Stella's POV
"Didn't the director mention yesterday that your posture wasn't elegant enough?" Lucy continued adding fuel to the fire. "It was Stella who told the director you were hunched over with no energy, looking nothing like a proper drama actor."
The actor's eyes grew increasingly menacing. Having just been rejected by me, then hearing he'd been criticized behind his back, plus the fact that his styling was indeed a far cry from his usual polished image, I knew he might begin to develop resentment toward me.
\---
In the early evening, Lisa and I went to a nearby specialty store to purchase styling supplies. On our way back, we found a group of girls surrounding the production area, appearing to be fans waiting for certain actors.
"Wasn't the filming location supposed to be kept secret? How did fans find out?" Lisa asked in confusion.
Before I could answer, a shrill voice pierced the air, "You bitch who deliberately gave my idol an ugly styling!"
Almost simultaneously, an egg flew toward me. I reacted quickly, raising my bag to block it while shielding Lisa with my body.
"You whore!" The crazed fan continued hurling insults, her eyes blazing with fury. "You gave him a styling too ugly to be seen in public, and you badmouthed him to the director! Women like you who want to ruin his career deserve to die!"
I saw her pull a small knife from her pocket, my pupils contracting instantly.
"Stella, watch out!" Lisa screamed.
Drawing on years of self-defense training, I dodged with lightning speed while kicking at the fan's wrist. The knife went flying, and I quickly followed up with a clean shoulder throw, pinning the deranged fan to the ground.
"Call security! Call the police!" I calmly directed the stunned crowd around us.
\---
That evening, the atmosphere in the production meeting room was tense.
"I'm very sorry, Ms. Winston," the actor apologized superficially, his eyes showing no sincerity. "I had no idea my fans would do something like this. They're just overly concerned about me. I apologize on their behalf!"
I shook my head and took out my phone, pulling up a screenshot from Instagram. "Your character is a down-and-out vagrant. Did you still want to maintain your idol image? Tell me how I deliberately made you look bad?"
The screenshot clearly showed the actor's social media complaint: "Met a pretentious stylist today who deliberately ruined my image! Don't worry fans, I'll make her pay." The accompanying images showed his selfie in costume and my back as I worked.
The actor's face turned pale. "This... wasn't this deleted?"
"The internet never forgets," I replied coldly.
The director and producer exchanged uncomfortable glances. On one hand, the actor had powerful family connections; on the other hand, I was Adam Lancaster's wife—an identity that made anyone think twice.
"This doesn't need to be blown out of proportion," Lucy suddenly interjected. "Stella, you weren't hurt. Fan behavior shouldn't be tied to the celebrity. Don't be too harsh."
"Ms. Lucy," Lisa couldn't help but interject, "you weren't the one nearly attacked, so don't talk like it's no big deal!"
"Assistant," Lucy glanced at Lisa dismissively, "you have no place to speak here."
I looked around at everyone and decided not to pursue the matter further. This pointless argument would only waste time, and I didn't want to delay the entire production schedule because of one crazed fan.
"Fine, I'll let it go this time," I finally said.
The actor sighed in relief but immediately made another demand: "Then post a statement on social media saying this was all a misunderstanding. Your bag got dirty—I'll buy you a new one!"
My gaze cooled. "Sir, not pursuing this doesn't mean I'll cooperate with you. I don't think this was a misunderstanding. As for the bag? I don't need it."
The actor was infuriated and stood up, pointing at me. "Stop acting high and mighty! I'll give you a luxury car! Don't be so ungrateful!"
The meeting room erupted in commotion. I slowly pulled back my sleeve, revealing the watch on my wrist.
"Do you know how much this watch costs?" I asked calmly.
The actor was taken aback. "What do you mean?"
"This is a limited edition watch, retail price $900,000." I gently rotated my wrist, allowing everyone to see the understated yet luxurious timepiece. "Calculate how many luxury cars that could buy."
The actor's expression shifted from anger to shock, then from shock to embarrassment. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to find an appropriate response.
"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to show off," I stood up, my tone returning to calm. "I just want to make it clear that I don't need your compensation, nor do I need your so-called 'resources.' I only hope to work in an environment of mutual respect. If that's not possible, then I believe we have nothing more to discuss."
With that, I picked up my bag and gracefully left the meeting room, leaving behind a room full of stunned faces.
As I reached the door, I heard a loud scoff from behind me.
"Stella, what are you so proud of?" The male lead's arrogant voice made me pause. "Why don't you get your rich husband to deal with me if you're so offended? "
His words hung in the air, causing the entire room to fall silent. I didn't turn around, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing my reaction. Instead, I straightened my shoulders and walked out with my head held high, though my heart pounded with anger.
\---
Back in my hotel room, I had just kicked off my heels when I froze, noticing a laptop on the coffee table that wasn't mine. The scent of expensive cologne hung in the air.
"Adam?"
He emerged from the bedroom, dressed in a casual black sweater and dark jeans – a far cry from his usual formal attire. Despite my exhaustion, my heart skipped a beat.
"Adam, what are you doing in my room? I thought you'd gone back to New York?" I asked, feeling a surge of gratitude that I'd upgraded from the standard room to a luxury suite.
"Staying temporarily," he replied in his usual economical way, his green eyes surveying me. He looked completely at home, as if it were his room I was intruding upon, not the other way around.
"I need to remain for two more days," he elaborated when I continued staring at him. "Your room is quieter."
I understood his reasoning but wasn't quite ready to accept it. "But there are so many high-end hotels in Manhattan you could stay at!"
His response was silence – that particular silence that made it clear the discussion was over. I sighed internally, knowing I couldn't really refuse him. He was my legal husband, after all.
"Have you eaten dinner?" I asked, deciding to accept the situation.
He glanced at the room service menu on the desk with disdain. "The hotel's food is mediocre."
"I know a place nearby," I offered. "We could go out?"