A reporter shoved a microphone in my face and asked, "When you turned twenty, the billionaire heir Tristan Vance set off fireworks all night for you. Have you two broken up? What do you think about the fireworks he set off for someone else tonight?" "I don't really remember what happened when I was twenty," I replied smoothly. From across the sea of cameras, Tristan Vance let out a mocking laugh. "Mia, it's time you reined in that temper of yours." I stared at him, my eyes filled with nothing but cold unfamiliarity. "Who are you?" He didn't know it yet, but the night he lit up the Los Angeles sky for another woman... I had an accident on set. The stunt harness snapped, and I hit my head hard on the way down. I forgot him. I forgot the seven years we spent loving each other. 1 Tristan Vance proposed to me. But right after I said yes, he demanded I quit the entertainment industry immediately. The elite Vance dynasty didn't like my identity as a Hollywood actress. To them, I was just a cheap entertainer. But I didn't see acting as just a gig. It was my life's work. Before I got together with him, I was a nobody playing background extras. It took me ten grueling years of blood, sweat, and tears to climb from being a nameless extra to an A-list, award-winning actress. I cared about my fans. I didn't want to just abruptly announce my retirement and throw it all away. "I have a lot of unfinished contracts on my plate, and roles I still want to play," I told him. "I can't quit the industry right now." Hearing my rejection, he turned around, took the diamond ring he had just proposed with, and casually shoved it into the hands of a newly signed rookie actress at my agency. "It's yours," he told her. At that moment, something suffocating lodged in my chest. My eyes burned with unshed tears. We had been together for seven years. When we first started dating, he was already the untouchable heir to a Manhattan empire, and I was just a D-list struggling actress. In the eyes of his wealthy friends, I was nothing but his kept woman, a trophy girlfriend after his money and resources. For seven years, I clawed my way to the top relying on my own merit. I became the youngest Best Actress winner and opened my own production studio. I did it all just so I could be worthy of standing beside him. I had waited seven years for that ring. And he casually handed it to a total stranger. 2 From that day on, we entered a bitter cold war. Behind the scenes, he started using his massive network to strip away my resources. He gave everything to that rookie, a girl named Chloe Jenkins. Whether it was brand endorsements, magazine covers, or the lead roles in upcoming blockbuster films—even the Best Actress-caliber script I was about to sign. He gave it all to Chloe. It wasn't until an awards gala that I finally got a good look at the new girl's face. She was the girl who had taken my ring that day. He was forcing my hand. He was trying to force me to yield and beg. Thinking about it made me want to laugh. I had worked so hard all these years specifically so I wouldn't have to rely on his connections. Now, the people brave enough to actively sabotage my career were few and far between. The only person powerful enough to humiliate me like this was him. I took the initiative and texted him: [Where are you?] [The Midas Club. Come find me.] The Midas Club was an ultra-exclusive, members-only lounge where the elite rubbed elbows. He kept a permanent private VIP suite there. 3 When I arrived, he was drinking with a group of trust-fund socialites. Chloe Jenkins was there too, sitting right beside him, pouring his drinks. Liam Hayes had never liked me, and the moment I walked in, he started making sarcastic remarks. "Oh, look who it is. The great A-lister, Mia Miller," Liam sneered. "The old flame and the new flame in the same room. Now this is a good show." "Seven years together, only to have a rookie steal her thunder in a heartbeat. No wonder she's throwing a fit." "She actually thought Tristan couldn't live without her. She overplayed her hand." I didn't want to listen to their gossip. To them, I had always been just a gold digger, and he was my sugar daddy. But hearing them compare me to Chloe felt like a dull knife sawing at my heart. I maintained my composure and looked at Tristan. "I want to talk to you in private." He took a drag from his cigarette. Through the faint haze of smoke, he smiled. "Whatever you have to say, you can say it here. There are no outsiders." Heh. He actually said there were no outsiders. He was publicly acknowledging his relationship with Chloe. Hearing him say that, Chloe's face flushed with excitement. Her hand trembled as she poured his wine, overfilling the glass and spilling it onto his expensive slacks. Without hesitation, he let her lean in and wipe it off for him. Seeing this, my brow furrowed deeply. "Tristan, you're trying to cut off all my paths. I still have a studio to run and payrolls to meet. Whatever issues we have between us, there is no need to drag innocent people down." He contemptuously flicked his cigarette ash. "You've seen it for yourself. As long as I want to, I can create another female star just as famous as you at any moment. I told you to quit. Now that you've lost all your work, the problems you mentioned don't exist anymore. Just be a good Mrs. Vance. Why do you insist on putting yourself on display for the public?" In his eyes, my hard work, my blood, and my sweat were utterly worthless. If I wanted to marry him, I had to quit, be a docile housewife, and play the role