A Performance They Didn’t See Coming

“I didn’t forget my lines!” she screamed. “She did something to me! I swear she did something!”

No one answered her.

Because at this point—

No one believed her.

Director Phil’s face had gone completely cold.

“Enough.”

His voice wasn’t loud,

but it cut through everything.

“I’ve tolerated a lot from you, Vivienne. But this?” He gestured toward the mess she had created—the shaken crew, the wasted time, the rising frustration thick in the air. “This is too much. You don’t act like a professional actress. You’re just a spoiled brat.”

Vivienne froze.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, but for the first time, a flicker of panic crossed her face.

“Director, I…”

“Pack up. We’re done for today,” Phil said sharply. “Take two days off, calm down, and get your shit together. Mistakes like this will no longer be tolerated.”

Isabella had already removed her makeup and was preparing to leave when Vanessa quietly walked in.

With her arms crossed over her chest and an expression full of contempt, she said,

“Isabella, I never knew you were this evil and devious.”

“Oh? I’m devious?”

With a faint smile, Isabella cast a glance at the bloody scratch on Vanessa’s arm—courtesy of Vivienne. Then she blinked, her expression turning innocent.

“But you had such great judgment… picking such a great teammate.”

“You—” Vanessa gritted her teeth, anger tightening her chest.

How could she have known Vivienne would be so stupid?

Isabella’s reputation had already been dragged through the mud, yet somehow… she was turning it around. The production crew was even starting to change their opinions of her.

That meant one thing.

Isabella definitely had a plan.

And if Vanessa didn’t act fast, she would lose control of the entire situation.

After that brief confrontation, Isabella walked out of the set when her phone buzzed.

A text message.

Darkknight24: I’ll wait for you at the alleyway in front.

She replied calmly:

We’ll go separately. See you at home. I’ll come over later… I’ll bring chicken.

An hour later, at Number 6, Platinum Palace.

She had barely reached the door when Jason yanked it open and pulled her inside.

He peeked out into the hallway, glancing left and right like they were doing something illegal.

Previously, he hadn’t cared if people saw them together. In fact, he had even hated that he couldn’t openly show off their “special relationship.”

But after today’s incident…

He was starting to rethink that.

Isabella dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, and sat cross-legged on the sofa.

The first thing she did?

She stretched out her hand.

“Did you film it?”

Jason stared at her, speechless.

She really didn’t care about her image at all.

Did this woman even see him as a man anymore?

Why was she always so casual around him?

Right now, she looked exactly like the little tyrant she played on screen.

“Are you comparing me to that useless teammate?” he scoffed. “Of course I got it.”

He shoved his phone into her hand.

The moment she said she wanted to act like an innocent flower, he already knew what she was planning.

Drama.

Real, juicy, explosive drama.

She pressed play.

After watching, she nodded in satisfaction.

“Not bad. You did well.”

Then, with a small smile—

“I’ll add a chicken leg for you.”

Next, she opened her I*******m.

Instead of the apology Lilian demanded, she posted just four words:

The truth always prevails.

Then she switched to her burner account.

She quickly contacted a gossip blogger known for targeting Longster Entertainment and sent over the video of Vivienne’s repeated failed takes.

Those companies were rivals.

Fierce ones.

It didn’t even take long.

Within minutes, the post went live:

“Failing a scene 33 times—#1 useless pretty face in the industry shows you what real shit acting looks like.”

Jason leaned over and glanced at her.

“You’re only sending it to one blog? That’s it? I suffered to film that masterpiece, you know.”

Isabella didn’t even look up, scrolling through the comments section.

“This is enough to spark attention. The rest will spread on its own.”

Then she added casually—

“Or did you think you were the only one recording today’s show?”

Jason paused.

“…Fair point.”

Then he frowned slightly.

“Why didn’t you use this method earlier? If you had, she’d have been replaced immediately. I wouldn’t have had to tolerate her for two days.”

No one else understood what had happened on set.

But Jason did.

Isabella had used pressure acting.

A rare, terrifying technique.

One where a skilled actor overwhelms their partner so completely that the other person breaks—mentally, emotionally, even physically—forgetting lines, losing rhythm, collapsing under invisible pressure.

It was subtle.

Undetectable.

And devastating.

Isabella rolled her eyes.

“I can’t just throw my trump card around.”

She leaned back slightly.

“First, I need the right situation. Today was perfect.”

“Second, it slows down filming. I’m not using it unless I have to.”

Jason clicked his tongue.

Then smirked slightly.

“Well, I’m honored,” he said dryly, “to be one of the few victims you used it on.”

Back then, she had done the same thing to him.

But unlike Vivienne—

He survived it.

Even improved because of it.

He suddenly leaned closer, eyes sharp.

“So…”

“Are we having dinner together tonight?”

His tone shifted, almost boyish now.

“You promised me. Dinner. And games. Don’t tell me you’re backing out.”

Isabella paused for a second.

Then sighed.

“Fine, fine. We’ll eat. We’ll play. Happy now?”