Chapter 1Tainted Moonlight

Emma Warren was the hottest A-list celebrity in Hollywood.

Few knew that her manager, the man her fans relentlessly cursed as a "deadbeat," was her first love, the one who'd been by her side every step of the way.

I'd been savaged by her fans for five years; they'd Photoshopped hundreds, even thousands, of obituaries for me.

To all of it, Emma had only one response:

"Just bear with me a little longer. I can't have my relationship exposed right now."

Yet, the same Emma, who preached about protecting her image, turned around and secretly agreed to a PR stunt with a new actor, a "couple" reality show, all behind my back.

She offered no explanation, merely looking at me with weary eyes, asking me to understand, not to make a fuss.

But she didn't know; I wasn't planning on making a fuss.

I was busy picking out the best Photoshopped obituary from those thousands.

After the show wrapped, she and her fake boyfriend walked arm-in-arm, giving interviews to the media.

A reporter asked, "What are your thoughts on your former manager's sudden passing?"

...

Emma Warren had severe allergies.

So every time she went on a reality show.

I was always the most anxious one.

I sat on the carpet, my eyes scanning the checklist, making a final confirmation.

"Your allergy medication is in the zippered pocket. Your usual eye drops are right next to it. It might get cold in the mountains at night, so your jacket is in the right corner. And..."

Emma leaned silently on the sofa, tapping her phone screen, her brow unfurrowed.

My voice had probably become irrelevant background noise.

She waited for me to finish my lengthy monologue, then lazily lifted her eyelids to glance at me.

"Got it. The production team will prepare these things. You don't need to bother."

"And I'm not going on some wilderness survival show."

I fell silent, my hands, which had been neatly arranging the suitcase, suddenly stilled.

Right. I'd almost forgotten. She was going on a sweet dating reality show.

This show was custom-made for the hottest celebrity "couples" of the moment, with unprecedented hype.

A few seconds later, I lowered my eyes, smiling faintly.

I folded the densely written checklist in half, then in half again, tucking it into the side pocket of the suitcase.

"Okay, I won't say more."

Emma looked satisfied. She grabbed the baseball cap from the sofa, put it on, and was about to leave.

Her assistant scurried over and took the suitcase from my hand.

"Julian."

I called out to her.

She turned, her brows almost imperceptibly furrowing.

She probably thought I was about to nag her again about carrying an umbrella for rain, or reapplying sunscreen.

Or perhaps, that question I'd asked a thousand times: When can we go public?

Sunlight poured in from the open door, bathing her in a dazzling but ethereal golden glow.

I felt a little dizzy watching her, my eyes stinging.

"Emma, if this is my last day as your manager, what... what would you think?"

She froze, her eyes beneath the brim of her cap staring at me unblinkingly for several seconds.

A celebrity's eyes can look soulful even when gazing at a dog.

For a moment, I almost believed the Emma before me was the Emma from ten years ago, who only loved me.

It made me want to bury my head in the crook of her neck,

To tell her I was sick, that I was scared.

But not until my eyelashes were truly wet with tears.

Only then did Emma slowly pull the corners of her lips into a faint smile, and give me a hug.

"Julian, stop being dramatic! You know I'd only be happy for you. After all, you've worked so hard these past few years, haven't you?"

She sounded genuinely happy, her voice significantly softer.

"I'll bring you a leaving gift. Just wait for me at home, okay?"

Thump.

I watched her back disappear from my sight, quietly, as I had countless times before.

From sixteen to twenty-nine, I had waited obediently for her for over a decade.

I truly couldn't wait anymore.

I walked to the coffee table, picked up my phone, and sent the message I had already drafted.

"After amicable discussion, I am no longer serving as Emma Warren's manager, effective immediately. Thank you for the past, and I wish you a bright future."

The moment the message went out, my phone's notifications began to erupt.

I didn't click on the details.

But even without opening them, I could imagine the frenzy below.

I refreshed, and a few top comments automatically popped up.

"Universal celebration!!! Today is a good day! Our girl finally broke free from that controlling old man!"

"Ahhh, my darling's career is now smooth sailing! No more pervert staring at you like a hawk!"

"Heaven has eyes! This old man was always telling her what to do. Emma must have tolerated this creep for too long. Tonight, we must do a giveaway!"

The screen's light reflected on my face, highlighting my red-rimmed eyes.

I silently submitted the request to deactivate my account.

My decade. A stubborn and ridiculous decade.

It was over.