Lindsay Swanson said my desire to go public with our relationship was a disease—vanity run rampant. Something that needed to be cured.

So every time I brought up making an announcement, she'd have me shipped off to a psychiatric facility for electroshock therapy.

Even when all I did was suggest bringing her home to meet my family for New Year's dinner.

Lindsay grabbed the stun baton and dropped me to the floor without a second thought.

"Carl Barnes, if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a man who doesn't know his place."

"If you can't learn to keep a low profile, I'll just have to keep treating you until you learn to behave."

But that night at the Starlight Gala, when Morton Simmons—the company's newly signed rising star—suddenly reached out and took her hand...

Lindsay didn't fly into a rage or have someone beat him half to death. She didn't recoil in disgust or crack his skull with her stiletto heel.

And just like that, I understood.

It was never about men who didn't know their place. It was about me.

I turned off the livestream and signed the termination contract without a flicker of emotion.

My agent asked, her face full of regret, why I was in such a rush to leave.

My voice was calm.

"Family's been pressuring me. I'm going back to get married."

……

Kathleen Lawrence shot up from her chair, disbelief written across her face.

"Carl, have you lost your mind?"

"You're throwing away ten years of your career just to spite Ms. Swanson?"

I shook my head, my tone flat.

"It's not spite."

"It's a family arrangement. My fiancée has been waiting for me for a long time."

Kathleen stared at me, about to say something more.

The office door slammed open. Lindsay strode in, Morton trailing at her heels like a shadow.

Her gaze landed on the termination contract in front of me.

"Ha."

She let out a cold laugh, walked over, and picked up the document.

Right in front of me, she tore it to shreds and tossed the pieces into the trash.

"Carl, trying to force my hand by pretending to leave?"

"Don't you think this little game of yours is a bit... juvenile?"

I looked at the scraps of paper in the wastebasket. Not a ripple of emotion stirred in my chest.

Not like before, when a single harsh word from her could keep me up all night, aching.

"Ms. Swanson, I mean it. I'm terminating my contract."

"I'll pay the penalty in full. Whoever you choose to promote after this has nothing to do with me."

The mockery on Lindsay's face froze, then turned to ice.

"The penalty? With your pathetic earnings?"

She reached out, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against my cheek in a gesture designed to humiliate.

"Everything you have, I gave you, Carl."

"Without me, you'd be worse off than a beggar on the street."

Morton immediately stepped forward, tugging timidly at Lindsay's sleeve.

"Lindsay, please don't be upset."

"Is Carl upset because of that lead role? It's all my fault... Maybe I should just give it back to him."

The frost on Lindsay's face melted instantly.

She patted Morton's hand with gentle warmth.

"This has nothing to do with you. That role was always meant for someone like you."

She turned back to me, her expression shifting to contempt.

"Unlike some people, who've been acting for ten years without an ounce of improvement."

"Carl. Apologize to Morton. Now."

I didn't move.

"Why should I?"

Lindsay's patience finally snapped.

"Hello? Cancel all of Carl's scheduled appearances."

"Yes. All of them."

"And his bank accounts—freeze every single one."

She hung up and pressed the intercom.

"Security? Escort Carl out of the building. Clear out everything he has in the company apartment."

When she finished, Lindsay looked down at me from above, her gaze imperious.

"Think you're so impressive?"

"Then I'll just wait for you to starve on the streets and come crawling back to me on your knees."

I was kicked out of the company apartment.

There wasn't much to pack, really. For ten years, I'd lived like a shadow.

The clothes were picked by Lindsay. The style matched her preferences. Even my underwear was discount stuff she'd bought.

I only took a few photo albums and a worn velvet box.

Ten years ago, I'd used my first paycheck from a film to buy that ring. I was going to propose to her.

Looking at it now, what a joke.

The moment I stepped out of the apartment building, a red Ferrari pulled up in front of me.

The window rolled down, revealing Morton's harmless-looking face.

"Carl, leaving already?"

He grinned at the pathetic duffel bag in my hand.

"Ms. Swanson says you're to attend tonight's celebration party."

I frowned. "I'm not going."

"Come on, don't be like that. Ms. Swanson said if you don't show up, she'll have those photos of yours sent to the media."

Morton waved his phone. On the screen was a photo of Lindsay forcing me to wear those toys.

There were even a few intimate shots of her stepping on me, my face flushed red.

"Ms. Swanson says if these photos get out, your Best Actor image will be completely destroyed."

Morton's smile was innocent and cruel at the same time.

"Tonight's my celebration party. Ms. Swanson says you have to be there."

"She says she's giving you a chance to make amends."

I looked at him, my throat dry as sand.

"Fine."

Morton's smile deepened.

"Oh, right—Ms. Swanson's worried you'll steal my spotlight, so she picked out something special for you to wear."

