Chapter 2: The End of a Toy's Worth

The strong scent of alcohol collided with the familiar masculine fragrance Emma recognized the moment she stepped through the apartment door. The digital clock in the living room read two o'clock in the morning. Her head still throbbed from the three glasses of liquor she had drunk at the nightclub earlier, but her mind had fully sobered. Sober enough to witness the disgusting scene on the leather sofa in the living room.

Zane was leaning back against the sofa with the top buttons of his shirt undone. Sitting on his lap was a blonde woman in a revealing dress, busily licking his neck and leaving crimson marks on his skin. The woman was Violet Iris, the rising actress whose photos with Zane had gone viral just a few hours ago.

To be honest, this wasn't a new sight for Emma. For seven years, she had grown accustomed to watching Zane move from one woman to another. But tonight, after her hopes had been shattered at her best friend's wedding, it felt as though her heart was being crushed to pieces.

The moment Zane noticed the subtle movement near the entrance, he turned his head. His sharp eyes landed on Emma, who stood frozen in place. With a calm yet firm motion, he pushed Violet away by the shoulder.

"Stop, Violet. Don't do this," Zane said in a deep, husky voice. "Don't make my wife misunderstand."

Violet pouted, her lips coated in bright red lipstick. She glanced at Emma with a look of disdain, completely unsurprised to see her in the apartment. As someone in the same entertainment industry, Violet knew exactly who Emma was—the woman who had always followed behind Zane like a shadow.

"Wife?" Violet laughed flirtatiously as her slender fingers slid across Zane's exposed chest once more. "Since when do you have a wife, Zane? Hah, she's not your wife. She's just your toy, isn't she?"

Zane didn't deny it immediately. Instead, he cast Emma a brief glance, studying the icy expression on her face before looking back at Violet.

"Yeah, she's my toy," Zane answered casually, as though those words carried no weight at all. "But I don't want my toy getting the wrong idea."

Instead of pulling away, Violet deliberately leaned closer and planted a loud kiss on Zane's cheek right in front of Emma.

"Zane, you have to help me become as famous as you are," Violet whispered in a sweet, seductive voice, completely ignoring the tension spreading through the room.

Zane merely smiled faintly—the smile of a man who knew he had complete control over every woman around him.

Emma watched the interaction with empty eyes.

She didn't care anymore.

She didn't even want to know how far Zane's relationship with Violet Iris had gone.

The endless pain she had endured over the past several hours had turned her heart completely numb.

Without saying a single word, Emma walked forward, intending to pass the living room sofa and head straight to her bedroom.

Seeing Emma's cold reaction, the smile instantly vanished from Zane's face. He shoved Violet aside so roughly that she nearly fell off the sofa. Rising to his feet, he strode after Emma and grabbed her wrist tightly.

"Where have you been?" Zane demanded, his voice sharp and suspicious. His eyes narrowed as he looked over Emma's slightly disheveled clothes. "Coming home at this hour? Do you know I've been looking for you?"

Emma stopped walking.

She didn't struggle.

She simply looked at the hand gripping her wrist before slowly raising her head to meet the eyes of the man she had been with—and loved—for seven years.

She just didn't know when she had fallen in love with him.

A bitter smile appeared on Emma's lips.

"I'm only your assistant, Young Master Zane," Emma said calmly. Too calmly. So calm that it sounded terrifying. "Why are you being so possessive over your own assistant?"

Zane's brows furrowed tightly as anger flashed across his eyes.

"Assistant?"

"Oh, sorry. I misspoke," Emma corrected herself, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She looked at Zane with a mocking expression directed at herself.

"I mean... I'm just your toy. Isn't that the proper title, Mr. Zane?"

"Emma!"

Zane roared, his voice echoing throughout the silent apartment. His breathing grew heavy as he struggled to contain his anger. He had always hated it whenever Emma became sarcastic and deliberately used the words toy or assistant to emphasize the distance between them in front of him.

Emma seized the moment of Zane's surprise to yank her hand free with all her strength.

His grip loosened.

Emma looked at him with tear-filled eyes, but she refused to cry in front of this man ever again. Her shoulders slumped, revealing an exhaustion that had accumulated over years.

"I'm tired, Zane. Really tired," Emma whispered, her voice barely audible.

Zane stood frozen as he stared at the despair written so clearly across Emma's face.

Before he could say another word, Emma had already turned around and continued her weary steps toward her bedroom at the end of the hallway before quietly but firmly closing the door behind her with a soft click.

In the living room, Zane clenched his fists tightly.

His anger reached its peak, and Violet's presence now only disgusted him.

He turned to look at Violet, who was still sitting on the sofa wearing an innocent expression.

"Leave," Zane ordered, his voice low and threatening.

"But Zane, we haven't even—"

"I said leave, Violet! Now!" Zane barked mercilessly.

Frightened by Zane's fury, Violet quickly grabbed her handbag and hurried out of the apartment, shutting the door behind her in panic.

Meanwhile, inside the dark bedroom, Emma threw herself onto the king-size bed.

She didn't turn on the lights, allowing the darkness of the night to wrap around her trembling body.

The tears she had been holding back finally spilled, soaking the pillow where she had so often rested her head beside Zane.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut and clutched at her aching chest.

'Alright, Emma. One more month. Give him one last chance,' Emma whispered to herself.

She remembered the Match-Prime app she had signed up for while drunk at the bar earlier that night.

A thought surfaced from the back of her mind, reminding her of one important detail from the pop-up advertisement: the exclusive blind date was scheduled to take place exactly one month from now.

One month.

Thirty days.

That was the deadline Emma gave Zane.

At the same time, it was the final deadline she gave herself to remain trapped in this statusless hell.

If, within the next thirty days, Zane still regarded her as nothing more than a toy with no future, then Emma swore she would walk away without ever looking back. She would let the marriage contract with the stranger from the app change the course of her life forever.