The night I won my first Oscar, a gossip blog dropped a grainy video of me from years ago, heavily pregnant. The press room erupted. Every reporter was shouting the same question: "Ms. Jiang, who is the father of your child?" I glanced over at Liam Foster, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. It was the first time I had ever seen the famously stoic and composed mogul lose his cool in public. I turned back to the reporters and smiled into the blinding flash of cameras. "I don't have a child." The day Liam left me for his childhood sweetheart, he sealed our fate. There would never be anything between us again. 1 Before I even stepped out of the limo, my publicist, Dana, was giving me the riot act. "If you see Ashley Vance, you walk the other way. We are not having a repeat of last year's drama." It was an open secret that Ashley's benefactor was Liam. The Foster family practically owned Hollywood. There was a crude saying that made the rounds in the industry: Want to be a star? Sleep with a Foster. As crass as it was, it was true. Every woman linked to Liam had seen her career skyrocket. Except for me. I was the only one who had publicly dated him and ended up nearly blacklisted. All because I had offended his precious childhood friend. For the past six years, no matter how hard I worked, no matter how much critical acclaim my performances received, I never won. Nomination after nomination, always the bridesmaid. The constant disappointment had sanded down all my rough edges. I started avoiding any project Ashley was attached to, turning down scripts I loved with the excuse of "scheduling conflicts." Maybe my silent surrender finally paid off. Or maybe, with her and Liam's wedding on the horizon, she didn't want the bad press. Whatever the reason, this year, they'd deigned to let an award slip through their fingers and into my hands. When Dana got the news, she nearly cried. "Kara," she'd said, her voice thick with emotion, "the hard times are finally over." Liam was finally letting me go. I knew, even though our breakup was his fault, that I could never win a fight against him. I had surrendered a long time ago. 2 The moment Dana finished warning me about Ashley, Ashley herself appeared, inviting me to walk the red carpet with her. The old flame and the new fiancée of the most powerful man in Hollywood, standing side-by-side. It was a PR goldmine. I knew she was doing it to humiliate me. It wasn't just about her status as Liam's new woman. It was also because we were both wearing dresses by the same designer. Hers was from the latest couture collection. Mine was a loaner from last season. I could already picture the headlines, the brutal fashion blogs, the snarky comments from her fans and my haters, calling me a "has-been." But it didn't matter. I wasn't there to compete with her wardrobe. And I certainly had no illusions about winning Liam back. If she wanted to be the star, I would be the quiet, tasteful backdrop. Apparently, my compliance bored her. She leaned in, her voice a low whisper. "Did you know Liam is coming tonight?" I didn't. The day we broke up, we had severed all ties. But my stride faltered at the mention of his name. She noticed. A smirk played on her lips. "Don't get your hopes up. He's here for me." "I know." Although the Fosters were a Hollywood dynasty, Liam himself had always shunned industry events. Even when we were together, at the height of our supposed love story, he'd never once attended an awards show for me. "We're getting married soon," she added. I nodded and turned to her, forcing a sincere smile. "I wish you both all the happiness." My meekness seemed to drain the fun out of it for her. As soon as we were off the carpet, she disappeared, probably to find him. I posed for the photographers and answered a few vapid questions. To their credit, none of them mentioned Liam. Our relationship had been a whirlwind, but its end was a PR disaster. Liam, the man who controlled everything, had found out he was single from a trending topic on Twitter. I was the one who announced it. In an interview, when a reporter asked about our future plans, I had looked straight into the camera and said, calmly, "We've broken up." No warning, no explanation. 3 Liam had called me once after that. He didn't ask why. He didn't apologize or try to explain. He just asked, "Are you sure about this?" I'd whispered, "Yes." He was silent for a beat, then hung up. I had expected him to be furious. He was used to getting his way. For me to dump him, and for him to find out about it with the rest of the world... it was the ultimate humiliation. The hashtag #LiamGetsDumped trended for three days straight. He never had it taken down. My own studio tried, but it would reappear minutes later. It wasn't about his embarrassment; it was a warning to me. And sure enough, my career hit a brick wall. Six years. Six years until his anger cooled, until he was ready to marry someone else. The memories were a haze. The presenter had to call my name twice before I snapped out of it. The applause was thunderous. Through the crowd, I saw Ashley in the front row. The seat beside her was empty, reserved for Liam. He wasn't here yet. Good. But as I stepped onto the stage to give my acceptance speech, I looked out, and there he was. Sitting right next to her, looking devastatingly handsome. He was even more formidable now, his presence colder, more imposing. