"What did you just say?"
My eyes went wide, my mind a sudden blank.
Then my phone buzzed again. Another text from Prudence.
"Solomon, your mother's medical bills went through the company account. $300,000. Don't forget to pay it back."
Three hundred thousand... three hundred thousand dollars.
Prudence had used that money to make me kneel and apologize to Jackson.
Then used that same money to let my mother die.
To her, it was nothing. A dinner. A handbag.
To me, it was the final straw.
I nearly lost it. Rushed for the door, ready to drag Prudence down with me.
But Isabel stopped me.
Her eyes were red as she begged me to let it go. Told me the dead can't come back. Told me I had to keep living.
I sat there all night, motionless until dawn. I think I cried out a lifetime's worth of tears.
Prudence didn't come home until morning, still hungover.
She startled at the sight of me—the wreck I'd become—and hurried to pull me up from the floor.
The moment she reached for me, Jackson's cologne hit my nose.
But Prudence didn't seem to notice. She just wrapped her arms around me, gentle, soothing.
"What's wrong, Sol? Why are you crying like this?"
"Is it because of Jackson? Or the stuff online?"
"It's okay. Worst case, you stop acting."
"You can stay with the Delgado family. Be a proper house husband."
"I'll work hard, get a solid footing at the company. No one will ever bully you again."
I looked up at her, and my mind drifted back.
Years ago. The day we first met.
What Prudence had said to me then:
"Solomon, I've seen your work. You're talented. Really talented."
"Don't ever give up on your dream for anyone."
"I'll walk this road with you. I'll be your strongest support."
A true companion is rare in life.
I thought I'd finally found someone who understood me.
So I threw myself into acting. Endorsements. Promotions.
Even when I was vomiting blood from exhaustion, I didn't stop.
But it turned out Prudence only wanted my fame to build her own connections.
Now her career was stable.
She didn't need a star who could work a room anymore.
So I was supposed to give up my dreams. Fade into the background.
So my mother had to die—leaving me with nowhere else to go, no choice but to be her kept man, her dutiful spouse.
The pain was so sharp I couldn't speak.
I tried to pull away from her touch, but she let go first.
Prudence was staring at her phone, suddenly anxious.
"Solomon, get some rest. I'll have Isabel come stay with you."
"Something urgent at the company. I have to go."
She left in a hurry. What she didn't know was that Jackson had sent me the same message.
To celebrate Jackson finally "taming" me, Prudence had bought him a thirty-million-dollar villa as a reward.
And right now, Jackson was waiting there in something revealing, ready for Prudence to arrive.
How pathetic. How tragic.
I stared at the posts online—everyone calling for me to be blacklisted—and the tears came flooding back.
Why? Why?
Why did the people who ruined my life get to live so well?
Why did I—who'd done nothing wrong—have to carry all this hatred?
I sat in silence for a long time.
Then I made my decision.
Before I left this industry for good, I'd give Prudence one last show.
