Chapter 2

After that day, Evangeline became the leading lady in front of the camera.

It was only natural for the fans to assume that she had written all those sweet, romantic lines and viral relationship moments.

Overnight, the comment section exploded with tens of thousands of messages.

[So this is what his camera-shy girlfriend looks like. No wonder Julian hid her for so long!]

[She’s drop-dead gorgeous and writes the scripts? Total package.]

Julian and her are totally soulmates. Their visuals and chemistry are insane together.]

I sat at my desk, staring at the comments on my monitor, my entire body feeling numb and ice-cold.

They didn't know that I wrote every single script, or that I had trained Julian exactly when to turn back, and precisely what kind of look to give the camera.

But because Evangeline was the one standing in front of the lens, every bit of romance became credited as her innate talent. All my hard work transformed into her shining halo.

I was like an uncredited ghost, having written every step of their love story, only to be erased from the final cut by the same people.

That night, Julian rewatched the final edit over and over again.

He pointed at Evangeline on the screen and said, "She really is built for the camera. Her face is so memorable, and she isn't afraid to put her emotions out there."

Sitting beside him, I let out a quiet, monosyllabic hum.

Noticeably aware of my silence, Julian reached over and ruffled my hair softly. "Willow, you're great too. Your energy is just softer, more reserved. You're not really built for these high-drama, intense expressions."

He said it so gently, almost soothingly.

"You belong behind the camera. You're calm, detail-oriented, and far better at managing the bigger picture."

Once upon a time, words like that would have made me happy. It would have felt like he truly understood me.

However, at that moment, as I looked at Evangeline's vibrant, radiant face on the screen, I caught a glimpse of my own plain, pale reflection against the black monitor.

A sharp, quiet pang pierced through my chest. There was no blood, but the pain made it hard to breathe.

The celebration party raged on in the studio.

Evangeline suddenly leaned down and rubbed her ankle, which Julian noticed immediately. He turned around, grabbed a pair of flat sneakers from a shopping bag nearby, and crouched in front of her.

"Didn't I tell you not to wear those heels?" he scolded gently as he unbuckled her shoes and slipped the flats onto her feet.

The crowd around them began teasing again.

"Julian is way too whipped! No wonder fans say it doesn't look like acting!"

I stood a short distance away, holding a coiled power cord.

My mind unexpectedly flashed back to a shoot three years ago, when I was supposed to be on camera for the first time. I had put on a pair of brand-new heels to match a white dress I’d spent weeks preparing.

I was on my feet for six straight hours that day. The heels chafed my ankles raw, blood sticking to the inside of the shoes.

When Julian saw it, he only frowned and said, "Willow, bear with it a little longer. Today is huge for us. Don't throw off the shooting schedule."

I nodded, gritted my teeth, and stepped back under the harsh studio lights. Yet in the end, the person standing in front of the camera was never me.

After swapping into her flats, Evangeline walked over to me holding two glasses of champagne.

"Willow, when you edit tonight's footage, could you extend that eye-contact scene between Julian and me by a few seconds? The fans seem to love that moment."

"Sure," I replied softly.

Evangeline’s face suddenly softened into a look of slight guilt. She gently took my hand.

"Honestly, I get so anxious sometimes. You're Julian's actual girlfriend, yet I'm the one forced to pretend to be a couple with him on camera."

She lowered her gaze, her voice dropping into a soft, vulnerable tone. "If it weren't for the account, and for all the blood, sweat, and tears you and Julian put into this for years, I would never hold his hand, hug him, or film those romantic scenes.

"Willow, you don't take it personally, right? It's just work."

Work—that word was such a convenient shield.

Julian holding her hand was work, as was Julian kneeling to change her shoes.

So what was this suffocating, heavy ache in my chest? Was that part of the job description too?

If it was, then this job hurt too damn much. It hurt so badly that quitting felt less like stepping down and more like running for my life.

Just then, the head of brand partnerships walked over, holding a fresh contract.

"Willow, the brand wants us to shoot a marriage proposal theme for the next installment. They want to ride the hype from tonight's third anniversary stream."

I froze, snapping my head up in shock. "A proposal?"