A frantic shadow burst into the backstage area of the awards ceremony – it was Leo, Adrian’s assistant, his voice trembling as he pleaded with me to save his boss. A commotion erupted from the direction of the red carpet. From afar, I watched the man who was once my husband collapse to the ground, his body twitching unnaturally. They said it was a sudden heart attack. Reporters, like sharks scenting blood, immediately swarmed him. Someone shoved a microphone in my face, demanding to know why I stood still, refusing to help. I didn’t rush to answer. Instead, I slowly turned, letting them see the grotesque scar across my back. Then, I spoke, my voice cold, addressing the cameras: “Do you all think Adrian Blunt’s 'sudden illness' act is convincing enough?” After all, in my previous life, this very man had pushed me down the stairs while I was pregnant. And I, for his manic depression, had given up almost everything. … “Nia! Nia! Please, you have to go see Adrian! He—he’s not doing well!” The dressing room door was flung open. Leo’s face was chalk-white, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his lips quivering uncontrollably. He scrambled to my vanity table, knocking over a chair. “Adrian… Adrian collapsed in the red carpet waiting area! He was clutching his chest, gasping for air… his face turned purple! Nia, only you can save him! Quick! Please, Nia!” Leo’s voice was choked with tears. In the makeup mirror, my face reflected not a ripple of emotion. Heart? In my previous life, that very heart became Adrian’s prop, used countless times to garner my sympathy after his outbursts. I am Nia Stone, a top-tier psychological consultant. I’d soothe his volatile moods, cover up his Jekyll-and-Hyde persona. I gave everything. In return, I was labeled a control freak, and then, I was murdered. “Nia!” Seeing no reaction from me, Leo was on the verge of collapsing to his knees. “Any later and it’ll really be too late! Adrian, he…” “Leo.” My voice was as calm as stagnant water. I didn't even turn to look at him. “I’m not a doctor. Calling an ambulance is what you should do.” “But…” Leo was completely stunned, as if he couldn’t understand my words. In his mind, every time Adrian had an emergency, it was always I, Nia Stone, who pulled him back from the brink. I was Adrian’s only “special cure.” If he had an episode, I was supposed to help him. It was a conditioned reflex ingrained in his subconscious. “No ‘buts’.” I cut him off. I reached into my handbag and pulled out a voice recorder. I stood up, ignoring Leo’s expression of utter shock and devastation behind me, and walked straight towards the door. The corridor leading to the red carpet waiting area wasn’t long. From afar, I could hear the chaos erupting. “Mr. Blunt! Mr. Blunt, hang in there!” “Doctor! Is there a doctor in the house?!” “Move! Everyone move! Don’t crowd him! Let him breathe!” Flashbulbs flashed wildly, reporters desperately pushing forward, their cameras and microphones practically jammed into the front. The human wall of security guards swayed precariously. At the center of the huddle was Adrian. He was slumped in a chair, his tuxedo crumpled. His face was bluish-purple, his throat rattling like a broken bellows. His gaze, piercing through the chaotic bobbing heads, fixed directly on me. He saw me standing calmly at the edge of the crowd, like an indifferent observer. His lips moved, wanting me to save him from distress, just as I had countless times before. I met his gaze. Just then, a sharp-eyed entertainment reporter spotted me. Like a predator finding its prey, he practically lifted his microphone and camera, pushing aside anyone in his way, and rushed to my front in an instant. The microphone was almost poking my chin. “Ms. Stone!” “You are Mr. Blunt’s wife! And a top-tier psychological expert in the industry! Why are you standing here, just watching?” “Mr. Blunt’s situation is critical. Shouldn’t you be offering assistance immediately? Does your cold demeanor imply that your marriage has long been a mere formality?!” A barrage of sharp questions rained down on me. Everyone was waiting for me to defend myself. “Nia! How can you be so heartless?!” The crowd was forcefully split apart. Andy Peterson, Adrian’s official personal assistant, but in reality, his long-time secret lover, deliberately kept hidden from media scrutiny by Adrian and his team. She charged directly towards me. She positioned herself between me and the reporters, her body trembling slightly, blocking most of the cameras pointed at me, successfully shifting the focus onto herself. She spun around abruptly, her eyes red, glaring at me, her voice trembling. “Don’t you know how serious Adrian’s illness is?! You know better than anyone!” She shrieked at me, as if accusing a heinous criminal. “Every time, every single time he has an episode, he’s in so much pain! He curls up clutching his chest, gasping for air!” “Every time, you were there to take care of him, to calm him down. Only you could soothe him! Like a miracle cure! We all know you’re his only savior!” Large tears rolled down her cheeks, making her seem pitiable. She abruptly turned back to the reporters’ cameras, sobbing into the microphone. “Everyone, look! Adrian is right there, right there, dying in agony! Nia… she’s right here! Just a few steps away! She clearly has the ability! But look at her! Look at her now!” She pointed a finger at me. “She’s like a statue! Standing still! No reaction! Not an ounce of concern! Just watching him coldly! Watching him struggle there…” Her voice rose, incredulous. “She’s Adrian’s wife! The wife he married, had a wedding with, and swore vows