of the billionaire's wife. The only focal point of my entire universe was supposed to be him. "I don't want to. You should respect my choices, not expect me to just swallow whatever you force down my throat." Tristan scoffed, picked up the crystal glass in front of him, and violently hurled it against the wall. "Mia Miller, if you insist on going against me, then get out!" The shattered glass scattered across the floor mirrored my own heart—pierced, bleeding, and fractured. Seven years. He was telling me to get out, right in front of another woman. I turned on my heel to leave. His chilling voice followed me. "Do you really think I can't live without you? If you walk out that door right now, we are done." I turned back in shock. I stared at him, digging my nails into my palms just to maintain a facade of calm. "Then we're done." He pulled Chloe closer and kissed her hard. "From today on, she is my girlfriend." My vision blurred. Unable to watch a second longer, I practically sprinted out of the VIP suite. The moment the door closed behind me, the tears I had been holding back finally fell. I knew he was only doing this out of anger. He didn't actually love her. Seven years ago, it was my acting that made him fall for me in the first place. Back then, I was playing a minor supporting role as a girl secretly in love with the male lead. One night, the male lead called me to his hotel room and tried to assault me. Tristan happened to be walking by. He saw what was happening, saved me, and beat the man within an inch of his life. After that, the actor was replaced and blacklisted from Hollywood. Later, Tristan started showing up on set constantly. At the wrap party, he confessed his feelings to me. Seeing my stunned expression, he looked at me with absolute adoration. He said he thought he had made his intentions obvious enough. He said he loved watching me act. He said I belonged on the silver screen. He said I was going to be a massive star one day. Now, I had achieved everything he said I would. And suddenly, he hated it. 4 After that night, Chloe Jenkins became Hollywood's newest "It Girl." Her momentum was unstoppable. Her face was plastered across every television screen, billboard, and subway station in the city. She dominated the trending topics online. While I, aside from one final scene left on an old contract, had absolutely no new scripts coming my way. On the night of Chloe's twentieth birthday, Tristan lit up the Los Angeles sky with fireworks just for her. The headlines rolled in one after another: #BillionaireHeirSpendsMillionsOnCityWideFireworksForNewLove #WhoIsChloeJenkins #A-ListerMiaMillerAndHeirOver #ChloeJenkinsHomewreckerGetOutOfHollywood I looked out my window at the fireworks erupting in the empty night sky. It looked exactly like the love between Tristan and me. Brilliant, blinding, but impossible to hold onto. After all, on my twentieth birthday, he had set off fireworks over LA all night for me, too. All these years later, he was using the exact same playbook. Or maybe, he just knew it was the most effective way to hurt me. The things he gave to me, he could easily give to someone else. My agent saw the trending topics and came to check on me. "Are you and Mr. Vance really... over?" I looked down at my phone. The top comment under the trending hashtag was a tweet directly from Tristan. He wrote: [Mia and I had an amicable breakup. Chloe is not a homewrecker. She had nothing to do with it. Anyone who spreads rumors will be hearing from my lawyers.] I originally thought he was just trying to make me jealous. But seeing how fiercely he was defending her... Maybe he really did love her. Seven years was a long time. Maybe the novelty had simply worn off, and encountering a new, vibrant, obediently young woman had genuinely moved his heart. It wasn't impossible. He certainly detached himself fast enough. But I was still hurting. Not wanting to worry anyone, I just said, "It's over. Let's just focus on filming." Tonight was the absolute last scene of my final active contract. After this, it would all truly be over. But no one could have predicted what would happen next. We were filming a high-altitude wire stunt. Just as they were lowering me, the harness snapped. Thankfully, I wasn't too high up, but on the way down, the back of my head slammed against a wooden prop table. A sharp spike of pain, the taste of copper in my mouth, and then the world violently spun out of focus. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Seeing my eyes open, my agent let out a massive sigh of relief. "Thank God, you're finally awake." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "Should we call Tristan? This might be the perfect excuse to soften up and reach out to him. If his heart aches seeing you like this, maybe you two can get back together." I stared at her blankly. "Who is Tristan?" She looked at me like she had seen a ghost. Unable to speak for a solid minute, she finally panicked and ran out to find a doctor. After a barrage of tests, the doctor concluded that nothing was critically wrong. I just needed over a dozen stitches in my head and could have them removed once it healed. I was free to be discharged in the morning. As for the amnesia, the doctor couldn't give a timeline for recovery, but said it was localized amnesia and wouldn't affect my daily life. And it was true. Aside from forgetting a man named Tristan Vance, I remembered absolutely everything else. I even remembered that I was in the hospital because my stunt harness snapped on set. 5 The moment I