Chapter 2
My Ins post caused a brief ripple in the early morning internet, but it was quickly drowned out by a torrent of mockery and abuse.
“Who is this crazy woman? Desperate for fame?”
“LOL, the biggest attention-seeking stunt of the year! Did she get jealous seeing our Best Actor win?”
“Ex-girlfriend? Or a rejected stalker fan? Such a low-class move.”
“Sweetie, if you’re trying to trend, please show some proof. Who believes you with just your word?”
Lucas’s fans were terrifyingly aggressive. They quickly found my account, and the comment section and DMs were flooded with vile insults.
I didn't respond, just watched it all unfold calmly.
Late that night, Daisy went live.
She wore no makeup, just a simple white T-shirt, in a humble dorm room background. In the camera, her eyes were swollen and red, her face pale—a sight that would stir pity in anyone.
“I don’t know why things turned out this way…” Her voice choked, and she bowed deeply to the camera. “I’m so sorry for taking up everyone’s time and attention. I actually… I’ve always admired Ms. Hayes. I’ve seen her early works; she’s incredibly talented.”
She praised me first, then skillfully shifted her narrative, tears flowing perfectly.
“But inspiration, it’s something you truly can’t control… When Lucas and I talked about scripts, so many ideas just naturally flowed out. We felt like we’d found kindred spirits. I truly didn’t mean for any of this to happen… If my existence has hurt Ms. Hayes, I sincerely apologize.”
Her speech was perfectly crafted, portraying her as an innocent, kind soul who adored her senior, a fragile, innocent flower swept away by her talent and love.
At the same time, she subtly implied that my well of inspiration had run dry, that I only wrote soulless commercial tropes, and that she was the true creative spirit, sharing a soul connection with Lucas.
Just then, Lucas’s call came in.
“Willow, stop making a scene, it’s embarrassing.” His voice held a hoarseness from a hangover and obvious impatience. “I’ll have the finance department transfer the screenwriting fee for ‘Long Night’ tomorrow, double the amount. Delete your Ins post, behave yourself, and you’ll get your money for the next project.”
He didn't even bother to question or explain, just used money to command my silence.
“What if I don’t?” I asked softly.
His cold chuckle came from the other end of the line: “Willow, don’t test my limits. You can’t fight me, and you can’t fight the company. Don’t tear away your last shred of dignity.”
With that, he hung up.
I gripped the cold phone and laughed.
Right, how could I fight him?
He was the newly crowned Best Actor, adored by millions, backed by capital and a powerful PR team.
And I, I was just a “ghostwriter,” stripped of my value, ready to be discarded at any moment.
The next day, I returned to the apartment Lucas and I had shared for five years—which also served as my studio—to pack my things.
As I carried a box full of manuscripts to the door, I bumped straight into Daisy.
“Willow, thank you for taking care of Lucas these past five years. Now, he’s in my hands.” She smiled, her gaze falling on the box in my arms. “Speaking of which, I should thank you. A writer with no spark, who only knows how to bury herself in work like you, is really only good for ghostwriting, laying the groundwork for Lucas and my love story.”
My heart felt a prick, but my face remained expressionless.
My silence seemed to provoke her.
She picked up a steaming cup of coffee from a nearby table, and pretending to “accidentally” let her hand slip, she splashed the entire cup of scalding liquid all over the box of precious manuscripts in my arms!
They were the first drafts of ‘Long Night,’ my life’s work for five years, covered in dense revision notes.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, Willow, my hand slipped!” she shrieked dramatically.
I could no longer maintain my calm. I abruptly grabbed her wrist: “Daisy!”
That was the reaction she wanted.
The moment I grabbed her, she let out a piercing scream, violently slammed herself against the wall behind her, then slid to the floor.
“Ah—! Willow, please don’t hit me! I know you hate me, but you can’t hit people!” She clutched her arm, sobbing hysterically.
The apartment door opened just then.
Lucas rushed back, looking disheveled and worn. His gaze immediately landed on Daisy crying on the floor, and me, looking furious, gripping her wrist.
Without a moment’s hesitation or a single question, he lunged forward, not even glancing at me, and violently shoved me away!
Caught off guard, I stumbled back several steps, hitting the cold wall. The box in my arms fell, and the coffee-soaked manuscripts scattered across the floor.
Lucas carefully pulled Daisy into his arms, soothing her gently: “Daisy, don’t be scared, I’m here.”
Then, he turned, his eyes full of disgust and disappointment as he looked at me.
“Willow, I truly misjudged you. I never thought you’d be so vicious and wicked, not just talentless!”
Every word he spoke was like a knife, precisely piercing my already battered heart.
“A newcomer, and you stoop to such tactics to suppress her? Are you really so resentful of others’ success?”
I looked at him, then at Daisy, who was subtly smirking with victory in his arms, feeling only absurdity and ridicule.
I opened my mouth, but found I couldn’t say anything.
Explain? In this scene, any explanation would only sound more feeble and unconvincing.
Seeing my silence, the disgust in Lucas’s eyes deepened. He pulled out his phone, dialed Brenda Jenkins, and put her on speaker.
“Brenda, inform the legal department. Terminate Willow’s contract immediately. My team can’t afford to keep such a malicious and idiotic woman.”
His voice was as cold as ice.
“I never want to see her again. Willow, you’re fired!”