to! At a time like this, even a stranger would step in to help, wouldn’t they?!” “How can she… how can she just watch him suffer? Watch him possibly… possibly… Is there no affection left between husband and wife? Spouses are supposed to be like birds in a forest, not abandoning each other in times of trouble, Nia!” At this, she suddenly turned back to me, her eyes fixed on mine. “I know! I know you might have misunderstandings about Adrian! You might be angry! But no matter how angry you are, you can’t gamble with someone’s life!” “Adrian shines on stage, winning awards left and right, he’s our pride and joy! But in private, he truly needs care! He can’t live without Nia!” Her words were full of accusations against me. “Nia, if you just stand by and watch… you’ll really face consequences! If something happens to Adrian today, will you be able to sleep tonight?! Will your conscience be clear?!” Her accusations were cutting, every word a curse. Her accusations, sharp and damning, successfully twisted the focus from “Adrian needs urgent help” to “Nia is heartless.” The live stream’s comments section scrolled wildly. #NiaStoneRefusesToHelp# #AndyPetersonSpeaksForAdrianBlunt# #HeartlessNia# “Even if a marriage is strained, you can’t watch your dying husband and do nothing!” “Nia Stone, the psychologist, is a fake, right? No empathy at all?” “Poor Adrian Blunt, married to a woman like that…” Andy held her head high, a flicker of triumph and calculation in her eyes. She had successfully pushed me into the eye of the storm. Facing the accusations, I simply watched her coldly, clutching the voice recorder in my handbag, offering no rebuttal. Leo and the security guards pushed through the crowd, escorting me to my car. Andy’s meticulously edited video went viral, portraying her as a loyal and devoted figure. And I, under the media’s narrative, became the “cold-hearted wife,” the “psychopath.” Adrian’s team remained silent, allowing Andy’s actions to play out. I returned home, my phone overwhelmed with calls, my social media filled with hateful comments. Even a few endorsement partners called to inquire about the situation. I took a deep breath, saving screenshots of all the insults as evidence. I knew, this was just the beginning. Three days later, just as the public outrage began to subside, Adrian Blunt’s studio released a “statement” that once again ignited the internet. The statement, carefully skirting the issue, thanked everyone for their concern, claiming Adrian was making a swift recovery. It cleverly steered public opinion back towards me, Nia, before I could say anything. Andy quickly retweeted it, adding a caption: “Some things are truly not as simple as they appear on the surface.” “What does that mean? Is Nia the problem, which is why she couldn’t help?” “It feels like the studio is implying Nia is the root cause of the problem!” “Andy seems to know what’s going on! Support her in protecting Adrian!” The public was guided to dig into the reasons “why Nia didn’t help,” and my name was plastered across trending topics with all sorts of conspiracy theories. Two days later, Andy, “in tears,” revealed more during a live interview. When the host “concerned” asked about Adrian’s condition, Andy hesitated, seemingly reluctant to speak. Finally, she “felt forced” to reveal: “I… I really didn’t want to say anything. But the misunderstandings about Nia online are too deep, and it’s also very bad for Adrian’s recovery. Actually… Nia… her condition hasn’t been very good.” Her voice choked. “A large part of Adrian’s stress comes from home. Nia… she has a very strong need to control; she interferes with everything Adrian does. His illness is largely related to this.” “Before, Adrian tried… he tried to resist, but the result… was worse. That day on the red carpet, Adrian’s condition… was after that intense argument… Nia even…” She pulled out a blurry photo that looked like a bottle. “…threw away Adrian’s medication! I can’t imagine if she had gotten closer then… I understand she might have been desperate… but… but… Adrian almost… almost…” She broke down crying, her words half-spoken, revealing much. #NiaStoneControlFreak# #NiaThrewAwayMedication# #AndyPetersonRevealsNiaHarmAdrian# “A control freak is terrifying! No wonder Adrian Blunt’s mental state is unstable!” “I knew she was a psychopath! A master of psychological manipulation!” “Andy is so brave! Speaking the truth under such pressure!” My building was besieged by fans and media. “Get out, you witch, Nia!” “Bow down and apologize to Adrian Blunt!” “Control freak, psychopath, go die!” Security guards struggled to hold them back downstairs. My assistant, Ashley, sent her last message yesterday, saying she was also harassed by reporters and dared not leave her home. Just then, glass shattered. “Smash this witch’s den!” Shards fell at my feet. The last straw, snapped. “Ahh—!!!” I violently smashed my water glass against the window. Enough is enough! They want to push me to my death? Dream on! I gasped for air. I’m going to tear Adrian’s facade wide open. I’m going to ensure Andy, his accomplice, never recovers! Medication bottle? Right, the medication! In my previous life, I had seen the lab report for that drug. It wasn’t life-saving medication at all! It was… an addictive, illegal substance! His so-called “can’t live without me” was because I could help him maintain his disguise! The account for the drug monitoring report, only I knew it! I no longer paid attention to anything outside the window. I found and saved that report. Then I switched the voice recorder to playback mode.
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