely.

Tears burst free and streamed down my cheeks.

I quickly pulled her back into my arms, hiding my shattered face so she would not see it.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I have not been able to be a good mother for you...”

As my face rested against her increasingly thinning hair, my eyes accidentally landed on the Damon Watts pillow beside her bed.

If my daughter did not adore him so much, I swore I would grab that pillow, throw it out the window, and let it be crushed beneath car tires.

A fierce anger suddenly ignited inside my chest, multiplying my hatred toward that rich, spoiled young man who chose to escape life’s pressures through a bottle of alcohol.

Because of him, my world—which had already been cracked—had now shattered completely.

Damon Watts destroyed my phone, the only valuable thing I owned that contained every photo memory of Jilly, from infancy to the last picture before this damned cancer stole her beautiful hair.

And losing my phone was not even the worst part.

Because of the viral scandal and the disgusting narrative his agency created... Alfred had just fired me from the diner.

My thoughts spiraled wildly, haunted by overwhelming fear as I thought about the mountain of hospital bills piling higher and higher inside the drawer at home.

We had nobody left in Spring Creek.

I had been forced to bring Jilly to this small town a year ago, fleeing as far as possible after my traumatic and painful divorce from my ex-husband, Jason Lee.

Jason was a manipulative and cruel man who abandoned his responsibilities, leaving us drowning in debt and emotional scars. Moving here had been my plan for a quiet new beginning.

But Jilly’s cancer diagnosis destroyed everything.

And earlier this morning, before the disaster on the film set, Dr. Grant had already delivered a horrifying verdict, calling me into that cold hospital hallway reeking of antiseptic.

…

“Her platelet count dropped again last night, Mrs. Pierce,” Dr. Grant had said, his eyes filled with a mixture of professional sympathy and helplessness. “Her body is no longer responding to treatment as effectively as before. Our focus now is making sure Jilly remains comfortable.”

…

Comfortable.

That word kept spinning inside my head like a curse. Comfortable was the hospital’s gentle code for the fact that the medical team was beginning to give up.

Jilly had stage four leukemia. And I was watching my only daughter slowly fade away right before my eyes.

“If Damon met you, he would definitely defend you, Mom,” Jilly suddenly said, breaking me out of my terrible thoughts with her cheerful voice. “He would know that Mom is the nicest person in the world, and he would protect you from those bad people.”

“Yeah... maybe, sweetheart,” I whispered with a bitter smile that hurt to wear.

But deep inside the darkest part of my heart, my thoughts screamed in fierce rejection of her innocent words.

I did not need Damon Watts to be my hero. I did not need a spoiled actor drowning himself in alcohol to save my life.

I would be my own hero. And Jilly’s.

Even if tomorrow I had to crawl through the streets, lose every shred of dignity I had left, and face millions of hateful comments from strangers on the internet, I would never give up.

I would face the cruelty of this entire world with my head held high rather than sit quietly and watch my little girl’s imagination and final hope collapse before its time.

DAMON POV

My head felt like it was being hammered over and over again, the pounding making me nauseous and my heart racing faster. Cold sweat drenched my body the moment I woke up. I squeezed my eyes shut again, trying to block out the sunlight slipping through the gap in the hotel curtains.

But the nausea only got worse.

I reached across the nightstand, searching for a bottle of water, but my hand touched my phone instead. I grabbed it, squinting as the bright screen lit up.

A flood of social media notifications and text messages from my agent, Marcus, appeared like a barrage of bullets.

“Great job, Damon! Engagement is up 400% this morning. The ‘Middle-Aged Stalker Mom’ narrative is making people sympathize with you. Your name is trending,” Marcus wrote in one of his messages.

I let out a quiet scoff and tossed the phone onto the empty side of the bed.

Narrative. Everything in my life was a narrative.

Yesterday, I was the “humble and talented young actor.” Today, I was the “victim of a fanatical fan’s harassment.”

Tomorrow? Who knows. It all depends on what the agency wants to sell.

I forced myself to sit up and groaned softly as another sharp throb slammed into my skull.

“Oh, God.”

The smell of the room and its condition only made me feel dizzier. Designer clothes were scattered across the floor like trash, the script for the series I was supposed to memorize was spread across the table, and the stale scent of vape smoke hung in the air.

I dragged myself out of bed and grabbed the only bottle of water left.

“Jilly,” I murmured unconsciously.

