After breakfast at the mansion, Su Ye drove me to the studio as usual. Hours had passed, and I was deep into shooting a tense scene.
Finally, the director yelled, "Cut!"
I exhaled, relieved that the scene was over. But before I could even wipe the sweat from my forehead, the assistant director rushed over, whispering frantically into the director's ear.
The director's face went pale, his eyes darting toward me with a mix of disbelief and something I couldn't place.
I frowned. Something felt wrong. Very wrong.
I glanced around. The crew was staring at me—some with wide eyes, some whispering behind their hands, others pointing subtly. Even the cameramen had stopped packing up, their lenses still trained on me.
"What now?" I muttered, my pulse quickening. "What did I do this time?"
Then, like a storm descending from the sky, An Yuwei came charging toward me. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes red and swollen from crying.
