10
The third installment was a success, so the production team decided to visit my city for the fourth. But that would be a repeat of the last one.
“Where did you go to college?” the team asked, deciding to go there instead.
“South City.”
The moment I said it, a staff member exclaimed in surprise, “Hey, isn’t that where Cole went to college too?”
Ashton looked up, his gaze on me deep and intense. That strange, burgeoning unease was becoming more and more apparent on his face.
Before the fourth live broadcast, the finale of Ashton and Vera’s new drama aired. According to his manager’s original plan, by this promotional point, social media should have been flooded with negative comments about me.
But the reality was the opposite.
Due to my detached demeanor and the show’s explosive premise, the unconventional pairing of me and Cole was on the verge of overtaking them.
[Even though Chloe and Cole act like strangers in public, I feel like there’s more to it behind the scenes.]
[I was thinking the same thing. The vibe in the car during the second episode was weird.]
【I’m sick. I have a disease where I feel happy every time Ashton is unhappy.)
Ashton’s manager bought a trending topic.
#ChloelsToxic
#ChloeHeldAshton BackForYears
Various hashtags with my name trended several times.
A small account posted on social media.
[They’re actually divorced.]
It got over a thousand likes in an hour.
In the comments, she liked every post supporting Ashton and Vera.
2018
Half an hour later, she posted a picture of me. In the photo, I was in my pajamas, my face sallow, my hair a mess.
She captioned it: [No wonder he doesn’t want you.]
This photo was taken by Ashton when he was at home with a bad cold. I was having cramps but was making him porridge. He was a picky eater and would only eat what I cooked when he was sick.
‘One more, one more,” he had insisted, even though I didn’t want my picture taken. He said he wanted to document how good his wife was to him.
Later, when I was going through his phone for evidence for the divorce, I found out.
That day, that photo.
He had immediately sent it to Vera.
[She’s so ugly.]
[I can’t stand it anymore.]
The comments under the post with the photo didn’t go as the account owner had expected.
Some rational netizens started to criticize her.
[Is doxxing fun?]
[This photo is too private. I have reasonable suspicion about your identity.]
【Who doesn’t look like this at home?]
The account owner frantically deleted comments and, seeing the tide turn against her, had no choice but to delete the photo.
“Did you create a burner account to bash Vera?”
The night before the live broadcast, Ashton called me.
He sent me a screenshot. I recognized the ID. It was one of his dedicated fans, who was now criticizing him and Vera.
Ashton’s career was at a critical point. From the outside, it looked like he was still married, yet he was participating in this explosive show to prom- ote his pairing with Vera. It was outrageous. People thought I had possessed him.
Although he gained some couple fans, his more loyal solo fans were leaving in droves.
But who would have thought that he had no choice? That he was doing this show to whitewash his own cheating and throw the blame on me.
“That’s a fan who used to support you a lot. Have you forgotten?”
He paused. “It wasn’t you?”
“Of course not,” I said, finding it laughable. I was about to hang up when he added another sentence.
“No matter what, Vera is crying. She’s upset, and you’re not blameless.”
His tone was impatient. “Chloe, you have to apologize.”
‘Ashton, are you angry because Vera is upset, or because your fans are leaving?”
He was hit where it hurt. His tone became suppressed.
“Are you actually falling for it? Do you believe what those netizens are saying about you and Cole?”
“Why don’t you go and like Cole then?” he sneered, his attitude condescending. “Stop liking me. It’s exhausting.”
In the past, at this point in an argument, I would have backed down.
But now, I blurted out, “Okay.”
“I knew you wouldn’t agree. Why are you so spineless-” he said, the words flowing out of habit. He stopped mid–sentence, realizing his mistake
“What did you say?”
He heard me clearly. I didn’t repeat myself. I hung up.
20:18
Chapter 2
During the weekend live stream, Ashton’s manager was waiting for me to have a breakdown.
But it was Ashton who messed up.
He was blow–drying Vera’s hair. His arm got tired, and he handed the blow–dryer to her.
That was fine.
But there was a small problem. The moment he handed it back, he called out, “Chloe, hold this.”
The words were out before he realized his mistake. He didn’t even notice until he saw the frozen expression on Vera’s face.
That night, Cole didn’t join the live broadcast. The film he had made upon his return last year had been nominated for a top international award. He was flying out tonight.
I wandered alone in this city that was once so familiar.
When I got back to the hotel, I saw Ashton standing by the door.
Waiting for me.
Shouldn’t he be having dinner with Vera?
The production team said Ashton had requested to switch back to the original couple pairings.
“That was the original plan anyway,” the producer told me. “Just for tonight.”
The hotel suite.
I checked the locations of all the cameras.
Ashton closed the door behind him. His expression was calm, almost chillingly so.
On the glass coffee table was a spread of food.
Eat,” he said. “I made it myself.”
In all our years of marriage, he had never done this.
Seeing that I wasn’t moving, he smiled.
“What’s wrong? You seemed to be eating just fine with him.”
