Life Is Not Late

I had barely sat down in Paul's SUV when two silver Bentleys cut across the driveway and blocked our path.

Adrian stepped out of the car.

He didn't give me a chance to ask anything. With one careless wave of his hand, his bodyguards moved in and stopped Paul from getting out.

"Get out of the car, Evelyn," Adrian said. "Chloe was caught on camera. The video was going to leak tonight."

I gripped the door handle so tightly my knuckles turned white.

Through the window, I looked at my handsome, cold-blooded husband.

"I told you I wanted a divorce," I said. "Her PR crisis has nothing to do with me."

"Nothing to do with you?"

Adrian stepped forward, yanked the door open, and dragged me out by the wrist.

"You think announcing your retirement means this industry will let you disappear? The footage is blurry. If you show up at the press conference tonight and say it was you celebrating your wedding a little too wildly, the media will move on. You have the innocent golden-girl image. A small scandal will be written off as you finally being human."

His grip tightened.

"But Chloe is at the peak of her career. A scandal like this would destroy her luxury contracts overnight."

I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing.

"You want me to trade the reputation I built over ten years for her brand deals?"

"We're talking about hundreds of millions in commercial value," Adrian said coldly. "And don't act as if you can simply walk away. Your father's unpaid debts, your studio's investor agreements... do you really think you can handle all of that without me?"

At that moment, a kind of despair I had never known sank into me.

His support for my retirement had never been love. It had been a way to take control of my money, my career, and my name.

By the time we arrived at the PR room, the dull ache in my lower abdomen had sharpened. Cold sweat broke out across my back, and my legs suddenly felt weak.

Something was wrong.

I grabbed Adrian's sleeve.

"Adrian," I pleaded, my voice low and shaking. "My stomach hurt. I might be pregnant. Please take me to get checked. Just half an hour."

Adrian looked down at me with the same detached expression he used in business meetings.

"Evelyn, are you really using this kind of drama to protect your pride? Don't forget, I'm a producer. That performance won't work on me. What you need to do right now is step in front of the cameras and play the rebellious bride."

He didn't even glance at the medical staff on site.

Instead, he signaled for the stylists to fix my makeup.

They pushed me in front of the flashing cameras while my face was bloodless beneath the foundation. The lights hit me like hail.

Against my will, I admitted to a scandal I had never committed in front of the entire country.

Then I collapsed in the hallway backstage.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital room.

The doctor told me, with deep regret, that extreme stress and physical trauma had caused a miscarriage.

I lay there, numb, when the door opened.

Chloe walked in wearing an expensive velvet nightgown. She looked radiant, rested, almost glowing.

"Oh, Evelyn, darling."

She sat by my bed and reached for my hand as if we were still the closest friends in the world.

"Thank you for saving my image last night. I heard you miscarried? Don't be too sad. Adrian said it doesn't really matter, since you're retiring anyway. The important thing now is to use this hot topic to drive traffic to my new album."

Then she laughed softly.

"Maybe I should give you half of my Grammy someday. After all, your performance last night was brilliant."

I looked at her.

Then I looked past her at Adrian, who was standing outside the door, chatting and laughing with the PR team as if he had just finished another routine day at work.

With the last of my strength, I grabbed the glass of water beside me and threw it at Chloe.

"Get out!"