"Think you're so impressive?"
"Then I'll just wait for you to starve on the streets and come crawling back to me on your knees."
I was kicked out of the company apartment.
There wasn't much to pack, really. For ten years, I'd lived like a shadow.
The clothes were picked by Lindsay. The style matched her preferences. Even my underwear was discount stuff she'd bought.
I only took a few photo albums and a worn velvet box.
Ten years ago, I'd used my first paycheck from a film to buy that ring. I was going to propose to her.
Looking at it now, what a joke.
The moment I stepped out of the apartment building, a red Ferrari pulled up in front of me.
The window rolled down, revealing Morton's harmless-looking face.
"Carl, leaving already?"
He grinned at the pathetic duffel bag in my hand.
"Ms. Swanson says you're to attend tonight's celebration party."
I frowned. "I'm not going."
"Come on, don't be like that. Ms. Swanson said if you don't show up, she'll have those photos of yours sent to the media."
Morton waved his phone. On the screen was a photo of Lindsay forcing me to wear those toys.
There were even a few intimate shots of her stepping on me, my face flushed red.
"Ms. Swanson says if these photos get out, your Best Actor image will be completely destroyed."
Morton's smile was innocent and cruel at the same time.
"Tonight's my celebration party. Ms. Swanson says you have to be there."
"She says she's giving you a chance to make amends."
I looked at him, my throat dry as sand.
"Fine."
Morton's smile deepened.
"Oh, right—Ms. Swanson's worried you'll steal my spotlight, so she picked out something special for you to wear."
He tossed a bag from the passenger seat. Inside was a waiter's vest.
"Don't be late, Carl."
When I walked into the most luxurious private room in the city wearing that cheap waiter's vest, the glittering crowd fell silent for a moment.
Then they burst into laughter.
"Isn't that Best Actor Barnes? What happened—career change to waiting tables?"
"Ha! That uniform actually fits him pretty well."
Investors and directors who used to bow and scrape to me now wore undisguised mockery on their faces.
I stood among them like a punchline.
Lindsay sat on the main sofa, watching the scene with cold detachment. She made no move to stop it.
She beckoned to me like she was calling a dog.
"Come here. Pour a drink for Ms. Lambert."
She gestured toward a heavyset middle-aged woman beside her.
"Since you want to terminate your contract, you should experience real life. Start from the bottom—isn't that what you said?"
"Carl, show me your resolve."
I walked over stiffly and picked up the wine bottle.
Miriam Lambert's greasy eyes roamed over me. One hand slid onto my waist without permission.
"Tsk, tsk. No wonder he's one of Ms. Swanson's trained pets. So obedient."
"But Ms. Swanson, you've played with this one for ten years now. Aren't you bored yet?"
Lindsay raised her glass and let out a soft laugh.
"Ms. Lambert, you flatter me."
"He's just a little pet. Hardly mine."
My hand trembled uncontrollably. Red wine spilled out.
It splashed onto Miriam's dress.
Her expression turned icy. "It seems Ms. Swanson isn't being sincere."
"Perhaps I need to reconsider the male lead for that drama."
Morton's eyes reddened. "Carl, if you hate me, just say so. Why do you have to sabotage me like this?"
