Would I really be afraid of a mere actress?
“Sir, let me correct you on something,” I said calmly.
“I have zero interest in your little fan-circle antics. But as for Miss Emily, she’d better not try riding on my fame.”
The man in black instantly flared up.
“You little punk, you’ve got some nerve, huh?”
After cursing at me a few more times, he still seemed unsatisfied, so he rolled up his sleeves and lunged at me again.
Fortunately, I had trained in self-defense since childhood. The man swung several punches, but couldn’t even graze the hem of my jacket. Frustrated, he grew more furious.
“You brat, try dodging one more time and see what happens!”
“Don’t think I won’t call Miss Emily right now!”
Despite his repeated provocation, I didn’t fight back—I just kept dodging.
It wasn’t because I couldn’t win. The airport was crowded, and I couldn’t afford to expose my identity just yet.
Besides, I was carrying confidential documents in my bag—files critical to the future of America’s technological development.
After a brief pause, the man swung another punch at me.
At that critical moment, a sharp voice rang out from behind.
“Stop!”
A tall young woman strode toward us, surrounded by bodyguards.
“Jason Miller, you’re my personal assistant. How can you just start a fight in public like this?” she scolded.
“If fans saw this, the company would have to spend a fortune on damage control.”
I studied the woman carefully and had to admit—she was stunning.
At nearly five-foot-seven in height, wrapped in a red trench coat that perfectly outlined her figure.
The only flaw was the frosty look in her eyes as she stared at me.
“Miss Emily, it’s been a while,” I said.
But Emily instantly raised her hand to cut me off.
“Enough. Just tell me—what do you want?”
I froze, caught off guard.
Were Hollywood stars always this impatient?
I had only greeted her, and she couldn’t even bear that?
“Emily, though we haven’t met often, we are still engaged,” I said firmly.
“Don’t you think it’s going too far, not even letting me finish a sentence?”
Emily chuckled coldly.
“Too far?”
“What is there left to talk about between us?”
She cast me a scornful glance, full of disdain.
“Daniel, you don’t actually think I would ever marry you, do you?”
I inhaled deeply, fixing my gaze on her.
“So, from what you’re saying, you plan to break off our engagement?”
She tilted her head back and burst into laughter.
“Break up? Were we ever really together?”
“I don’t even consider you a friend, so what breakup is there to talk about? Stop dreaming.”
I had imagined that after rising to fame, Emily might deny our relationship. But I hadn’t expected her to be this ruthless.
The night before I left for the U.S., she had sworn that once I came back, we would marry.
Yet in just five years, she had turned her back so coldly.
It seemed the old saying was right— the prettier the woman, the more deceptive she could be.
During my years abroad working in research, I had barely slept three hours a night, often skipping meals.
All for the sake of finishing the project sooner, so I could return and fulfill our promise.
But in the end, all I got was her dismissive, “I don’t even consider you a friend.”
What Emily forgot was this:
No matter how many awards an actress wins, at the end of the day, she’s still just a performer.
