Chapter 4Lost My Heart Under Her Spotlight

The next day, Vivian came to the studio.

She took off her sunglasses and threw a script onto my desk.

“Change the male lead of When the Cold Wind Passes to Jamie.”

This script was the film I had spent three years writing.

The female lead was based on her.

I had planned to give it to her as a career-transforming project after she won Best Actress.

She knew better than anyone how much of my heart was in it.

I opened the script.

A few sticky notes were tucked inside.

But the handwriting was not hers.

【Make the male lead feel younger.】

【Add more romance.】

【Ending would be more tragic if the female lead gives up her career for him.】

I looked up. “Jamie wrote these?”

Vivian frowned. “He was just making suggestions.”

“Does he even understand scripts?”

“Noah, don’t be so harsh.”

I closed the script. “I won’t change it.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t deserve it.”

Just then, Jamie’s voice came from the doorway. “Am I here at a bad time?”

He held two coffees and stood there obediently.

Vivian’s tone softened immediately. “Come in.”

Jamie looked at me, eyes already wet. “Mr. Reed, if you think I don’t deserve the role, I can withdraw. Please don’t let me affect you two.”

I said flatly, “You really don’t deserve it.”

The office froze.

Vivian shot to her feet. “Noah, that’s enough!”

“No, it isn’t.”

I tore off the sticky notes.

“If you two want to sell a couple fantasy, go ahead. If you want to flirt, fine. But don’t touch my script.”

Vivian stared at me, then suddenly laughed.

“Your script?”

Her voice was not loud, but every word stabbed straight into my chest.

“My studio paid for the early-stage development. This project was built around me. Can you afford to pull out?”

As soon as she said it, even Jamie froze.

Vivian stiffened too.

But she did not apologize.

She only looked away. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re the professional one. You understand what I want best. Just help me this once.”

Yes.

I understood her best.

So when she hurt me, she also knew exactly where to stab.

That afternoon, the trending page exploded.

#JamieColeVivianCrossLivingTogether#

It started from a livestream.

Jamie was wearing a charcoal-gray jacket while chatting with fans on a hotel sofa.

Fans dug up an old photo from Vivian’s house and found the same jacket in the corner.

It was my jacket.

Two winters ago, I stayed up at her house rewriting a script and left it in her closet by mistake.

During the livestream, someone asked whose jacket it was.

Jamie looked down, smiled, and said, “Oh, this? I just grabbed it.”

He did not say more.

But it was enough.

Half an hour later, Vivian called me.

Her first words were, “Don’t post anything yet.”

I leaned back in my chair. My stomach hurt so badly that cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

“Post what?”

“A clarification,” she said. “Jamie just got an endorsement. He can’t be labeled a homewrecker. Post that our relationship is stable and the jacket was taken by mistake on set.”

For a second, I thought I had misheard.

“We’ve already broken up.”

She was silent for a second, then impatiently said, “Don’t focus on that right now. When the trending topic passes, we can talk privately.”

“You want me to pretend we’re still together to protect him?”

“It’s not protecting him. It’s protecting everyone.”

Her voice turned cold. “Noah, it’s one sentence. Do you really have to ruin a newcomer?”

I looked out the window.

The sky was dark. Rain was coming.

“I won’t post it.”

The other end went quiet.

Then she laughed coldly. “Fine. Don’t regret it.”

That night, her studio released a statement.

The jacket, they said, was spare wardrobe from the crew. Online rumors were fabricated.

They did not mention me.

Jamie reposted it: 【Sorry for worrying everyone. Thank you, Vivian, for always protecting me.】

Fans cried all over the comments.

【Poor baby.】

【Vivian is so responsible.】

【Certain ex-boyfriends should stop buying smear campaigns. If you can’t have her, don’t go crazy.】

My name was dragged across every platform.

They called me a kept man, a control freak, a parasite who used Vivian to enter the industry and then bit her hand.

Sam was furious. “Noah, let’s release the evidence.”

I braced myself against the desk and stood. The pain in my stomach felt like a knife twisting inside me.

“Take me to the hospital.”

The test results came back. The doctor frowned.

“Gastric bleeding. You need to be admitted immediately.”

As the IV needle entered the back of my hand, I made one last call to Vivian.

It rang for a long time before she answered.

The background was noisy. Someone shouted, “Vivian, Mr. Cole is needed for the shoot.”

She lowered her voice. “What is it?”

I looked at the IV bag and said quietly, “I’m in the hospital. Gastric bleeding.”

She paused.

Jamie’s voice came closer. “Vivian, is this collar too low?”

Vivian covered the receiver, her voice muffled.

“Wait a second.”

Then she said to me, “Noah, don’t use your body to pressure me. I’m shooting a magazine spread. Jamie’s not in a good state. I can’t leave.”

I said nothing.

She sounded even more annoyed. “Aren’t the doctors there? You’re a grown man. Can you stop coming to me for everything?”

A nurse pushed a cart past the corridor.

Listening to the wheels, I remembered Vivian’s first stomach spasm.

I drove from the east side of the city to the west, running three red lights.

She clutched my hand and said, “Noah, don’t go.”

Now it was my turn.

She said she could not leave.

I said softly, “Okay.”

Then I hung up.

The nurse asked, “Will your family come?”

I looked at the back of my hand and gave a bitter smile.

“No.”

Half an hour later, I had Sam bring my laptop.

He was anxious. “Noah, the doctor said you need to stay.”

“Book the earliest flight to Harbor City.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

I sent Vivian’s studio a termination letter.

I returned every cent of the early development funds for When the Cold Wind Passes, revoked her priority cooperation rights for the script, and shut down all shared document access.

I blocked every way she could contact me.

Finally, I put the key to our shared apartment into a courier envelope.

At one in the morning, it was raining in the capital.

I got into the car to the airport.

Sam asked, “Do you want to send her one last message?”

“No.”

I watched the streetlights blur past the window and suddenly thought of that ring.

By now, it had probably already been dumped into a garbage truck.

Good.

Some things belonged exactly where they rotted.

After seven years of walking through storms together, loving Vivian had finally reached its last stop.