He tossed a bag from the passenger seat. Inside was a waiter's vest.

"Don't be late, Carl."

When I walked into the most luxurious private room in the city wearing that cheap waiter's vest, the glittering crowd fell silent for a moment.

Then they burst into laughter.

"Isn't that Best Actor Barnes? What happened—career change to waiting tables?"

"Ha! That uniform actually fits him pretty well."

Investors and directors who used to bow and scrape to me now wore undisguised mockery on their faces.

I stood among them like a punchline.

Lindsay sat on the main sofa, watching the scene with cold detachment. She made no move to stop it.

She beckoned to me like she was calling a dog.

"Come here. Pour a drink for Ms. Lambert."

She gestured toward a heavyset middle-aged woman beside her.

"Since you want to terminate your contract, you should experience real life. Start from the bottom—isn't that what you said?"

"Carl, show me your resolve."

I walked over stiffly and picked up the wine bottle.

Miriam Lambert's greasy eyes roamed over me. One hand slid onto my waist without permission.

"Tsk, tsk. No wonder he's one of Ms. Swanson's trained pets. So obedient."

"But Ms. Swanson, you've played with this one for ten years now. Aren't you bored yet?"

Lindsay raised her glass and let out a soft laugh.

"Ms. Lambert, you flatter me."

"He's just a little pet. Hardly mine."

My hand trembled uncontrollably. Red wine spilled out.

It splashed onto Miriam's dress.

Her expression turned icy. "It seems Ms. Swanson isn't being sincere."

"Perhaps I need to reconsider the male lead for that drama."

Morton's eyes reddened. "Carl, if you hate me, just say so. Why do you have to sabotage me like this?"

As he spoke, he tried to grab the wine glass from my hand.

"I know you're too dignified for this kind of thing. I'm different—this is my only chance. Even if Ms. Lambert wanted me to drink a hundred glasses, I'd do it."

Lindsay slammed her glass onto the floor.

"Carl, you really want to do this the hard way?"

She rose to her feet, her exquisite face twisted with fury and disgust.

"It's just one glass of wine. Is that worth sabotaging Morton's career over?"

"Go apologize to Ms. Lambert. Now."

Morton stepped in front of her. "It's fine, Lindsay. Carl isn't going to do it—I'll go apologize to Ms. Lambert myself."

"I'm not as lucky as Carl, having you looking out for me from the start. This kind of thing is nothing to me."

Lindsay's expression grew even colder. She walked up to me and stopped inches away.

"Kneel."

"Lick it clean."

The private room went dead silent. No one dared breathe.

Morton peeked out from behind Lindsay, covering his mouth in exaggerated shock.

"Lindsay, isn't this... a bit much?"

Then, in a stage whisper: "Although, Carl always did whatever you told him to. He'll probably do it."

I looked at Lindsay's cold, unyielding face and asked quietly, "Lindsay, are you serious?"

She let out a contemptuous laugh.

"I've supported you for ten years. Asking you to kneel and lick up some wine—that's too much for you?"

"Don't push your luck, Carl. I can have PR release a story right now saying you're a diva who bullies newcomers. I'll find a few young men who just joined the company and have them say you sexually harassed them."

"Who do you think people will believe then?"

I closed my eyes.

That last flicker of something—whatever remained of what I'd once called love—extinguished completely.

The final thread of attachment I'd held onto, I severed with my own hands.

Ten years of devotion. Nothing but a joke.

I didn't kneel.

I grabbed the entire bottle and splashed it across Miriam's greasy face.

She shrieked and clutched her face. The room erupted into chaos.

Lindsay trembled with rage.

"Carl! Have you lost your mind?!"

Then her palm cracked across my cheek.

"Apologize to Ms. Lambert! Now!"

"Do you have any idea she's the biggest investor in this production? If you've offended her, what happens to Morton's role?"

I looked at her coldly.

"That's Morton's role. What does it have to do with me?"

"And this slap—consider it payment for ten years of your generosity."

"From now on, we're even."

I turned and walked out. The wind outside cut like a blade.

I was wearing nothing but a thin dress shirt. My whole body shook from the cold, but my mind had never been clearer.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I answered. An elderly voice came through.

"You little brat. So you do know how to pick up the phone."

Grandpa.

My nose stung. My throat seized up.

"Grandpa..."

The old man on the other end sighed. "Come home."

"The Chen girl has waited ten years for you. She can't wait any longer."

"The wedding's on the eighth of next month. It's already been arranged."

Tears fell without warning, scalding hot.

Ten years.

I'd given Lindsay ten years. And all along, someone had been waiting for me.

"Okay," I choked out. "I'm coming home."

I hung up and flagged down a taxi.

"The airport, please."

But when I got there, my ID was gone.

My heart dropped. A terrible feeling crept over me.