Semua Bab My Darling Superstar: Bab 71 - Bab 80

Charles tasted her lips—soft, warm, and impossibly real. It was a kiss that shouldn’t have happened, and yet it did. And for a fleeting second, he let himself feel it.He had kissed countless women before—actresses, models, socialites with perfect smiles and practiced charm. But this… this was different.Emily’s kiss wasn’t polished or poised. It was raw. Fierce. Reckless.And it hit him like a punch to the chest.Because it wasn’t supposed to happen.Not from her.Not from the girl who used to look at him like he hung the stars, and now looked at him like he was the one who stole them. She hated him. He knew that. She resented him for the contract, for the manipulation, for turning her life into a gilded cage. And she had every right to.He had done it for Warren. Always for Warren.Because Emily didn’t belong to him.She belonged to his brother.That thought snapped him back to reality like a slap.Charles pulled away, his breath sharp. His face hardened, the warmth in his eyes van

Emily’s heart dropped the moment she saw him.Stanley Connor.The friendly guy who had asked her to the masquerade ball. The one who had always seemed harmless, charming, even. He was dressed in his usual crisp university uniform, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, a soft smile on his face.“Morning, Emily,” he said, his voice light, like they’d just bumped into each other on the way to class.Her lips parted in disbelief. “You…”Before she could ask anything—before she could even process what he was doing there—Stanley tilted his head and asked, “What are you doing here?”Emily blinked. Her mind scrambled to recover. Was he the one who sent the photo? Was this all a trap?But his expression didn’t match the threat. He looked… confused. Concerned, even.She forced a small smile, trying to steady her breath. “Hmmm… nothing,” she said, her voice tight. “Just… clearing my head.”Stanley raised an eyebrow. “In an abandoned building?”She gave a nervous laugh. “You still don’t kno

The next morning, Emily stood in front of her mirror, staring at the girl who looked back at her.Her eyes were tired, rimmed with the shadows of sleepless nights. Her lips were pale, pressed into a line of quiet resolve. She looked like someone who had been fighting a war in silence—and losing.But not today.Today, she was done losing.She exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm inside her chest. Last night had been another blur of thoughts—of the contract, of Charles, of the anonymous sender. The photo of her and Charles kissing still haunted her, but the silence that followed was worse.Was it just a warning?A test?Or something more?She didn’t know.But she couldn’t afford to wait for answers anymore.Ninety days.That’s all she had left.Three months until graduation.Three months until the contract would seal her fate.Three months until she would be forced to marry Warren and disappear into a life she didn’t choose.Unless she did something about it.And she had a plan.A p

Charles was in his penthouse suite, the city lights glittering beneath him like a thousand tiny lies. He had just wrapped a long day of interviews and press junkets, his mind numb from the repetition of it all—same questions, same smiles, same rehearsed charm.He poured himself a drink, loosened his tie, and collapsed onto the couch. The silence was welcome. The solitude is necessary.Then his phone buzzed.A notification.Not from his public account. Not from the one his team monitored.But from the private one.The one that only a few people knew existed.The one Emily used to message him on.He frowned, thumb hovering over the screen. He hadn’t heard from her since the press conference. Since she looked at him like she was trying to understand why he’d stabbed her with words he didn’t even know he meant to say.He tapped the notification.And there it was.A photo.Her.Lying on her side, wrapped in burgundy silk, her eyes soft, her lips parted like she was caught between a sigh an

Night had fallen, and the forest was wrapped in a hush broken only by the crackle of flames. The students gathered around the bonfire, laughter and music rising into the night air. Emily sat beside Stanley, her hands wrapped around a mug of cocoa, the firelight dancing in her eyes.She took a photo of the flames—bright, wild, alive. Sparks rose into the sky like fleeting stars, and the logs beneath glowed with slow-burning heat.She posted it with a caption that wasn’t just poetic—it was personal:“Some fires don’t burn you. They warm you. But you have to sit close enough to feel it.”She didn’t look at her phone after that.She didn’t need to.Because minutes later, Charles posted again.Charles’s Post:A photo of a burned-out fire pit.The ashes are cold, scattered like forgotten words. The charred remains of logs lie in a collapsed heap, and the faintest wisp of smoke curls into the night air. Around it, empty chairs—still, untouched, like no one ever came. The scene is quiet. Aban