When we first met, I was just an abandoned girl from a remote mountain village, while he was a renowned director in Chicago.

To get closer to him, I worked tirelessly to master acting.

But when I finally rose to fame, Shane Dean gave my debut film to his first love.

Years later, I stood by the river, gazing at the man I had loved for a decade.

"Do you really want to jump?" I asked.

Shane avoided my eyes and turned away, adjusting Harriet Hudson's coat.

"You’re Harriet’s stunt double—you have to jump for her."

So I jumped. And with that single plunge, two lives were lost.

For the first time, the ever-indifferent Shane lost control.

...

Standing by the surging river, I shivered. The cold wind bit at my exposed feet as I watched Harriet Hudson wrapped in a blanket, Shane’s suit jacket draped protectively over her shoulders.

I sniffled and asked him again, "Do you really want me to jump?"

He still wouldn't look at me. Instead, he carefully tucked Harriet’s coat around her.

"The wind is too cold," he murmured. "You’re Harriet’s stunt double—you have to dance for her."

"But Joann was drenched in the rain for Harriet just yesterday," my assistant Ruth Ball protested. "She was only discharged from the hospital today—"

"She left the hospital, didn’t she?" Shane cut in coldly.

I smiled bitterly. I had ignored the doctor’s warnings and left the hospital today just to be here. After all, today was his birthday.

"Harriet is pregnant. This film needs to be completed in two months," Shane said, his gaze empty of emotion.

"You’ve already delayed her for too long."

Harriet had waited a single day, and that was "too long."

Yet I had waited ten years for him. What did that mean?

I pressed my cracked lips together and stepped into the river.

As the current carried me away, I suddenly realized—the safety harness had snapped.

The icy water crushed against my chest, stealing my breath. But all I could think about was Shane’s gentle expression as he wrapped Harriet in his coat.

No matter how cold the wind was against her, it could never be colder than this river.

I fought to stay afloat, gasping for air. The shore was in chaos, but everyone rushed to Harriet. Only three figures—so small, so insignificant—ran toward me.

Shane was not among them.

Perhaps this was what it meant to be a star orbiting around a moon.

Perhaps, from the very start, I was just a bright light he had held in his hands—only to offer it to Harriet.

Before I met Shane, my name was Lana Hatch—the unwanted daughter of parents who longed for a son.

When I was eleven, my mother gave birth to her fifth daughter.

That night, I ran. Through the pounding rain, I stumbled onto the village road, vowing to leave that name behind forever.

I didn’t know how long I walked before a man’s voice stopped me.

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead."

I didn’t slow down. I just kept moving forward, desperate to put more distance between myself and my past.

"What’s your name?"

"...I don’t have one."

"I’m director Shane. If you have nowhere to go, do you want to become my actress?"

I halted, turning to face him.

Shane smiled gently and handed me a business card.

Under the sunlight, the white card gleamed so brightly that it hurt my eyes.

I reached out cautiously, my fingers trembling. But no matter how careful I was, I still left a dark smudge on its surface.

"Alright," I whispered.

"From now on, your name will be Joann Oliver."

At that moment, I thought I saw stars reflected in his eyes.

I had walked from the storm into the light, from darkness into dawn.

Lana Hatch, the girl no one had wanted, had finally become Joann, the girl he had chosen to see.

It’s a pity that I haven’t seen those eyes again in the past ten years.

I wish I could see them one last time.

Before I lost consciousness completely, my fingers instinctively grasped a jagged log from an old tree on the shore. Using the last of my strength, I wedged my arm into a splintered branch.

Blood poured out, revealing bone.

The raging river fought to drag me away, and the gash on my arm tore wider and wider.

But I clung to the trunk, desperate to survive.

Because I was also pregnant—with Shane’s child.

When I regained awareness, my consciousness floated above my own body.

I could feel my breath, my heartbeat—weakening, fading.

I didn’t have much time left.

I looked at the two heartbeats—one large, one small—tethered to my wrists.

And in the next blink, I was back in the studio.

Assistant Ruth was sobbing, clutching a frayed life rope.

"Director Dean... the safety rope broke... What if something happens to Joann? We need to call the police!"

Shane hesitated for a moment.

I seized the chance to approach him, trying to press the amulet I always carried into his hands.

If he had it, maybe he’d save me.

Maybe he’d save our child.

But his voice was indifferent.

"Joann is a strong swimmer. She’s just throwing a tantrum. Don’t worry about her. Harriet isn’t feeling well—everyone, hurry up and finish this scene."

My steps faltered. The amulet slipped from my fingers and hit the ground with a dull thud.

So that was it.

He had no intention of looking for me at all.

All that desperate struggling, all that time I fought to survive, hoping someone would come—

It was nothing but a cruel joke.

"But Director Dean," Ruth cried, eyes brimming with anger, "just now, Harriet lost a hairpin, and you made everyone stop searching for it. But now a person is missing, and you don’t even care?!"

How could she understand?

The moon is always surrounded by stars. Some shine, and some simply burn out.

