Natalie Fox's voice dripped with smugness.

"See? It proves that even without your pocket change, I can still land a production."

"Once this drama airs, I'll blow up. I'll break into the mainstream, my path to stardom will be paved with gold, and I'll have endless glory."

"When you're so broke you can't even afford a meal, feel free to come crawl back. Kneel and beg. For every kowtow, I'll toss you a hundred bucks."

I didn't bother responding. Just hung up.

Despite the mockery in her tone, something else bled through—a tremor of exhaustion.

A cold sneer curled my lips.

Three days ago, a traffic violation notice had landed in my inbox. The car was an anniversary gift I'd given Natalie, though it was still registered under my name.

In the violation photo, the corner of her mouth was bruised a deep purple, and dark bags hung heavy under her eyes. Even the grainy, low-resolution image couldn't hide how haggard she looked.

My fingers moved on their own, pulling up the cloud feed from the dashcam.

For the past week, Natalie had been fooling around with Carter Walker.

On the mountain. In the fields. In the park.

If the front camera could capture it, I saw it.

In one clip, Carter grabbed her by the throat, squeezing until her face turned crimson, releasing her only at the last possible second.

"You spent twenty million of my money." His voice was deceptively light. "If this drama doesn't take off, I'll make you wish you were dead."

He smiled as he said it, revealing two rows of perfect white teeth. Sunny. Charming.

But his words were laced with arsenic.

Natalie's face flushed a liver-colored purple. She gasped for air, struggling to force a smile onto her terrified features. "Of course not. This drama will definitely be a huge hit."

Unexpectedly, Carter—who had been grinning a second before—spun around and backhanded her across the face.

"Did I give you permission to speak?"

*Bang. Bang. Bang.*

Dozens of slaps landed in rapid succession. Her face swelled until it was unrecognizable.

She didn't dare fight back. Just sat there, forcing that grotesque smile to remain in place.

...

I watched scenes like this play out several times.

None of it surprised me.

In my previous life, during my time in prison, I learned exactly what kind of monster Carter Walker was. He wasn't someone to be trifled with.

His appetites were depraved; he treated young, beautiful girls like disposable toys. The worst incident involved a junior from university whom he abused into a vegetative state. He had to pay out five million dollars just to bury the scandal.

But on the surface? The cheerful, handsome heir. A master of disguise.

I heard that later, another internet celebrity tried to follow in Natalie's footsteps. Thought she could handle Carter. She was beautiful—though not quite on Natalie's level—and she managed to become his official girlfriend.

The year I was released, that influencer married into a wealthy family. Became a respectable socialite.

Natalie never got over that. Even on her deathbed, she believed her failure was simply bad luck—that she had missed out on snagging a rich heir. She blamed me for everything.

She never noticed that the light in that other girl's eyes had been extinguished long ago. That girl wore high-collared clothes year-round to hide the scars, and her obedience was less like a wife and more like a beaten dog.

I just chuckled and pushed the thought of Natalie Fox from my mind.

Half a year later, my project exploded.

My capital tripled. I moved into a spacious penthouse. The investors were thrilled, injecting another twenty million into my fund.

Just as my future was reaching its zenith, Natalie called.

Her voice trembled with manic excitement.

"I'm about to be famous!"

"If you weren't so useless, only able to give me a measly five million, I wouldn't have been stuck as the third female lead before! But this time? I'm the star. The spotlight will chase me, the buzz will launch me into the sky. I'll be so famous you'll need a telescope just to look up at me!"

She ranted in a single, breathless stream.

I pretended I hadn't heard a word.

Quietly, I opened my phone and refreshed the trending search page.

In my previous life, this was the exact moment the drama became a massive hit.

But in the original timeline, the one who broke out wasn't the lead couple—it was the minor supporting role played by Natalie.

The main characters were written as standard, cookie-cutter templates. Perfect. Boring. Forgettable.

Natalie's character—the vicious villainess—was beautiful, strong, and tragic. Magnetic. Combined with her visually stunning face, she went viral through fan edits and short clips.

She seemed to think that if she took the lead role, she would be even more popular.

But the entertainment industry is cruel. It never lacks pretty faces; it lacks souls. A role only works if it resonates.

