Chapter 47 The Superstar (9)

During a break, Morton cornered me in the hallway.

His expression was as arrogant as ever, "Emily, keep your distance from Bensham, and I’m willing to give you a chance to pursue me."

I sighed deeply.

As expected, fame brings trouble.

With a genuine curiosity, I asked, "Why would I chase after someone I don’t even like? Especially someone so… oily?"

Morton’s face darkened to a stormy shade.

"Then why did you chase me for so many years? If that’s not love, what is it? Or have you set your sights on someone else now? Is it Bensham? You shameless woman!"

I laughed, "Just because I was nice to you, does that mean I wanted to pursue you? Did I ever confess my love to you? Say I liked you? Ordinary yet inexplicably confident men like you are so fascinating."

I paused and looked at him, my smile widening.

"I was nice to you because—"

Because of what?

"Because of a carton of milk."

The real Emily, that hopeless fool, spent eight years repaying Morton for an unwanted milk carton.

It happened on a rainy day. The real Emily had been kicked out of her house and was forced to huddle under a rain shelter.

She hadn’t eaten for two days.

At that moment, Morton also took shelter from the rain.

He glanced at the frail, pitiful figure before him, frowning slightly.

Then, without a second thought, he tossed the carton of milk he held in her direction, "I don’t like this brand of milk. Here you go."

And so, the real Emily devoted eight years of kindness to Morton.

Indeed, it is a level of foolishness that’s beyond saving.

"Emily, are you doing this on purpose? Are you trying to make me feel guilty for ignoring you all these years? I actually…"Morton tried to defend himself.

I cut him off.

"Thank you for that carton of milk. It kept me from starving. But after all these years, the debt has been repaid."

Did you see that? Emily.

Morton doesn’t even remember. So why were you so hung up on him for so long?

Suddenly, Anna burst onto the scene.

Her voice was sharp and shrill, "Emily, stop pretending! Do you dare swear on your life that you don’t like Morton? Don’t think I don’t know—everything you say is just an excuse!"

I sighed, "I swear, if I like Morton, he’ll meet the most tragic end imaginable—worse than Louis XVI himself."

"Good enough?"

I really couldn’t think of any more curses, no matter how hard I tried.

Anna: …

The viewers watching the show: …

Wait… she asked you to swear on your life, not Morton’s! What are you even doing?

When I returned to the lounge, everyone stared at me strangely.

Without a word, I sat down next to Bensham.

He sighed heavily.

I asked, "What happened now?"

He looked at me with an expression that screamed, "You don’t know?" and said, "Just watch the VCR."

Damn it. The director’s team had caught it on camera again.

They thought they’d uncover some juicy evidence of a romance between me and Morton.

What they didn’t expect was to stumble upon something even more explosive.

In no time, the internet was flooded with sympathetic comments about me:

"Suddenly, I feel sorry for Emily."

"Yeah, she’s not just being ostracized—she’s even being slandered."

"I like her straightforward personality. I’m officially a fan now!"