The usually mild-tempered doctor lost her cool and grabbed her phone, ready to make a call.

But when her eyes landed on Marianne lying on the bed, her resolve softened.

Dr. Obrien was scared. If Suzanne's voice came through on the other end, it might push Marianne over the edge. The baby in her womb would truly be in danger.

"Ugh, forget it, I won't call him. Don't stress yourself out." Dr. Obrien let out a heavy sigh, one after another.

"Okay." Marianne wiped away her tears and turned over, only to see her phone screen light up.

Message after message from Director Angus popped up.

[Marianne, where are you?!]

[Marianne, the sponsor has been waiting for three hours!]

Quickly brushing away her tears, Marianne turned to the doctor. "I can leave now, right?"

Dr. Obrien panicked. "What are you planning to do? Your body can't handle this!"

"Marianne, listen to me!" she added. "The baby's the priority! I'll call Kennedy to pick you up…"

"Marianne! Marianne!"

The heavy sound of the door slamming shut silenced Dr. Obrien's shouts, cutting them off behind the hospital room door.

Meanwhile, Marianne texted the director. [Director Angus, I'm so sorry. I've had some health issues and couldn't make it earlier. If I come now, will it still be okay?]

The reply came swiftly. [What happened? Are you alright?]

Director Angus's concern seemed uncharacteristic. Normally, he wasn't the type to fuss. Still, the warmth in his words tugged at Marianne's heart.

[You've probably heard about someone falling into the lake on set, right? That… that was me.]

As soon as she sent the message, a wave of embarrassment hit her. Anyone on set could tell him what happened—that she had been provoked by his boyfriend's other woman and abandoned by her boyfriend, left humiliated and soaked.

[I'm glad you're safe now. Send me your location. I'll send a car to pick you up.]

Marianne thought he was just being polite, but five minutes later, a sleek Maybach pulled up outside the hospital.

'Director Angus' she thought. 'When did he get so rich?'

"Miss Marlowe, please get in." The driver, wearing white gloves, carefully opened the door for her.

The car's interior carried a light, pleasant fragrance—familiar yet soothing. Marianne couldn't recall where she had smelled it before, but it did calm her nerves.

As the car left the city, the roads became wider, and so did her mood. Soon, she'd be able to restart her career. Her path would only grow brighter.

If she had never paused her acting career to play housewife, who knows how many Best Actress trophies she'd have by now?

Lost in her daydream, her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden call from Alissa Cross, Kennedy's manager.

"Marianne, where are you? Hurry over! Kennedy's in danger!"

Marianne's voice was steady. "Alissa, whatever happens to Kennedy has nothing to do with me. You should talk to Suzanne instead."

"Please, don't be like this, Marianne. I'm begging you, come talk some sense into him!"

"I'm busy right now."

"This is serious! He's going to die! Kennedy's gone mad—he's refusing to use a harness for a rooftop stunt. It's suicide…"

The phone slipped from Marianne's hand and fell to the floor.

She had thought about breaking up with Kennedy. She had thought about never seeing him again. But she had never, not once, thought about him dying.

'Fine. This time, I'd treat it as our final goodbye,' she decided.

"Excuse me, could you take a detour to Skyline Studios?"

Clenching the fabric of her coat, Marianne's palms were damp with cold sweat.

When Marianne showed up at Kennedy's set, it hit her just how bad things really were.

The place was packed—people everywhere, gawking at the chaos like it was the hottest show in town.

The second Alissa saw her, she rushed over and practically dragged her inside.

The moment Marianne met Kennedy's eyes, he looked away first.

"Kennedy, I brought her here! You always listen to her, right? She'll talk some sense into you!" Alissa shoved Marianne forward.

But Kennedy didn't even glance at Marianne. "You shouldn't have come. Don't bother with me."

And then an annoying, child-like voice rang out again.

"Uncle Ken, please come down! Don't risk your life for me!"

Marianne whipped around and stared at Suzanne. 'Risk his life? For her?'

"Oh, so that's Suzanne?" someone whispered nearby. "I heard Kennedy's risking his life just to keep her role."

"Well, the new sponsor's calling the shots now. What can you do? You can't fight the money."

Listening to the discussions around her, Marianne finally pieced everything together.

Apparently, the original investor for Kennedy and Suzanne's film had pulled out. The new sponsor stepped in with one condition: Suzanne could stay in the cast, but only if Kennedy performed a rooftop jump—no harness, no safety net.

So, he was willing to gamble his life… for her career.

And Marianne? Why the hell was she even here?

Alissa's tone softened. "Marianne, I know this is unfair, but come on, it's a life we're talking about here. And he's still your—"

"He's not my anything. We're strangers."

Marianne shook Alissa off, wrapped her coat tighter around herself, and turned to leave.

Just then, Kennedy suddenly leaped off the rooftop.

"Is he okay? Hurry up! Check him!"

"Mr. Bryden!"

"Call an ambulance!"