Twenty minutes passed.

The clock struck midnight. A brand new day.

Natalie couldn't wait. She had likely already paid marketing accounts to flood the internet with beauty edits of herself.

Her tone was thick with arrogance. "As long as the camera captures my face, the audience will be obsessed. Just watch—within minutes, my name will dominate the trends. Topic after topic praising my beauty. Directors will be begging at my door, and brands will be lining up!"

The marketing campaign was indeed overwhelming.

Finally, the trending list moved.

Two entries began to climb the rankings.

I glanced at the screen.

#1: *Natalie Fox, Narcissist.*

#2: *'Chasing Green' is trash—who is actually watching this?*

I tapped into her Weibo. The comment section was a war zone.

I couldn't help it. I laughed out loud.

"So," I said into the phone, "this is the huge hit you were talking about?"

Silence stretched on the other end.

Then—a series of loud crashes. Shattering glass. Her shrill screaming.

My maternity leave ended right before New Year's Day, and I returned to the kindergarten. As luck would have it, Ms. Su from the Sprout Class had fallen ill, so Principal Bonnie Randolph assigned me to take over temporarily.

I spent my first day memorizing the names and habits of twenty-two children. The familiar rhythm of tiny voices and sticky fingers settled something restless inside me.

It felt good to be back.

The next morning, I stood at the entrance with the other teachers, wearing my professional smile as we welcomed the children.

That was when I met Caroline James.

Designer labels dripped from her head to toe—flashy, loud, impossible to miss. She marched up and practically shoved her son, Jonathan Barber, into my arms.

"You're Ms. Henson, right?" Her gaze raked over me like I was a stain on her Louboutins. "You're new, so you don't understand my Jonathan yet. I need to set a few ground rules."

I blinked. Kept the smile in place. "Please, go ahead."

"First." She ticked off points on manicured fingers, her nails lacquered blood-red. "You will handwrite a five-hundred-word growth diary for Jonathan every single day. It must include hand-drawn illustrations. Hand it directly to me."

*Five hundred words? Hand-drawn?*

"Second, Jonathan's seat must be in the absolute center of the first row. You will personally feed him his meals and water, and assist him with the toilet. Since Jonathan is small, I expect you to kneel while serving him so you're at his level."

My smile was starting to crack at the edges.

"Third, you will answer my calls within three rings. I need to check on Jonathan's status at any moment."

I opened my mouth to respond—

She waved a dismissive hand, cutting me off.

"And one point I want to emphasize: for the New Year's Day performance of *Snow White*, my son will play the Prince. The other children can be his servants."

My brows drew together. This was pushing the boundaries of absurdity.

But Caroline wasn't finished.

Her gaze dropped to my chest. Lingered.

Then she pulled a crumpled ten-dollar bill from her designer bag and pinned it directly onto my shirt.

"I heard you just finished maternity leave. Still breastfeeding." Her tone was matter-of-fact, like she was discussing the weather. "Perfect. Jonathan hates cow's milk—he only drinks breast milk. So from now on, you'll serve as Jonathan's wet nurse."

She patted the bill against my chest.

"This ten bucks is your tip. Feed him once every hour. If he doesn't finish his portion, don't expect to clock out on time."

They say extreme anger often manifests as laughter.

I finally understood what that meant.

In all my years as an educator, I had never encountered such a bizarre, entitled *Empress Dowager* of a mother.

Seeing that I hadn't immediately obeyed, Caroline shoved Jonathan's head toward me. "Jonathan, time to eat!"

Reflex took over.

I pushed Jonathan back, set him firmly on the ground, and whipped out my phone.

Record.

"Mrs. Barber." My voice came out cold. Steady. "This is sexual harassment and forced indecency. I can call the police right now."

Caroline froze.

A frown marred her heavy makeup. "I'm just letting my son have a sip of milk. How is that indecency? You teachers are so prissy. And dirty-minded, too!"

Unhurried, I shoved the camera lens directly into her face.

"Mrs. Barber, do you need me to explain the penal code? Forcing a woman to breastfeed your child constitutes sexual harassment and assault. I can sue you."

It wasn't my imagination.

The surrounding teachers cast shocked, approving glances my way.