“Cancel the contract?” The question sliced through the stagnant air of the break room, sharper than a newly honed blade. Jian Brother’s eyes, narrowed to predatory slits, fixed on Xia Yue. The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glow, making his usually affable face seem etched with suspicion. “Yue Yue, tell me the truth. Have you finally found a new backer, someone richer, more powerful than us?”

Xia Yue’s large, innocent eyes blinked, a practiced veil over hidden depths. Her voice, smooth as silk, carried a deceptive sincerity. “No, I’m just… tired. Tired of it all. I want to retire from this industry and go home.” The words were a performance, a carefully constructed illusion for the man who believed he held her fate in his hands.

A beat of silence, then Jian Brother scoffed. “Retire? Have you amassed a fortune in the shadows, Yue Yue? Enough money to simply walk away?” A phantom pain, sharp and familiar, pricked at Xia Yue’s chest. The ghost of her past self, vulnerable and easily manipulated, recoiled. But the new Xia Yue, forged in a crucible of bitter experience, only tightened her grip on the composure she wore like armor.

“Don’t tell me this is about that little ‘incident’ before,” Jian Brother continued, his tone dripping with false concern, yet underlaid with a subtle threat. “You know, bad publicity is still publicity. Many would kill for even a sliver of that kind of attention. In this industry, it’s not the slander that’s terrifying, it’s the silence. The oblivion. Didn’t you once dream of buying a grand house, of elevating your siblings from poverty? Have you so easily forgotten those desperate dreams?” Xia Yue’s heart, a cold, hard stone within her, laughed. The original Xia Yue, the naïve girl she had once been, had indeed been broken by these very lectures, brainwashed into believing this man held her best interests at heart.

A slow, deliberate breath. Xia Yue decided to play her trump card. “To be honest,” she began, a faint blush rising to her cheeks, a touch of feigned shyness entering her voice. “I got married. My husband… he isn’t very fond of me being in the public eye. He’s quite traditional.”

Jian Brother froze, his brow furrowing into a dark knot. “Married? When did this happen? And why, pray tell, was such a monumental decision not first discussed with the company? Your obligations, Yue Yue, are clear.” His gaze sharpened, turning cold and possessive, as if she were a rebellious child. The blatant ownership in his eyes made Xia Yue’s stomach churn with revulsion, but she held his stare.

Taking another deep, calming breath, Xia Yue pressed on, injecting a touch of manufactured distress into her voice. “One of my… brothers fell ill recently. A truly devastating diagnosis. He needs a large sum for surgery, an impossible sum. When I came to you for a loan, desperate, you said you had nothing to spare.” This 'brother' was not of blood, but of shared sorrow, a child from the same orphanage that had scarred and shaped Xia Yue. Only eight years old, diagnosed with leukemia, his plight was genuinely heartbreaking, and a perfect, tragic cover for her escape.

The orphanage itself was threadbare, its coffers empty. For years, Xia Yue had quietly poured her meager earnings into its gaping maw, trying to shore up its crumbling walls. Before her contractual marriage, she had been truly penniless, her aspirations of fame fueled not just by personal ambition, but by the aching desire to help those left behind. The truly healthy children found homes; only the damaged, the disabled, remained. A wave of genuine grief, a residue of the original Xia Yue’s profound love, washed over her, stinging her eyes with unshed tears. This was not entirely a lie.

Jian Brother shifted, an uncomfortable flicker in his gaze. “I… I just purchased a new property,” he stammered, his usual smooth delivery faltering. “My funds are quite tied up at the moment. You understand.” Xia Yue’s inner snort was nearly audible. He had made a fortune off her and others like her, yet his purse strings remained eternally tight. But her goal was not a loan; it was freedom.

Sniffling delicately, Xia Yue continued her fabricated confession. “I don’t blame you, Jian Brother, not at all. It’s just… my brother’s condition is dire. And then, a wealthy suitor appeared, like a miracle. He promised me, ‘Marry me, and my fortune is yours.’ Could I truly refuse, given the circumstances?”

Jian Brother’s jaw dropped. “You… you have a suitor?” The sheer bewilderment in his tone made Xia Yue internally roll her eyes. Was that truly the most surprising part of her story?

Catching himself, Jian Brother offered a strained, awkward smile. “Don’t misunderstand, Yue Yue. I meant nothing by it. It’s just… you never spoke of anyone before.”

“We didn’t know each other long,” Xia Yue explained, weaving another thread into her tapestry of lies. “He’s a bit older, with a stiff, stern personality. I don’t particularly ‘like’ him, not in that way, so I saw no reason to mention him.” She was 22; Sha Huai’an was nearly 30. A mere eight years, but to Jian Brother, the implication was clear: she had sold herself to some lecherous quadragenarian, perhaps even a quinquagenarian. The image pained him, a purely mercenary pain.

Xia Yue, with her curves and her captivating beauty, was a prize, a valuable asset. Several of the company’s higher-ups had already shown a keen interest. If only he had known, he thought, a wave of bitter regret washing over him. He would have found the money, saved her from this fate. A prime commodity, irrevocably lost.

“Keep this marriage quiet for now,” Jian Brother finally advised, his tone heavy with what he believed to be profound wisdom. “You’re still young, Yue Yue. Your career should be your priority. After all, you can’t truly rely on men.” His words were a subtle warning, a veiled threat of what might happen should she truly believe herself free.

Xia Yue nodded, her expression exquisitely obedient, perfectly placid. On the surface, she was a demure doll. Beneath, a silent tempest raged.

Outside the break room, a woman, her hand poised to knock, froze. A gasp escaped her lips, quickly stifled, then a slow, venomous smile spread across her face. “Xia Yue,” she whispered, her voice laced with malicious satisfaction, “I never thought I’d see the day.” She turned and vanished, a shadow in the brightly lit corridor, her presence unnoticed, her intentions dark.

The moment Jian Brother’s footsteps faded, Xia Yue’s serene mask crumbled. A small, sardonic pout twisted her lips as she sank onto the sofa. “As expected of the notorious old madam of the entertainment industry,” she muttered to herself, her voice edged with disdain. “All smooth talk and empty promises.” She plucked an apple from the table, polished it meticulously, and took a deliberate bite. “Hm, not as tasty as the ones at home,” she mused, a flicker of something wistful in her eyes. Not wanting to waste food, she crunched through it quickly, then with a soft ‘biu,’ the core arced gracefully into the nearby trash can.

A timid knock, then a baby-faced girl, Luo Luo, poked her head around the doorframe. “Sis Yue Yue, Jian Brother asked me to call you to the conference room.”

“Oh,” Xia Yue replied, her voice neutral. The verdict, she knew, awaited her. A prickle of apprehension traced its way down her spine. She had devoured the novel, understood Jian Brother’s ruthless nature. He would never simply release a profitable asset, not when there was still a pound of flesh to be extracted.

In the book, the original Xia Yue had met a brutal end, sold to a predatory old man, only to fall from a hotel window in her desperation. The memory was a chilling reminder of the knife-edge she walked.

Entering the conference room, Xia Yue found it eerily quiet. Jian Brother was conspicuously absent. Instead, a man in his mid-thirties, wearing rimless glasses and an azure blue suit, lounged languidly in the central chair, his legs crossed, an air of casual power radiating from him. Director Ziyuan, she noted. His features were not unattractive, yet there was a slick, almost oily quality to his demeanor that made her skin crawl.

“Director Ziyuan,” Xia Yue greeted, her voice polite, controlled. Her gaze met his, unwavering, though a chill wind seemed to pass through her.

Director Ziyuan’s eyes, however, were anything but polite. They raked over her, a brazen, possessive appraisal that felt like a physical touch. His gaze was a tangible weight, pressing down on her, leaving an invisible residue of disgust.

Xia Yue fought the rising goosebumps, suppressed the urge to strike him. “Did you summon me for something specific, Director?”

A slow, knowing smile spread across Director Ziyuan’s face. “I hear you’ve taken a husband? And an old man, at that.” The words were laced with an unmistakable regret, a hint of accusation. He leaned forward slightly, pushing a contract across the polished table.

Xia Yue pressed her lips together, her silence a refusal to confirm or deny. He didn’t truly want an answer, she realized; he merely wanted to assert his perceived dominance.

“You’ve been with the company a good while, always obedient,” he began, his voice taking on a deceptively paternal tone. “Marrying so rashly, without consulting us… that was a foolish move, Yue Yue. A mistake.” Then, his tone shifted, becoming colder, sharper. “Your agent tells me you wish to retire? The penalty for early termination of your contract is eight million. Are you certain you wish to walk away from a career that still holds such… promise?”

Xia Yue’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock momentarily piercing her carefully constructed façade. “How much?!”

“Eight million,” Director Ziyuan repeated, his gaze fixed on her, savoring her reaction. “Not a small sum. If you’re truly set on retirement, you can prepare the funds. I’ll see what I can do to smooth things over with the company. For old times’ sake.” His sneer was hidden, a twist of his lips. An orphan, no connections, a sick ‘brother’ to support? He knew she couldn’t possibly procure such a sum. It was a trap, designed to bind her further.

Xia Yue’s expression hardened. Eight million. She would not simply hand that over. Her contract was nearing its end anyway; she could endure. And the dating reality show, a potential career killer for a married woman, was now completely out of the question.

A strained, awkward laugh escaped her. “Then I suppose retirement isn’t an option for now. But given my marital status, a dating show wouldn’t be… suitable, would it?”

Director Ziyuan’s smile widened, a wolfish glint in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Yue Yue. I’ve selected an even better show for you. One that will truly showcase your… unique talents. I still have great faith in your potential. Don’t disappoint me.” As he spoke, his hand reached out, its fingers brushing her shoulder. But before they could settle, a flash of motion, a sudden, almost inhuman twist of his wrist, and Director Ziyuan’s whole body was violently slammed onto the table. A sharp crack, then a piercing cry.

“Ah—!”

Xia Yue instantly released him, her expression a careful blend of concern and apology. “Sorry, reflex,” she murmured, her voice strangely flat.

“Ow—!” Director Ziyuan clutched his aching wrist, his face contorted in pain, sucking in air through gritted teeth. “What do they feed you to make you so strong?!”

Xia Yue feigned anxiety. “I’ve done a lot of physical labor since I was young, so I’m a bit stronger than most. Do you… do you need me to take you to the hospital?” Internally, a cold, hard resolve solidified. Touch me again, she vowed silently, and I will break more than your wrist.

“No need,” Director Ziyuan bit out, his face still pale with pain. He glared at her, then motioned towards the contract. “Just sign the damn thing.” He rose, a pained grimace etched on his face, and exited the room.

Xia Yue picked up the contract. It was not for a dating show, as she had hoped, but for a deserted island survival reality program. “13 Days on the Island,” the title read. No scripts, no behind-the-scenes interference, everything broadcasted live. The production team promised no assistance whatsoever. A show designed for brutal exposure, a dangerous game. She remembered it vaguely from the novel, a show that later became sensationally popular. A slow, chilling smile touched her lips. There were no truly unfair clauses, no hidden traps she could immediately discern. She signed her name, a silent promise to herself.

On her way back to the break room, Xia Yue felt the shift in the atmosphere. People’s gazes, usually indifferent, now carried a distinct edge, a quality of furtive curiosity and judgment. When she met their eyes, they quickly looked away, pretending not to notice her, a ripple of whispers following her path.

Back in her office, Luo Luo, her junior assistant, met her with wide, worried eyes. “Sis Yue Yue, someone’s been spreading rumors. They’re saying you’re being kept by an old man.” Luo Luo was indignant, her face flushed with anger. “No idea which blabbermouth started it! Should we… should we clarify? Fight back?”

Xia Yue paused, considering, then a chilling indifference settled over her features. “Forget it,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “Let them talk. It’s pretty much the same anyway.”

Luo Luo’s mouth gaped open in astonishment.

Xia Yue’s jaw tightened. “Put away your wild imagination, Luo Luo. It’s a waste of energy.” There was no point in clarification anyway. People only ever believed what they wanted to believe. And Xia Yue knew, with chilling certainty, that the real games had only just begun.