Chapter 29
The men vanished into the night, clutching their injured wrists.
“Lexi, are you alright?” Simone’s calm voice reached her.
She handed Lexi a tissue, helping her to her feet.
“Thank you, Simone. I… I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” Lexi touched her neck and saw blood.
“Do you want me to patch it properly? Hospital?” Simone asked.
Lexi shook her head.
Hospitals were full of endings she didn’t want to face.
Simone’s bodyguard returned with iodine and gauze, and she carefully dressed the wound in the car.
“You can afford such bodyguards… you’re not just a regular journalist?” Lexi asked.
Simone smiled faintly.
“Enemies are made in this job. You protect yourself p>
Lexi nodded, uneasy.
“You’re going to see Julian, aren’t you?” Simone asked, slipping her supplies into Lexi’s bag.
“How did you know?” Lexi muttered.
“Do you… like him?” Simone’s gaze held a quiet intensity.
Lexi froze.
Yes, she did—but fear kept her silent.
She couldn’t risk breaking the fragile thread connecting them.
“I know where he is. I can take you. He needs someone like you,” Simone offered.
“I… I should get back to the set,” Lexi said firmly, sorrow threading her voice.
“I won’t see him p>
Simone nodded.
“Whenever you’re ready, Café Eight p>
Back on set, Lexi grabbed a short nap before diving into her script.
Thinking of Julian, powerless to help, frustration knotted deep in her chest.
The next scene was a confrontation between Stella and Jessica.
Off-camera tension ran high.
Lauren leaned close.
“If you can’t handle this, maybe you should leave. This isn’t for everyone p>
Lexi smirked, letting the provocation fuel her.
The scene erupted into chaos—a physical scuffle toppled a brazier, fire roaring to life.
Lauren slapped Lexi, trying to assert dominance.
Lexi pushed back, sending Lauren stumbling.
The director rushed forward, scolding Lexi for overstepping, mistaking her control for vengeance.
“If delicate Miss Lauren can’t handle a scene like this, maybe it’s time to replace her,” Lexi said coolly.
Neither side could escalate—the tension was a stalemate.
The screenwriter suggested writing Stella’s death into the scene, ending the confrontation.
Draped in crimson, Lexi portrayed Stella’s helplessness with raw realism.
By the time “cut” came, her fingers throbbed from unseen burns, but she barely noticed.
Lauren seethed—Lexi had stolen the scene.
She could not allow it.
Isabella approached with a bouquet, feigned sweetness in her voice.
Lexi took it politely, concealing simmering resentment, and tossed it in the trash once she left.
“The director’s wrap party is at the KTV next door, 7 PM,” Isabella said.
Lexi nodded, determined to attend despite any traps.
Neon lights bathed the city.
At the KTV, Lauren mocked her.
“Lexi, it’s your wrap party!
Don’t you want to toast everyone p>
“I don’t drink,” Lexi said firmly.
Lauren pushed the crowd against her.
“Not drinking? Disrespectful p>
Isabella urged, glass in hand, but Lexi met her gaze with a knife-sharp glare.
On stage, Lexi spoke into the microphone.
“Thank you all. I cannot drink tonight. Enjoy yourselves p>
Ignoring reactions, she walked off—only for someone to press a handkerchief to her mouth and drag her into an adjacent room.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She was on a sofa, restrained, powerless, the room spinning around her.