Slowly, memories of the woman from yesterday drifted through my mind. I could not remember her face clearly. All I remembered was a cheap baseball cap. But her voice...

For some reason, it kept bothering me. That trembling voice when she begged me about her daughter. Jilly, right?

The hotel room door burst open with a slam that had become all too familiar. Marcus walked in, dressed impeccably as always, and wearing that wide smile that never failed to make me sick.

“Damon! You're finally awake! Our national hero!” he exclaimed as he set a cup of coffee on the table. “Your coffee, as usual.”

I let out a breath. “I want water.”

Marcus blinked and immediately pulled out his phone. He held up one finger, clearly meaning in a minute.

Then he sat down on the couch, looking at me with excitement and pride.

“Did you see the news? The video of that crazy woman getting arrested is trending number one on every platform,” Marcus continued, as if the story would somehow go stale if he did not bring it up immediately.

“My water.”

“It’s on the way.” He cleared his throat. “About that story...”

Marcus should have realized I did not want to talk about it.

But when had I ever been able to refuse anything Marcus said or forced on me?

“The Hollywood producer we've been targeting sent you a message. They said they loved how ‘graceful’ you looked under pressure,” he continued.

“I did not feel graceful, Marcus. I feel awful,” I replied, rubbing my temples. “That woman... are you sure she's crazy? She wasn't just making up the story about her sick daughter, was she?”

Marcus laughed dismissively, then stood up and picked up the coffee cup.

The same coffee he had supposedly brought for me.

He took a sip.

“Damon, how long have you been in this industry? The ‘sick child’ story or the ‘dying mother’ story is an old trick people use all the time to squeeze sympathy out of us.”

“But—”

“She’s a stalker. End of discussion. We already reported that the woman, Julia, to the local police.”

“Wait, what?” My headache intensified, especially as I tried to untangle yesterday’s events from the mess they had become. “Why take it that far?”

“We need concrete proof so the public understands, Damon. She’s already been charged with disturbing the peace and attempted assault.” Marcus smirked. “Let her spend a few days in a jail cell. So she learns her lesson.”

“Assault?”

This time, I sobered up instantly.

“That woman did not assault me. She was holding a phone and crying.”

“In front of a camera, a little shove can look like an attack, Damon. And that's good for your image.”

Marcus’s grin only made panic creep into my chest. A feeling of guilt lingered every time I thought about that woman.

“People get bored when you look too perfect. They need to see you as a victim worth protecting.”

Marcus took another sip of coffee and patted my shoulder.

As soon as the bottled water arrived, he went to the door to get it. Then he left to deal with this afternoon’s filming schedule.

The uneasy feeling kept crawling under my skin, and I immediately grabbed my phone from the bed.

I started searching for videos of yesterday’s incident. I found the raw footage in the agency group chat, untouched by the PR team. It had been filmed by a crew member from close range before security dragged the woman out.

I pressed play.

The footage shocked me. Compared to the version circulating online, it was actually me screaming at her.

I looked disgusting, red-faced, angry, and uncivilized. Oh my God, I looked like a monster.

I studied her eyes. I had seen thousands of pairs of eyes during my five years in this career. I knew exactly what obsession, opportunism, and blind admiration looked like.

But this woman’s eyes... None of that was there.

She was not looking at me as "Damon Watts, the star"; instead, her gaze felt unfamiliar. Filled with hope and desperation.

My blurry memories started returning.

When I slapped her hand away, and her phone hit the floor, she looked devastated.

Her voice echoed through the phone speaker. She was begging. That was all.

She did not even look like a stalker. What I saw was a mother who seemed to be losing her last hope.

I paused the video when the camera captured her face clearly as she was being dragged away. There were no tears nor madness. What I saw was someone completely shattered.

What have I done?

Fragments of memory came rushing back. The way I snapped at her with all the things I said. They were completely out of line.

Meanwhile, this woman may really have been talking about her daughter’s life and death.

Suddenly, all those engagement numbers Marcus had bragged about vanished. In their place was a painful ache deep in my chest.

“Damn it!” I cursed.

I immediately searched for the head of security at the filming location and called him.

“Hello? Yeah, this is Damon. I need to ask about the woman from yesterday,” I said the moment he answered. “What’s her name?”

“Julia Pierce.”

