"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.

Lindsay appeared behind me with several bodyguards in black, her heels clicking with casual authority.

What she dangled from her fingers made my blood run cold—my ID card.

"Looking for this?"

"Carl, without my permission, you're not going anywhere."

I stared at her.

"Give it back."

Lindsay let out a soft laugh.

"Give it back? Sure, I could do that."

"I'll give you one last chance. Go be Morton's on-set coach. Teach him how to act, hand-hold him through every scene. Do that, and I'll consider letting you go."

Morton poked his head out from behind her, his face arranged in perfect innocence.

"Lindsay, that's not fair. Carl's a Best Actor winner—making him my babysitter would be such a waste of his talent."

Then his tone shifted, dripping with faux naivety.

"Although... the show does need someone to play a mute servant who leads the male lead's horse. I think Carl has just the right presence for it."

I didn't spare him a glance. My eyes stayed locked on Lindsay.

"I said, give it back."

"I'm going home."

"Home?"

The smile vanished from Lindsay's face.

Right in front of me, she snapped my ID card in half.

"Carl, this is your home."

"Take him."

Two bodyguards moved in immediately.

I fought back, but they forced me down onto the cold floor, pinning me there.

In the middle of the airport terminal, travelers stopped in their tracks. Phones went up. Flashes fired.

The light stabbed at my eyes until I couldn't keep them open.

Lindsay crouched down slowly, bringing herself level with my gaze.

"Carl, I raised you."

"Strays that run get their legs broken."

I was put under house arrest at the production's hotel.

The doors and windows were all locked from outside. My phone was confiscated.

Lindsay meant what she said—she really did make me Morton's on-set coach.

Coach was generous. I was his servant.

Fetching tea. Pouring water. Bringing his clothes. I even had to wash his underwear.

Morton found new ways to torment me every day.

The water was too hot. The food was too cold. He called me useless in front of the entire crew whenever the mood struck him.

I endured it all.

Until the day Morton was filming a horseback scene and fell off.

He clutched his leg, wailing like the world was ending.

Lindsay flew in from Capital City overnight. The moment she walked through the door, her palm cracked across my face.

"Carl, did you do this on purpose?"

"You were responsible for checking Morton's horse. Were you trying to kill him?"

I pressed my hand to my burning cheek and looked past her—at Morton, surrounded by doctors and assistants, without so much as a scratch on him.

"I checked everything. There was nothing wrong."

"Nothing wrong? Then why did he fall?" Lindsay's rage was a living thing, ready to consume me whole.

Morton was still sniffling, playing the saint.

"Lindsay, don't blame Carl. I'm sure he didn't mean it."

"He just... maybe he was too tired and forgot to check the saddle."

Lindsay's expression turned even darker.

"Carl, get on your knees. Apologize to Morton."

"Or you can forget about me ever publicly acknowledging our relationship!"

That threat again.

I looked at her, and suddenly, something broke loose inside me.

I laughed.

Not a cold laugh. Not a mocking one.

A genuine laugh—because the absurdity of it all finally hit me.

"Publicly acknowledge our relationship?"

I looked at her like she was a stranger I'd never met.

"Lindsay, have you forgotten? I'm the one who wanted out. I'm the one who's leaving."

"You and I stopped being anything the moment I signed that termination contract."

"What makes you think I still want your pathetic, shameful little acknowledgment?"

Lindsay's face flushed crimson. Her hand shot up to strike me again.

But this time, I caught her wrist and held it in an iron grip.

Ten years. This was the first time I'd ever fought back.

Disbelief flooded her eyes.

"You're putting your hands on me, Carl?"

I flung her arm aside, the force sending her stumbling backward.

"Your games don't work on me anymore, Lindsay."

I cast a dismissive glance at Morton, still playing the wounded victim. "And stop using him to disgust me."

"Who you want to promote, who you want to sleep with—none of that's my concern anymore."

"Right now, I just want to go home."

"I have a wedding to prepare for. I don't have time for this."

Lindsay let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.

"I raised you for ten years. You followed me around like a dog."

"What woman would possibly marry you?"

She signaled her bodyguards. They seized my arms, pinning me in place.

Then she handed the stun baton to Morton.

"He owes you, Morton. Collect what's yours."

She stepped closer to me, her voice dropping to something almost tender.

"Carl, if you want to be my man, you need to be morally upright. I can't let you keep making mistakes like this."

At her nod, Morton cranked the baton to its highest setting and advanced toward me.

Just as he was about to make contact—

A knock at the door.

"Ms. Swanson, urgent message from your aunt. She's getting married next week and needs you back immediately to help with preparations."

Lindsay's expression shifted to surprise, then delight.

"Really? She's been at odds with the family for ten years, insisting she'd wait for her true love."

"Who's she marrying into?"

Her secretary entered, wedding invitation in hand.

"The Barnes family."