I was frank. “Looking at your face, I have no appetite.”
His pupils contracted. For a few seconds, he suppressed his emotions, then finally forced a smile.
“Just because I spent two weeks with Vera, you’re giving up? Chloe, it’s for work. You can’t be jealous every time, can you?”
Ashton was partly acting for the cameras, and partly used to the idea that a little bit of kindness from him would have me crawling back.
But I wasn’t that person anymore.
When I moved my things to the other room, his face was ashen.
He sat alone at the dining table, watching the food grow cold. I never came out of my room.
He let out a self–deprecating laugh.
Then, he called room service and had the entire spread of food thrown away.
Every staff member had a key to the suite.
That night, I didn’t sleep well.
Especially when, in my sleep, I was kissed.
On my forehead.
Light, yet real, with the chill of a hurried journey on an early winter night.
The next day, after the live stream ended, at breakfast.
Chapter 2
The next day, after the live stream ended, at breakfast.
Ashton was in a good mood. After last night’s performance, the comments about him had improved significantly.
[I feel so bad for my Ashton.]
【Why is Chloe being like this? This show is the couple version of a rebound dating show. If you can’t accept it, why come on?】
[Vera, baby, come and save him.]
2018
【Are the three people above crazy? Ashton called Vera by the wrong name, disgusted the couple fans, and is still trying to play the devoted lover?
Is it that hard to talk about love after getting a divorce?]
[Rumor has it, they’re already divorced.]
His manager told him the initial hype was enough. They could probably announce our divorce in the next episode. He would parade me around,
play the part of a spurned, devoted man, and then, in the final episode, Vera would “heal” him with some sweet moments.
They would both be perfectly whitewashed.
This episode is crucial. No matter what happens,” his manager warned him, “you can’t lose your temper.”
He sipped his coffee, his eyes on me. He was confident, unconcerned.
“What could possibly happen?”
After hanging up, he knew I had heard everything. But he was sure that even if I knew, I couldn’t do anything about it. I had signed an NDA and received a huge settlement. He was still transferring money into my account.
“Are you sad?” he asked, his eyes filled with contempt. “No matter what, you can’t compare to Vera, and you’ll never have me.”
His lips were moving, saying something else. ! looked at him but didn’t hear a word.
Only when he paused to drink his coffee did! ask lightly, “Was it you who kissed me last night?”
The door to the room was open, and staff members were moving equipment back and forth.
“Why would I kiss-” he frowned, realizing something.
The room fell silent, making the chatter of the staff outside unusually clear.
“How did you get bubble tea?”
“Cole brought breakfast and dessert for all the staff at five this morning. Didn’t you get any?”
“I was in the bathroom. I missed out on a million bucks.”
“Here, have mine. Don’t be sad.”
“What’s he doing back here? Wasn’t he going to the film festival?”
“Oh, he said he had something really important to do before he left.”
“So he flew here from Beijing and then flew to another country? That must be exhausting.”
“Yeah, I heard he had a fever too.”
Who kissed me.
I guessed.
Ashton guessed too.
But he didn’t believe it. He turned and closed the door, blocking out the sound, but he didn’t turn back around for a long time.
“As if,” he said, his voice strained. He moved swiftly, grabbing my wrist and dragging me from the sofa, pinning me against the door.
“You knew he was coming back last night. You deliberately lied to me about being kissed,” he laughed, a hollow sound, his eyes lifeless. “Aren’t you disgusting, Chloe? Going this far just to make me angry.”
“You really think he could like you?”
You really think he could like you?”
“Even if…” he squeezed my wrist, “even if he was blind enough to fall for you, it would only be because I stole his wife. It’s just retaliation, you unde-
rstand?”
With that, he shoved me away.
“And you’re just throwing yourself at him. But that’s always been your style, hasn’t it? If you weren’t like this, who would want you?”
I listened calmly as he finished.
Then, I picked up the ashtray from the coffee table and smashed it over his head.
It landed with a dull thud.
He was stunned. Blood trickled down from his forehead into his eyes.
“You…” he stared at me, dumbfounded. “How could you?”
Outside, the producer was knocking on the door.
Ashton, we found something.”
He frantically grabbed a tissue to wipe his forehead. “One moment.” Ignoring the pain, he stuffed the blood–soaked tissue into the trash can.
He opened the door.
The producer was shocked, asking him what happened.
Nothing, I bumped into something.”
He asked the producer what he was holding.
Only then did the producer see me inside the room, calmly picking up the ashtray and placing it back on the coffee table.
Not wanting to cause any unnecessary trouble for the staff.
The producer stammered.
Ashton, his head throbbing and already irritable, snatched the paper from his hand.
It was a simple, ordinary registration form.
It was old, a photocopy. It recorded the monthly rent payments for the rental apartment.
The tenant was me.
Eight hundred a month.
The person who paid each month had to sign to confirm.
But that signature.
It was identical to the flamboyant signature on the backdrop of the film festival red carpet, half a world away.
Cole.
