Tim Winslow, the notorious scion of Veridia City, found amusement in live-streaming his conquests. After publicly marking our intimacy on a live stream, his affections veered. He brazenly cast his new girl as the lead in my movie, demoting me, an award-winning actress, to a mere prop. To add insult to injury, he even wrote in a scene where I was to be physically assaulted. "You're a veteran, Miya. It’s only right you guide the young lady, isn't it?" And so, under the scrutiny of countless eyes, I endured over twenty open-handed slaps. When the young woman feigned illness, claiming my aura was too dark, Tim called in a mystic who pierced me with 999 silver needles to "cleanse" my spirit. Tim’s friends tried to warn him against taking things too far. The man merely chuckled. "So what? She begged me on her knees to be with me." "Without me, her brother would have been dead long ago!" But what he didn't know was that I had already packed my brother Caleb’s urn, along with my plane ticket to France, into my suitcase. 1. Before leaving for France, I had one last scene to film. Because of that scene, Tim’s new darling, Seraphina Blackwood, slapped me over twenty times. I faced the dressing room mirror, dabbing my raw, stinging cheek with a cotton swab soaked in saline solution. A fiery pain spread across my skin. I couldn't use antiseptic; I still had another scene. The marks of over twenty slaps blossomed on my face. Gritting my teeth, I applied another layer of foundation. "Ms. Thorne… are you alright?" The makeup artist asked cautiously, her voice laced with confusion. How could Miya Thorne, an Oscar-winning actress, be so consumed by love that she allowed her boyfriend’s kept mistress to walk all over her? I shook my head, reassuring her. But how could I have ever imagined that one day I’d be repeatedly slapped by a newcomer, barely out of acting school? And my boyfriend sat behind the monitor, watching it all unfold, without even a flicker of concern. Back on set, Seraphina Blackwood was perched on Tim’s lap, giggling coyly, a grape dangling from her lips, poised to feed him. Tim caught my eye, a provocative smirk playing on his lips, then leaned down and captured Seraphina’s red lips in a kiss. The crew immediately averted their gazes, knowing better than to challenge the scion of the powerful Winslow family, who held sway over half the entertainment industry. "Miss Blackwood says real slaps make it feel more authentic…" The assistant director offered a simpering smile. "Ms. Thorne, your acting is superb, you’ll surely handle it. Miss Blackwood says she's found her rhythm now, this scene will be over quickly, no retakes!" "Why would Ms. Thorne mind?" Seraphina batted her innocent eyes, stepping in front of me. Tim remained seated, a faint, unreadable smile on his face. He said nothing, which meant he approved. "Action!" The first slap landed with full force, my head snapped to the side, my eardrums rang, and the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Ms. Thorne! I got too into character! Please, just one more chance! I learn so quickly!" she cooed, her apology sickeningly sweet. The second slap followed, then the third… Seraphina’s strikes grew more fluid, more confident with each blow. Sometimes her nails grazed my eyelids, stinging so badly I couldn't open my eyes. The set was silent, everyone holding their breath, their gazes darting between us and Tim. His eyes were as cold and distant as if he were watching a performance that had nothing to do with him. I don’t know how many more slaps I endured, but soon I could barely stand. The pain was excruciating, and I instinctively flinched away. "Ah!" Seraphina suddenly shrieked dramatically, throwing herself to my side. Her elbow hit the ground, immediately blooming with a faint red mark. The set erupted into a commotion. "Miya!" Tim shot to his feet, his chair scraping against the floor with a deafening screech. He roughly shoved me aside, kneeling to tend to Seraphina. "Are you alright?" I stumbled back several steps, my back slamming into a camera tripod, making me gasp in pain. But no one noticed me. All eyes were on Seraphina. "Mr. Winslow, it hurts so much…" Seraphina’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. She held up her elbow, displaying the almost invisible "injury." "Ms. Thorne suddenly moved, and I lost my balance…" Tim turned his head, glaring at me, his eyes sharp as daggers. "Miya, did you do that on purpose?" I opened my mouth, but my throat was so dry no sound emerged. My cheek was swollen, blood trickling from the corner of my lips, while the faint red mark on Seraphina's elbow would likely vanish within five minutes. "I…" I began to explain, but Tim impatiently waved his hand, cutting me off. "Enough!" He swept Seraphina into his arms, his movements as gentle as if she were made of glass. "That’s enough for today. Director Davies, reschedule Miya's scenes. Film the others first." He strode out, and as he passed me, he delivered a chilling parting shot: "You’d better think carefully about how you're going to apologize." Everyone bowed their heads, avoiding eye contact with me. I stood there, feeling the stinging pain in my cheek and the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, suddenly finding it all ridiculously absurd. 