“Right. That’s her. I want you to withdraw that report immediately.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“But, Damon, management said we need to make an example out of her. The video has already gone viral. If we withdraw the report, people will think—”

“I do not care what people think!” I snapped, cutting him off.

My anger flared instantly.

“I’m the victim, right? Then I’m the one who gets to decide! Withdraw the report right now! And do it quietly. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Damon. I’ll take care of it immediately.”

I ended the call abruptly, breathing hard. I knew Marcus would lose his mind if he found out I had ruined the narrative he spent so much time building.

But for the first time in over a year, I felt I needed to do something that wasn't part of a script.

Julia’s face flashed through my mind. She had lost her job. An entire country was tearing her apart.

And not just her phone, but her life had been destroyed because of me.

I was a twenty-year-old guy who thought his life was the hardest thing in the world just because I had to memorize garbage dialogue.

I could not get Julia’s eyes out of my head. The eyes of a mother dying on the inside. Just like the daughter she had talked about.

“Jilly...” I murmured softly, trying to remember the name.

Without thinking, I got out of bed, ignored the pounding in my head, and started putting on a black hoodie and a mask. I had no idea what I was doing, and I was sure it would turn into a complete disaster for my career if anyone caught me on camera.

But there was a strange pull in my chest that kept pushing me to find out the truth behind those desperate eyes.

I needed to see with my own eyes whether “Jilly” was real, or whether I had really just destroyed someone’s life for the sake of meaningless viral content.

DAMON POV

This hospital was nothing like the exclusive fitness centers or five-star hotel lobbies I usually visited. The air here felt cold, carrying the mixed scent of floor cleaner and carefully concealed fragments of hope.

I pulled the hood of my black hoodie lower and adjusted the medical mask over my face until only a narrow opening remained for my eyes.

My chest thundered violently.

I felt like a major criminal returning to the scene of the crime. Even though, according to the online news stories my agency had carefully spun, I was technically the “victim” everyone was supposed to pity.

Yeah, right. How hypocritical.

I walked through the pediatric oncology ward and stopped at the nurse's station.

“Excuse me. Which room is Jilly in? Jilly Pierce?” I asked.

The nurse on duty looked up. “Pierce? You mean Jilly Lee?”

Her eyes swept over my appearance from head to toe, filled with suspicion.

“Who are you?”

“I-I'm Julia’s cousin. From... Manhattan. Yeah, Manhattan.”

I was used to acting and lying for a living, but this time I felt incredibly nervous. And the guilt only tightened around my throat.

“Oh, Room 402, sir. But do not stay too long. The patient’s condition has been unstable because of the news on TV.”

The nurse’s words landed like a direct punch to my stomach.

“Okay. Thank you.”

I slowly walked toward Jilly’s room. The door was not completely closed, leaving a gap of several inches—just enough for me to peek inside. The lights in the room had been deliberately dimmed.

I saw Julia sitting quietly beside the bed. Her back was facing me, but her shoulders looked exhausted and slumped.

Then my gaze shifted to the small figure lying weakly in the bed. The little girl was so tiny.

Far smaller, thinner, and more fragile than anything I had imagined. Her head was nearly bald, covered by a faded pink knitted beanie. A clear IV tube was taped to her frail arm.

What made my breath catch was what Jilly was holding in her arms. A pillow printed with my face.

Damon Watts smiling brightly at the camera without a care in the world—a cheap licensed piece of merchandise I often saw being sold outside filming locations.

My heart felt like it stopped beating when I saw it.

“I do not want any more treatments. They hurt,” the little girl whined softly.

“Sweetheart, hang in there, okay? Remember what Dr. Grant said? They just want to give you more superhero blood.”

Jilly smiled a little. “So I can meet Damon.”

Hearing those words from a little girl made my knees suddenly feel weak.

“That’s why you have to keep fighting with me, okay, sweetheart?” Julia said.

“Yeah, okay.” Jilly coughed softly. “Mom, aren’t you supposed to be at Uncle Alfred’s diner?”

“Oh, Uncle Alfred said there is not much work at the diner right now. So I’m going to find another job. Do not worry. I’ll find one.”

“You should try meeting Damon, Mom. Maybe he can help you.”

“I will, but I want to make sure you’re okay first.”

My chest tightened instantly.

I leaned against the hallway wall, my breathing catching in my throat. It felt as though a giant rock had been dropped onto my lungs.

I had just witnessed a bitter reality that had never been written into any script Marcus had ever handed me.