She only knew that I was her friend, and right now, my life and death were uncertain.

She used to tell me, "With your talent, you’ll be famous all over the country one day."

But soon, the only fame I might have would be the bruises on my corpse and the flames of the crematorium.

I reached out to wipe her tears, but my hand passed right through her.

Harriet, meanwhile, was calmly fixing her hair.

"It takes 48 hours before a missing person case can be filed. Why are you in such a rush?" She twirled a hairpin between her fingers. "Besides, that’s not just any hairpin. Shane carved it for me ten years ago—it’s a token of love."

The set, which had been buzzing with activity, fell into hushed whispers.

"I heard that when Harriet left for abroad, Director Dean locked himself in his studies for days," someone murmured. "Turns out he was carving that for her."

"Director Dean is really devoted. And then he found a girl who looked just like Harriet to be her stand-in. Joann played the role so well, that it blurred the lines between fiction and reality. She’s pitiful, really."

I stared at the delicate hairpin nestled in Harriet’s bun.

So it was this hairpin.

For Shane, I had spent seven years learning to act. I trained at the best academy, and graduated at the top of my class.

But to him, I was never good enough.

Even after earning the lead role in his films, every scene, every gesture—he would make me redo them hundreds of times.

A film that should have taken three months stretched into three years, all because of my so-called incompetence.

Still, I endured it.

If a hundred takes weren’t enough, I would do a thousand.

As long as, one day, I could make him proud.

The black smudge I once left on his white business card had faded over the years, worn down by my fingers.

And in the end, I finished my first film.

The night before the celebration banquet, Shane got drunk somewhere.

Staggering, he collapsed onto me, his gaze filled with a tenderness I had never seen before—eyes brimming with emotions long suppressed.

He gently combed through my hair, his fingers braiding each strand with quiet devotion.

The last hairpin he placed was this one.

He said nothing afterward, and I silently accepted everything that followed.

The next morning, I woke up early, fastening my hair with the same hairpin, feeling inexplicably content.

I even cooked a bowl of millet porridge for him.

But the moment I stepped through the door, Shane shoved me away without a word.

He took the hairpin from my hair and clutched it tightly, holding it as if it were something precious.

I sat on the cold floor, disheveled, my face hidden beneath strands of loose hair, dirt smudging my clothes.

"Joann, you will never be her," he spat through gritted teeth.

As if he wasn’t just telling me—but convincing himself.

But what I didn’t deserve went far beyond that.

After forcing myself to regain composure, I followed the address sent in the group chat and rushed to the crew’s wrap-up party.

Yet, when I arrived, someone else had already taken the seat meant for the female lead.

And beside her, Shane was looking at her—gazing with a tenderness I had longed for over the past ten years.

Just looking at her.

Everyone raised their glasses.

"Let’s celebrate the return of Director Dean’s first love—our Harriet! The film is complete!"

And there, on the official movie poster, the words were printed clearly—"Female Lead: Harriet."

I stared at the woman in the center of the crowd.

And in that moment, I finally understood everything.

Shane had chosen me—an unknown girl, covered in dust—only because I resembled her.

Eighty percent, to be exact.

He was willing to train me, to mold me, to perfect my every movement and expression—so that one day, I would look exactly like her.

And from that day on, I never took on another role.

It was only natural that I became Harriet’s permanent stand-in.

I wasn’t even angry.

After all, everything I had was given to me by Shane.

It was his right to take it away—or give it to someone else.

I was just… a little sad.

Even my name had carried an expectation that never truly belonged to me.

Harriet. Joann.

The sky is full of stars, but there is only one moon.

Just like Lana Hatch.

I pressed my lips together and turned to leave.

But Harriet suddenly spoke.

"As long as I’m happy, I can have as many substitutes as Joann, right, Shane?"

I wanted to float far away, but my soul never strayed more than five steps from him.

I saw the slight crease in his brow as he looked at Harriet with concern.

I saw love and devotion in his eyes when he gazed at her.

Once, my father—who had always wished for a son—told me, "Daughters are just burdens. Worthless. Cheap."

And now, the man who had pulled me out of that life said to Harriet:

"Yes, Joann. I can have as many as I want."

The thin thread on my wrist snapped.

The two heartbeats stopped completely.

Tears poured from my eyes like a flood, as if all the river water that had drowned me had gathered there instead.

"Joann..."

Suddenly, Shane looked at me—eyes hollow, his expression dazed.

He held the wet amulet in his hands.

"What’s wrong?" Harriet frowned at his reaction and snatched it away.

"What is this filthy thing?"

That amulet… he had asked for it.

To keep me safe.

To protect my health.

"Nothing," Shane murmured.

"Then throw it away."

"...Okay."

The amulet landed in the trash, lost among discarded lunch boxes from the crew’s midday meal.

Shane sat to the side, typing and deleting, before finally sending me a message.

"Joann, haven't you had enough fun? Stop this nonsense and come back to film. Harriet can't do the kidnapping scene tomorrow."

He didn’t know that yesterday had been the last time I would ever stand in for Harriet.