The crowd lost it. The set was a mess.

Marianne tried to push through, but the panic made it impossible to move. Her breathing got harder and harder.

"Excuse me! Please, let me through—"

But the noisy crowd quickly drowned out her voice. She was shoved and jostled, and the pain in her body was unbearable.

And then she felt it—a warm gush running down her legs.

Could it be…

"Move! Let me through!"

She stumbled through the sea of people, heading toward a car, but the second she got close, a wall of reporters swarmed her.

Flashes blinded her as microphones were shoved in her face.

"Miss Marlowe, is it true your boyfriend jumped off a building for another woman?"

"Miss Marlowe, how do you put up with this? Can you share your experience?"

Seeing that she was alone, the reporter asked more and more harsh questions.

Marianne felt dizzy. "Please make way. It hurts..."

Bur reporter still asked relentlessly.

"Miss Marlowe, are you a doormat in this relationship? Did you just stand by while they were together?"

"Miss Marlowe, who's the real girlfriend here? Are you the side chick? Honestly, you seem like the side chick."

"Miss Marlowe—"

"Enough! Back off!" Out of nowhere, a team of massive security guards pushed through and surrounded her, forming a human shield.

Then, a strong arm pulled her into a protective hold, a black trench coat blocking out the cameras.

"Don't be scared, Marianne. Come with me."

Even though they got her to the hospital in time, it didn't matter. The baby was gone.

Dr. Obrien slammed her fist against the wall in grief.

She'd saved so many patients over the years, but this… this felt personal.

For 10 years, Marianne had fought so hard for her baby.

The therapy and the awful medicine—she went through it all every day with unwavering hope…

The needle pierced her skin, and tears streamed down Marianne's face, but she didn't make a sound.

"You silly girl, if it hurts, just cry," Dr. Obrien said softly, her voice tinged with worry.

Marianne even managed to smile. "It's fine. It doesn't hurt. As long as I can have the baby, I'll endure anything."

But that wasn't true; Marianne was terrified—terrified of everything.

She was afraid that Kennedy's promises wouldn't hold. Afraid she wouldn't be able to get pregnant. Afraid she'd never return to the career she loved. Afraid Suzanne would keep haunting her like a shadow.

But no one protected her.

When she said she wanted to end the pregnancy, Dr. Obrien almost lost her mind. She texted Kennedy over and over, begging him to take care of Marianne and to treat her better. She told him how much Marianne had been through to get pregnant.

But there was not a single reply from Kennedy.

And then, the baby was gone.

Marianne lay curled up in bed, trembling like a wet, abandoned puppy. She burned with fever, mumbling, "Baby… my baby…"

"Mr. Cohen, you haven't eaten all day. Should I bring you…?"

Gene Cohen raised a hand, silencing his assistant. The man quickly left, leaving him alone in the hospital room.

Huo sat beside Marianne, gently brushing her face.

"Anne, it's my fault," he whispered. "I was too late."

"Why did you lie to me? You said you were doing fine."

"Anne, I missed you so much. Do you even know?"

Across town, Kennedy wasn't doing much better. He'd broken his leg on set, and if someone hadn't shoved a cushion under him at the last second, it could've been worse.

"Uncle Ken, you're finally awake!"

Suzanne clung to his hand, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

Kennedy slowly pulled his hand away and glanced around the room.

There was Suzanne, his manager, reporters, doctors— even some nosy patients poking their heads in.

But Marianne wasn't there.

"I fell so hard. Who's come to see me?" he asked.

"Everyone's here, Uncle Ken! We've all been waiting for you. Who are you looking for?"

"No one," he said, closing his eyes to hide his disappointment.

Marianne used to care so much. If he got a scrape on set, she'd freak out, crying as she cleaned the wound.

"Kennedy, stop doing these dangerous stunts, okay?" she'd beg.

And he'd laugh, ruffling her hair. "If I don't work, who's going to support you? Who's going to support our baby?"

Those moments felt so close, yet now they were gone in the blink of an eye.

His leg was broken, and where was she? Why didn't she come to check on him?

Kennedy pressed his lips together, his gaze falling to his bare wrist. He remembered how Marianne had saved up for months to buy him a rugged survival bracelet, insisting it would keep him safe.

When he'd jumped from that building during the stunt, the bracelet snapped and was gone just like everything else.

Suzanne leaned closer, breaking his thoughts. "Uncle Ken, stop worrying! I've got good news. Our sponsor agreed to let me keep acting!"

Kennedy barely reacted. "Mm."

"And guess what?" she continued eagerly. "They even gave the show more money and made me the lead! Though… I did see Aunt Marianne getting into his car the other day. I wonder if…"

The second she mentioned Marianne's name, Kennedy's face darkened. His fists clenched so tightly that veins popped, his eyes turning bloodshot.

Suzanne froze, her voice trailing off.

Kennedy didn't need to say what was in his head. Everyone in the room could already guess.