Chapter 2

Opening my eyes, I found myself staring at a stark-white ceiling and could smell the pungent scent of medicine.

I moved my fingers and saw an IV line inserted into the back of my hand.

"You're finally awake," a voice growled beside my bed.

It was my manager, Tim Johnson, who was scowling as he swiped his phone.

"Tim…" I said, feeling my throat burning.

"Nope. Don't even start," he snorted, dropping his phone on the bedside drawer with a clatter. "You really had to put me through the grinder, didn't you? Stalking Stan Herbert?! Only your mind is capable of such brilliance!"

I tried to push myself up as I quickly said, "No, I wasn't. I was looking for a friend who was living in the same block…"

Tim rolled his eyes and chuckled coolly. "Do you even know who lives in that block?! It's just Stan and a handful of billionaires! You're a C-lister who can't even afford rent, but you're saying you have a friend living there!"

Realizing I couldn't argue my way out of this, I could only bite my already pale lips.

"Anyway, Stan's side is playing hardball now."

Tim growled, standing up to glare downward at me, "He is charging you with stalking and harassment, along with the violation of that showmance agreement. The top brass are furious and ready to terminate your contract."

Just hearing that last part left my mind blank.

"Termination?" I asked, my voice cracking. "The violation clause…"

"Three mil." Tim snorted coolly. "I personally covered your medical bill, but you're done for."

Shaking his head, he started for the door. "They're telling you to move to Block B. It's the only place they'll let you stay for now."

With that, he slammed the door forcefully shut, while I lay down again.

I couldn't even pool together three hundred bucks.

That was when my phone vibrated beside my pillow.

A nurse must have charged it, and the screen lit up.

A red '99+' could be seen on my WhatsApp icon, and I tapped into it to see that it was all texts from Breaker.

[Where are you, babe? Why aren't you answering? Did you have heatstroke?]

[Reply, or I'm really going to call the cops!]

[Why didn't you accept my wire transfer? It was returned automatically.]

[You're scaring me, so stop, okay?]

My cold heart finally found some warmth just reading through them.

The whole world and my own manager might treat me like trash, but there was still one person out there treating me like I was his whole world.

Sniffling, I typed with trembling fingers to reply: [Sorry, my phone broke. Just got it fixed.]

Breaker's reply came instantaneously.

[Finally!]

[Did you know I was worried sick the entire night and almost searched the entire district?!]

[Don't ever ghost me again, you hear?!]

I somehow could imagine his eyes getting puffy and indignant, while feeling more warmth swelling in my chest.

[Gotcha. Won't happen again.]

For a split second, even the abuse I suffered at Stan's hands had healed, as Breaker gave me the feeling I could keep going on as long as I had him.

-

Three days later, I was discharged.

My agency didn't even bother to send a taxi, so I had to drag the suitcase that was kept shut with duct tape and a prayer back to Nox Suites.

There were three blocks.

Block A was for the elite, while Block B was for trainees and washed-up actors.

And for Block B, the paint on the walls was peeling off, and the hallways stank of takeout boxes.

I was assigned a room on the fourteenth floor with only a single bed and a crude closet.

Sighing, I went to open the window, where I had a clear view of Block A.

The two blocks were relatively close enough that one could see laundry hanging outside on the balconies.

I stared at the duplex penthouse where Stan lived.

Night had fallen, and a light was on inside, visible from the window.

Staring at it, I suddenly had a thought and whipped out my phone to text Breaker.

[What's the color of the lights in your house?]

His reply came in just a couple seconds.

[A warm yellow. It's so bright that it'd reach you, wherever you are.]

I looked up sharply through the glass walls of Stan's penthouse through the night.

It really was a warm yellow.

Still, I smiled wryly, shaking my head—I must be losing my mind.

Stan was self-important, cold, and verbally abusive.

There was no way he was my online boyfriend, who always called me 'babe' and had even offered to send me a fortune.