UNDER THE SPOTLIGHT Chapter 30

"Serena, I..."

I spoke hoarsely, trying to explain. "I have feelings for you—truly. But I'm afraid I'm not good enough for you, and that this industry will drag us both in too deep."

She froze, something complicated passing through her eyes—disappointment, and maybe a hint of relief.

She straightened, her robe slipping off one shoulder, the lace edge of her bra peeking through—so alluring it was hard to look away.

She gave a cold laugh.

"Not good enough? Noah, you're too naive. In this industry, no one is ‘worthy’ of anyone. It’s only about who grabs the chance."

She paused, her tone softening, carrying a trace of pleading.

"Noah, I’m tired. I don’t want to face those filthy rules alone anymore. You said you’d protect me, but look at you—you can’t even control your own heart."

Her words were needles, stabbing straight into my chest.

I stood and, summoning my courage, took her hand. The warmth of her palm made my pulse race.

"Serena, I was wrong. Last night, I lost control. But I promise I’ll learn to protect you—and myself. Give me a chance, please?"

She lowered her gaze to my hand, silent for a few seconds, a glimmer of tears in her eyes.

Gently, she drew her hand back, turned away from me, and said in a low voice:

"Noah, I don’t know if I can still trust you. But remember this: in this industry there’s no true heart, only transactions. If you want to keep walking with me, you’ll have to learn to be ruthless."

Her words were a bucket of cold water, clearing my head a little.

I wanted to say something, but she had already turned and walked to the bedroom, the silhouette of her robe as lonely as a shadow in the night.

Serena’s retreating figure was like a knife, twisting deep in my chest.

Her indifference, the shimmer of tears, and that line—“no true heart, only transactions”—burned in my chest like a fire, too hot for me to keep standing in place, hesitating.

I clenched my fists. The impulse inside me surged like a flood that drowned out reason.

I pushed open the bedroom door. It creaked, as if I were crossing some forbidden line.

Serena lay on the bed, her robe loosely wrapped around her, a pale shoulder exposed. The tracks of tears still marked her face, the corners of her eyes red, as if she’d just cried. Lit by the lamp, her beauty held a fragile note, like a rain-soaked flower—far less unbreakable than she pretended. Seeing me enter, she blinked in surprise, her voice trembling.

"Noah, what are you doing?"

Overwhelmed by reckless impulse, I crossed a boundary; she resisted and told me to stop. The encounter turned non-consensual—details omitted.

No True Hearts