Chapter 8: Exit, Stage Left

Besides, both the Carter family and the male lead’s family are top-tier wealthy clans—danger everywhere, no need to spell it out.

It’s the kind of drama that makes reality TV look tame. I’d rather not become a cautionary tale on the evening news.

I have no money, no power, no background. Why get obsessed and fight a battle I’m destined to lose?

Sometimes the smart move is knowing when to fold ‘em. There’s always another game to play.

The male lead is a rich kid—if he gives me money, why shouldn’t I take it?

My conscience twinges, but my bank account purrs. Everybody wins.

System: "What the hell!" [You’re crazy! She’s the leading lady of the book! Do you know how valuable those two words are?]

The system sounds almost desperate, as if I’ve lost my mind.

I meet Lillian’s dim gaze and wave my hand: "Ms. Carter, I won’t bother you anymore."

I tip an imaginary hat, turning on my heel. She doesn’t say a word, but I catch something flicker in her eyes—regret, maybe, or just relief.

At night, the music is booming, exhilarating. After indulging myself, I stagger back to the Carter house.

The Uber driver’s got the heat cranked, but my breath still fogs up the window as we pass snowbanks piled high on the curb. The ride is a blur of neon and snow. I blast my playlist, head buzzing with adrenaline and bourbon. Tonight, I’m not anyone’s stand-in—I’m just Shane, free and clear.

The lights are off. In the moonlight, a pair of slender legs are crossed, their lines alluring and beautiful.

The foyer is dark, but the moonlight slices through the window. There, on the velvet chaise lounge, Lillian sits—her legs impossibly long, heels glinting.

Before I can react, my mouth goes dry. Until a cold and lazy female voice sounds in the living room: "Come here. Kneel."

Her tone is sultry and commanding, echoing through the silent house. My heart kicks into overdrive, a strange mix of dread and anticipation flooding my chest. The night’s not over yet—maybe my story’s only just begun. And somewhere in the dark, the system’s warning blinks again—louder than ever.