The third day of Reflective Isolation was when the hallucinations usually began, but for Meilin, the reality was far more terrifying than any phantom. The screen on her desk, which usually displayed her own physiological data, flickered and died. In its place, a high-definition video feed sparked to life.
It wasn't a view of the "Genesis" stage. It was a hospital room.
The camera was positioned high in a corner, looking down at a bed draped in sterile white. In the bed lay a woman who looked like a faded, translucent version of Shanshan—Mrs. Lin. The rhythmic hiss-click of a ventilator was the only sound.
"Do you see the red light on the power strip, Meilin?"
Lu Yan's voice didn't come from the speaker this time. He was standing outside the glass, his silhouette a sharp, black inkblot against the hallway's dim light. He tapped on the polycarbonate with a silver signet ring. Clink. Clink. Clink.
Meilin stood up, her navy gown wrinkled and heavy. She walked to the glass, her eyes fixed on the screen. "You promised the funding was secured through the merger's preliminary phase, Lu Yan. You gave your word to the board."
"The board cares about 'Project Echo' and the bottom line," Lu Yan said, his voice muffled but clear through the intercom. "And the bottom line is that Contestant 402 is becoming... inconvenient. Her 'defiance' is no longer a marketing asset; it's a contagion. And you, Meilin, are the carrier."
He leaned his forehead against the glass, his eyes level with hers. "I checked your 'burn-top' laptop, by the way. Very clever, the shell companies. But my father owns the banks that those shell companies use. Your 'invisible' funding for Mrs. Lin? It was intercepted six hours ago."
Meilin's breath hitched. The ivory mask didn't just crack; it shattered. "She'll die. If you pull the plug, Shanshan will have nothing left to lose. She'll destroy the show. She'll tell the press everything."
"Oh, she won't tell anyone," Lu Yan purred. "Because you are going to tell her that it was your decision. You're going to tell her that the Li family found the expense 'unjustifiable' after her performance at the Requiem. You're going to be the villain, Meilin. It's what you were born for."
He held up a small, black remote. "One button, and the backup generators for that wing go into 'maintenance mode.' Ten minutes of battery. That's all she has left."
Meilin felt the floor tilt. The room seemed to shrink, the walls of the isolation unit pressing in until she could barely draw air. She looked at the screen—at the woman who was the only reason Shanshan was still breathing.
If she saved the mother, she became the monster in Shanshan's eyes. If she didn't, Shanshan would lose the only piece of home she had left.
"What do you want?" Meilin whispered, her forehead touching the glass on the other side of Lu Yan's.
"The merger contract," Lu Yan said. "Sign the 'Personal Asset' clause. It gives me full guardianship of your estate—and your person—after the wedding. In exchange, Mrs. Lin gets a 'private endowment' that even your father can't touch."
He was asking for her life. He was asking for her to become his property in exchange for a stranger's heartbeat.
Meilin looked at the screen one last time. She thought of Shanshan's voice—the raw, unyielding fire of it. She thought of the way Shanshan had looked at her in the dark of the suite, before the walls had gone up.
"Give me the stylus," Meilin said, her voice a hollow, dead thing.
Lu Yan smiled. It was a slow, victorious expression that made Meilin's skin crawl. He slid a digital tablet through the security slot at the bottom of the door.
Meilin signed. Every stroke of the digital pen felt like a cut. She signed away her name, her future, and her freedom.
"A wise choice," Lu Yan said, retrieving the tablet. "The power remains on. Mrs. Lin is safe. For now."
He turned to leave, but stopped. "Oh, and Meilin? You still have to tell Shanshan that you were the one who tried to cut the funding. The 'villain' role is non-negotiable. I need her to hate you, so she has nowhere else to turn but me."
He walked away, his footsteps fading into the hum of the C-Tier machinery.
Meilin collapsed onto the floor, her silk gown a dark puddle around her. She looked at the screen, at the woman in the hospital bed who would never know the price of her next breath.