2. Half an hour later, I sat alone in the dressing room, an ice pack pressed against my swollen, throbbing face. Footsteps and hushed voices drifted from outside the door. "Mr. Winslow specifically called his family doctor for Seraphina's elbow. I heard he even personally fed her painkillers," a woman gossiped. "Tsk, tsk, Ms. Thorne truly fell hard this time," another voice chimed in, tinged with schadenfreude. "She’s an Oscar winner, a three-time Aurelian Award recipient, how did she end up like this?" "This entertainment world is just a playground for the rich," someone sighed, lowering their voice. "What good is Miya Thorne’s talent? At the end of the day, she's just an actress. Can all her effort compare to a single word from Mr. Winslow?" I took a deep breath, pulled my phone from my bag, and dialed an international number. After hanging up, confirming that he would pick me up tomorrow night, I finally felt a sense of peace. I then returned to the Winslow estate to pack my bags. My fingers still trembled slightly as I pushed open the villa’s front door. I would be leaving tomorrow night. This return was only to secretly retrieve Caleb’s photograph. In the entryway, Seraphina’s high heels lay haphazardly, as if the two of them had been too eager to waste a moment. I stepped over them, my face expressionless, and headed towards the study on the second floor. Every corner of this villa bore the mark of my own hands, my own careful touches. I had once truly considered this place my home. But ever since Seraphina entered our lives, Tim had transformed. Three months ago, I was rushed to the hospital, hovering between life and death after an acute pancreatitis attack, triggered by drinking with investors on his behalf. And Tim? He was with Seraphina, setting off fireworks on the beach. When the nurse delivered this news, I lay curled on my hospital bed, a feeding tube in my stomach, writhing in pain. "Mr. Winslow said the fireworks were pre-ordered and non-refundable," my assistant mumbled, barely daring to meet my eyes. Last month, on Caleb’s memorial day, I prepared to burn offerings in the yard as usual, but Tim ordered everyone to clear it out. "Seraphina is easily frightened; she can't stand such things," he frowned, snatching the bouquet from my hand and tossing it into the trash. "Mourning the dead inside the house? Aren't you worried it will bring bad luck?" Pushing open the study door, my heart plummeted. The photograph on the bookshelf was gone. I frantically searched every drawer, then Tim’s light chuckle drifted to me. "Looking for this?" Tim leaned casually against the doorframe, holding a photograph torn in half – it was Caleb, taken at his college graduation, wearing his cap and gown, his smile as bright as sunshine. And now, that cherished photo was cruelly ripped, Caleb’s smiling face split in two. "Tim!" I lunged to snatch it back, but he easily evaded me. "I told you, no such things are allowed in this house," he said coldly, scattering the remaining pieces onto the floor. "Seraphina started having nightmares the moment she came back. I knew you must be hiding something inauspicious like this." I knelt on the floor, helplessly trying to piece the fragments together. Through all the humiliation, through Seraphina’s slaps, I hadn't cried. I tried to hold it in, but tears spilled down my face, defiant and unstoppable. "Why… why would you do this…" All these years, to help Tim expand his network, I’d drunk myself into stomach bleeds more times than I could count on both hands. At Tim’s word, I allowed Seraphina to slap me senseless in public! Tim impatiently stood up. "Enough! You always get so dramatic when your brother is mentioned. Don't put on a sob show here. Seraphina will wake up soon, you need to quickly get rid of these cursed things—" "Who the hell is Seraphina Blackwood?" I interrupted him, my voice suddenly rising. "A barely known celebrity who slept her way to the top. Does she really deserve to touch my brother's photo?" 