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second. He looked at me as if I were a complete stranger. I steadied myself and began my speech. 4 Halfway through, a murmur rippled through the audience. It was more than a whisper; it was the sound of a collective gasp, a scandal breaking in real time. A notorious gossip blogger had just posted a grainy video of me, taken six years ago, shortly after my breakup with Liam. I was visibly pregnant. I had dropped out of a major film back then, disappearing from the public eye for a full year. The video was from a security camera in the lobby of my old apartment building. I had forgotten to wear a mask that day. My face was perfectly clear. As I walked off stage, clutching my award, Dana and my assistant rushed to form a human shield, but it was too late. The press swarmed me, a chaotic frenzy of flashing lights and outstretched microphones. "Kara, who is the father?" "Was it Liam Foster's baby?" "Where is the child now?" They were all shouting the same question. I was trapped. Across the room, Liam sat untouched, a circle of empty space around him like an invisible force field. If we were still together, maybe they would have been kinder. I saw the raw shock on his face, the way his fingers dug into the armrest of his chair. He knew who the father was. And for the first time, the unflappable Liam Foster looked utterly lost. I didn't look at him. I looked at the reporters, and I smiled. "I don't have a child." 5 No Oscar winner has ever made an exit as pathetic as mine. My dress was torn, I'd lost an earring in the chaos. It felt less like a victory march and more like a refugee fleeing a war zone. "What the hell was that?" Dana demanded once we were safely in the car. "You have a kid? Liam's kid? Where is he?" The questions came too fast. I didn't know which one to answer. This was a new team. They only knew the public version of my history with Liam. They thought I'd disappeared for a year to mend a broken heart. Dana's mind was already racing. "If Liam comes looking for his kid, this is your chance! You can get back together with him. You'll be set for life." I shook my head. "Don't tell me you're going to piss him off again!" she shrieked. "There is no child," I said quietly. There was, once. But not anymore. She didn't believe me. "Kara, look," my assistant said, holding out her phone. "Are they already dragging you online?" Dana snarled, snatching the phone. Her expression shifted. "What... what is this?" There were no negative stories. No embarrassing photos from my chaotic exit. Nothing. It was Liam. He could crush a person with a single phone call. He could also protect them just as easily. "So you really don't have the kid?" Dana asked, looking stressed. "Then what are you going to tell him?" Why did I have to tell him anything? He didn't love me. And he was about to marry someone else. 6 I knew he would come for me. He had to. But I didn't expect him to be waiting at the foot of my building. In the dim light of the streetlamp, his tall, lean figure looked just as it had six years ago. Back then, he would have opened his arms for me to run into. Now, he just stood there, a cold, imposing statue. "Be smart about this, Kara," Dana warned as I got out of the car. "You've worked too hard to throw it all away now." I nodded and walked toward him. My steps were even, as if I were meeting an old acquaintance. But my heart was pounding. Because I had loved him. So much that when the earthquake hit, when he left me behind without a second thought to find Ashley, I had almost lost the will to live. He knew why I dumped him. He just never cared enough to explain. He let me suffer for six years as punishment for embarrassing him. "Mr. Foster," I said, my voice even. He frowned. "I always preferred it when you called me Liam." I smiled, a sad, distant thing. "Ashley said you're getting married soon. It wouldn't be appropriate. Congratulations." "Do you think I can get married now?" he asked, his voice rough. Even if Ashley was willing to be a stepmother, her family would never allow it now. I had, once again, ruined his plans. "I'm sorry," I said. "Where is the child?" 7 He finally got to the point. "Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?" he demanded. Because I didn't know at first. And when I did, we were already over. "I didn't want to complicate things with you and Ashley." He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "You hid it for six years, and it still blew up in our faces. Did that make it any less complicated?" "I'm sorry," I repeated, the only words I seemed to have left. He asked again, his voice dangerously low. "Where. Is. The. Child?" "There is no child," I said. From the moment I saw the two pink lines, I knew I wouldn't keep it. A man who didn't love me would never love my child. And I wasn't going to be a single mother. A flicker of something—pain? regret?—crossed his face. It was the first real emotion I'd seen from him all night. Did he care about the child we never had? Or was it possible that, once, he had cared a little bit about me?
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