walked out of the hospital, I was swarmed by paparazzi. They shoved microphones in my face, their expressions practically vibrating with excitement. "When you turned twenty, the billionaire heir Tristan Vance set off fireworks all night for you. Have you two broken up? What do you think about the fireworks he set off for his new girlfriend?" I had gathered a rough outline of the history between Tristan and me from my agent. To me, it sounded like a tragic love story about two strangers. I didn't feel much of anything. By the end of her summary, I only felt a lingering sense of indignation. Who the hell acts that arrogant and controlling? Breaking up with him sounded like the best thing that ever happened to me. I kept my answer brief: "I don't really remember what happened when I was twenty." That was when Tristan appeared. Pushing through the sea of reporters, he let out a mocking laugh. "Mia, is this injury just your way of creating an excuse to step down gracefully? You need to rein in your temper. Give me a genuine apology, and it's not impossible for us to get back together." I stared at him, my eyes filled with cold unfamiliarity. "Who are you?" The smug smile on his face froze. He took a few long strides toward me, looking down at me from his towering height. "What kind of game are you playing now? Faking amnesia to make me panic so I'll beg you to come back?" Hearing his tone, I easily guessed who he was. "Tristan Vance?" He raised an eyebrow. "Done pretending?" He wore a custom designer suit and looked like a million bucks, but garbage was still spilling out of his mouth. "I'm not taking your 'graceful step down.' We broke up, and that's that. Don't you have a new girlfriend anyway?" I shifted my gaze a few yards away, to where Chloe Jenkins was standing, digging her manicured nails into her palms. I was simply reminding him that his current girlfriend was watching his every move. He let out an angry laugh, reached out, and grabbed the nearest camera, smashing it onto the pavement. "What the hell are you filming?! Since you want to play it like this, I hope you don't regret it." He turned on his heel, walked over to Chloe, and grabbed her hand, raising it in the air. He stood opposite me, glaring coldly as he addressed the media. "Let's make this perfectly clear. I broke up with her. My girlfriend right now is Chloe Jenkins." I offered a polite, shallow smile. "I hope everyone remembers that in the future, please don't ask me any questions regarding Mr. Vance. Direct them to his new girlfriend. After all, the fireworks were for her. Stop bothering the ex." Without missing a beat, I pulled open the door to my waiting van and drove off without looking back. I was so incredibly thankful for the amnesia. Even with no memories of him, my heart instinctively felt a dull, heavy ache. I didn't dare imagine how much of a mess I would have been if I had remembered everything. 6 All my work had completely dried up. Right as I was backed into a corner, a reality TV show reached out. Without hesitation, I signed the contract. It wasn't until I arrived on set that I realized this reality show was a complete setup. Chloe was one of the other guests, and the entire show was engineered by the producers specifically to boost her popularity. Every other celebrity, no matter their status, was expected to step aside and pave the way for her. But I couldn't afford to breach my contract. Under my current circumstances, the penalty fee would bankrupt me. Right before the cameras started rolling, Chloe purposefully bumped my shoulder. She looked at me, her smile arrogant and triumphant. "Mia, just so you know, I was the one who begged Tristan to give you a spot on this show. I heard you've been incredibly free lately, with zero jobs lined up and a wide-open schedule." "Not as free as you, apparently, since you have so much time to worry about my business." I refused to look at her petty, gloating face and sat down in the makeup chair. She immediately glared at the makeup artist. "My look needs a touch-up. Come do mine first." The poor makeup artist stood frozen, caught in a terrible position. Chloe's face turned icy. She was about to snap when she glanced behind me, her expression instantly morphing into a picture of perfect, fragile victimhood. "If Mia wants her makeup done first, let her," she said softly. "My makeup isn't that important anyway. I just thought my eyeliner looked a little smudged, but it's fine." A second later, Tristan walked into the room. "I said everything on this show prioritizes Chloe," his voice was dangerously low. He glared at the makeup artist. "Go touch up her makeup right now, or are you looking to get fired?" So that's why her face changed so fast. Her sugar daddy had arrived. I took the initiative to bail out the terrified makeup artist. "Go ahead. I can do my own." I had clawed my way up from the bottom. Back in my extra days, I never had a dedicated makeup artist. I was used to doing it myself. I hadn't done it in years since making it big, but I figured muscle memory would kick in. "Faking amnesia wasn't enough, so now you're pretending to be blind? You don't even know how to say hello anymore?" Tristan sneered at me viciously. Hearing this, I stood up, casually reapplying my lipstick, and kept my voice impeccably polite and distant. "Mr. Vance. I'll leave you two alone to enjoy your romance." Calling him "Mr. Vance" made his expression darken instantly.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "421042", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel