Chapter 42 The Superstar (4)

At that moment, a tear slid down my face, shimmering under the lights.

Morton froze, staring at me, his expression blank. His hand trembled slightly, causing the sword he held to quiver.

In the live stream, the comment section exploded:

"Oh my God… is this better than the original?"

"Emily can play the harp? And not just play—does she play this well? Am I crazy, or is the world crazy?"

"I don’t buy it. A clown in the entertainment industry like her? There’s no way her acting is this good—it’s gotta be fake!"

"She’s probably got connections or a sugar daddy backing her. No way she’s playing—maybe she’s just miming the hand movements!"

......

Seeing Morton’s stunned expression, I almost wanted to laugh.

Indeed, he hadn’t forgotten his lines as a professional actor.

It’s okay, I’ll help him.

Taking a step forward, I didn’t hesitate to land a solid kick that sent Morton tumbling off the high platform.

At the same time, I shouted with an indignant, embarrassed expression, "Pervert!"

With the final scene complete, I huffed, letting out a cold snort before stomping offstage, feigning irritation.

Morton finally sat beside me when the director’s team announced the rankings.

There was a bluish-purple bruise on his temple—clearly from where he’d hit his head earlier.

His voice was hoarse, but he didn’t ask about the kick.

"You’re deliberately pretending?" Morton looked complicated.

Pretending what?

I’ve always been brilliant—a genius of many talents, thank you very much.

I pretend I didn’t hear what Morton said and look straight ahead, waiting for the host to announce the rankings.

The rankings were revealed from the bottom up. When the second-place team was announced, I knew it was a done deal.

"Morton and Emily, with a score of 98.5, claim first place!"

Hmm. Good.

It’s a score worthy of my acting skills.

On the podium, I deliberately distanced myself from Morton.

Even as we stepped down, when Morton extended his hand to help me, I quickly dodged it and turned to descend in the opposite direction.

I wasn’t about to let anyone accuse me of clinging to his fame.

But to my surprise, Morton grabbed my wrist firmly.

His brows furrowed slightly, and his tone carried a hint of displeasure, "Emily, what are you avoiding?"

I freed my hand and countered, "Morton, what were you avoiding before?"

Everyone had despised the real Emily. And Morton had played no small part in that.

He could have rejected her outright if he didn’t like her.

But Morton remained silent, standing by and watching as the real Emily humiliated herself by chasing after him.

Perhaps he took some twisted sense of satisfaction in her pursuit.