Inside that dim room was not some crazy middle-aged stalker. Inside that room was simply a single mother and her daughter.

A woman whose world was falling apart piece by piece. And a dying child who saw a bastard like me as her hero.

“You bastard, Damon. You asshole,” I muttered under my breath.

For the first time, I fully realized how disgusting and cruel the entertainment industry I had always been proud of truly was. We celebrities were paid millions to sell beautiful dreams to the public. Meanwhile, people like Julia were forced to live through real nightmares because of our selfishness.

I remembered how carelessly I had stomped on her old phone in the trailer. That cracked phone might have contained the only childhood photos she had left. Voice recordings or videos she used to keep her daughter’s spirits alive while she fought a brutal disease.

Suddenly, the creak of a wooden door startled me.

Room 402 opened. Julia stepped out in a hurry and nearly walked straight into my chest.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

But Julia did not continue walking. Instead, she stopped in front of me and looked up. She narrowed her eyes as though there was something strange about me.

“Who are you?” she asked bluntly.

I shook my head nervously.

I should have said something. Wrong room, or something.

Damn it, my tongue felt frozen.

Then Julia’s eyes widened slightly. She gasped and took a step back.

From the look in her eyes, I could already tell something terrible was about to happen.

“You?” Her voice was low but full of deep hatred. “What are you doing here?”

“Julia, I came here to—”

“Was that not enough?” she cut in sharply, staring at me. “Was it not enough that you got the entire world to label me a crazy stalker? Was it not enough that you made my life even more of a disaster?”

“Just listen—”

Julia’s body trembled violently as she shook her head. “Did you listen to me back then?”

“Julia, please.”

“I was begging you for the exact same thing back then. And now I do not want to hear a single word from you. Leave. Stop turning me into another prop for your fame.”

I slowly lowered my mask. “I came alone. No cameras. No agency.”

“And I’m supposed to be touched by that? The great Damon Watts came all the way to this hospital just to show me his fake sympathy?” Julia let out a bitter laugh.

“I-I know I was wrong. My head was a mess back then, and I...” I forced myself to meet her eyes even though it felt difficult. “I saw the original footage. You were never trying to attack me.”

“So the Hollywood prince finally realized he stepped on the wrong person?”

Julia stepped forward, closing the distance between us.

“Listen, Mr. Watts. To you, our ruined lives might just be numbers or another pathetic story to boost your image. But to me, this is my daughter’s life,” Julia whispered, her voice colder than ice.

“I do not see this as content, Julia. I swear to God, I want to make this right.”

“Make what right?” she hissed. “Can you clear my name out there? Can you bring my broken phone back? Or can you restore the photos of my daughter before chemotherapy took all her hair?”

That hit me harder than any slap ever could. Even though Julia never laid a finger on me.

Julia stared at me coldly. “You cannot do any of that, can you?”

“We can talk about this, and—”

“Leave! Do not ever come near my daughter again! Do not come back here with your garbage cameras or your agency!”

“Please, just give me time to clear your name. I’ll do it. I swear.”

“You think I trust an actor like you?”

Julia’s bitter laugh, dripping with sarcasm, hurt more than I expected.

“Now get out of here. I do not need anything from you.” Julia took a deep breath. “Leave!”

Julia’s emotional voice was beginning to attract attention. Several nurses at the station and family members of other patients were already turning toward us suspiciously.

I knew that if I stayed and kept pushing, a huge scene would break out. And that would only make things worse for Julia.

I looked at her one more time.

A woman who was incredibly strong, independent, and strikingly beautiful in her simplicity, even while her entire world was collapsing around her.

And in that moment, I realized there was a massive wall standing between us. A wall I had built myself through my own stupidity.

“I’m sorry.” Those were the only pathetic words I could manage.

I turned and walked quickly away from the pediatric oncology ward.

I deliberately ran down the emergency stairs because I could not bear the thought of waiting for an elevator and running into other people. The moment I pushed through the hospital’s exit doors, I ripped off my mask.

I took a deep breath. But the pain in my chest still would not go away.

Right then, my phone rang loudly in my pocket. The name Marcus flashed across the screen.

I lazily swiped the green button. “Damon! Where the hell are you?”

Before Marcus could continue, I cut him off immediately.

“Stop every single story about Julia Pierce. Right now. Or I’m walking away from every contract I signed. Do you hear me?”