3. Tim’s pupils constricted, his face instantly darkening. He snatched the photo fragments I had just gathered from my hand, tearing them into even smaller pieces right in front of me. "Who the hell do you think you are, speaking about Seraphina like that?" I lunged to retrieve the pieces, but he violently pushed me away. He then pulled open my locked drawer. He had known where I hid the key all along. Tim pulled out every single photograph of Caleb I had painstakingly preserved. Caleb in his graduation cap and gown, Caleb sweating on the basketball court, Caleb’s profile as he made his last birthday wish over a cake… One by one, they disintegrated into fragments in his hands. "You're insane! These are the originals!" I knelt on the floor, uselessly trying to piece them together, my vision blurred by tears. "Ill-omened," he spat, two chilling words, scattering the last handful of fragments out the window. I trembled all over, then suddenly remembered something and lunged for the hidden compartment behind the bookcase. There, I kept the hard drive containing all of Caleb’s digital photos. But Tim was faster. He snatched the hard drive, gripping it tightly in his hand. "Give it back! That's all that's left…" My voice was hoarse with desperation. Tim stared at me, then a cruel smile spread across his face. Right in front of me, he bent the hard drive with both hands – it snapped with a sharp CRACK, its casing splitting open, the delicate disk exposed to the air. He walked to the balcony, held the damaged hard drive high, and then released it. I heard a soft "plop" as it hit the artificial lake below. "Clean now." I collapsed to the floor, feeling as though all the blood in my body had turned to ice. It felt like that day all over again, the day I received the news of Caleb’s death. My vision blurred. The last thing I saw was Tim's face, suddenly etched with panic. "Miya! Mi—" Darkness consumed me. … The pungent smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils as I slowly opened my eyes, gazing at the sterile white ceiling. An IV needle was embedded in the back of my hand, cold liquid steadily flowing into my veins, making me tremble uncontrollably. "Awake?" I turned my head. He sat beside the hospital bed, his tailored suit jacket draped over the chair, his tie loosened. Dark circles were pronounced beneath his eyes. He looked as if he had been keeping vigil all night. "The doctor said it was a temporary blackout caused by extreme emotional distress," he said, pouring a glass of water and offering it to me. "All that for a few worthless photos? Is it really worth it?" I didn’t take the glass, only gazed at him silently. The glass hovered awkwardly in mid-air before he finally set it down heavily on the table. "What day is it?" I asked softly. Tim frowned. "Thursday. Why?" Thursday. Four more days until my flight to France. I silently calculated the time in my mind. "I asked you a question!" Tim suddenly raised his voice. "Why are you playing mute? Getting so worked up over a few photos of a dead person, when there's a living one right here?" I turned my head to look out the window. The sunlight was bright, illuminating the hospital lawn where a few patients strolled. One young man in a hospital gown, his back to me, reminded me so much of Caleb. "Seraphina is easily scared. As a senior, can’t you be more understanding?" Tim continued to prattle on. "Those photos brought bad luck; I've wanted to get rid of them for ages. You—" "I want to rest," I cut him off. "Could you please leave?" Tim’s words caught in his throat. He stared at me for a few seconds, then let out a cold chuckle. "Fine. You've got guts." He grabbed his suit jacket. "I have a dinner engagement tonight. Won’t be back. Think things over carefully!" The door slammed shut. I slowly curled up, hugging my knees tightly. Caleb's last photos were gone, the hard drive destroyed. But it didn't matter. I remembered his face. I would always remember. … As dusk fell, I completed the discharge procedures. When I returned to the villa, it was dark inside. Tim was indeed gone. I walked straight to the bedroom, beginning to pack only the essentials—my passport, bank cards, a few changes of clothes. Nothing else mattered. I was halfway through packing when I heard the front door open downstairs, followed by laughter. "Mr. Winslow~ Slow down, darling~" "Little temptress, you’ve been seducing me all night at the dinner table…" It was Tim and Seraphina. I froze. Their footsteps ascended the stairs, stopping at the room next to mine. Soon, the creaking of bedsprings, a woman's gasps, and a man's low groans filled the air from the adjoining room. The sounds grew louder, Seraphina’s cries exaggerated. "Tim, you’re amazing!" "Little hussy, scream louder, let the neighbors hear…" The sounds continued for a long time, eventually fading into silence. I glanced at my phone. Three in the morning. I gently slid open a drawer, took out the sleeping pills I had prepared long ago, and poured two into my palm. When I woke up, I would be gone.
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