He Made Me, He Broke Me

The spotlight felt like a thousand sharp knives, piercing my eyes until I couldn't keep them open. The red carpet stretched beneath my feet like a river of molten fire. I wore a haute couture gown, its hem sweeping the floor, but I caught its edge as I turned. The instant I lost my balance, I heard gasps all around me. The expected pain never came; a pair of strong arms caught me. The tip of my nose was filled with the crisp scent of cedar—clean and clear. I looked up and locked eyes with a pair of deep, penetrating eyes. It was Victor Lancaster. The hottest superstar of the moment, a man perched at the top. His fingertips lightly rested on my waist, with perfect pressure, carrying a distant politeness. "Be careful." His voice was low and rich, like the bass strings of a cello, sending a shiver through my chest. I hurriedly rose, my cheeks burning, repeatedly thanking him. He simply gave a faint nod, then turned and walked on, his figure upright like a pine. That day, the hashtag #Victor Lancaster, the Gentleman on the Red Carpet Helping a Falling Actress# soared to the top of the Trending Topics. No one knew my name was Melissa Jackson, a newcomer who had only just signed with a company. Even fewer knew that this accident would mark the beginning of a five-year entanglement between us. A few days later, my agent excitedly told me that Victor's studio wanted to collaborate with me. I was stunned, unable to believe my ears. My agent said Victor had personally requested to promote me, and I could pick any resources I wanted. I went to see him at a clubhouse renowned for its absolute privacy. He sat on the sofa, an unlit cigarette held between his fingers, his gaze calm as he looked at me. "What do you want?" He got straight to the point, without any unnecessary pleasantries. I clenched my fists, gathered my courage, and said, "I want to be the best actress." The entertainment industry is never short of beautiful girls; ambition is my only strength. He smiled—that was the first time I saw him smile. His brows and eyes softened, revealing an unexpected gentleness. "Very well." He said, "I like your ambition very much." From that day on, Victor Lancaster became the man behind me. He handed me the best scripts and arranged the most elite teams. I stayed up late studying scripts, immersing myself in the roles, not daring to slack off for a moment. He would take time to watch my audition clips, pointing out my flaws with a stern tone, yet every word was invaluable. "Your gaze must be firmer; your character isn't a wallflower." "Hold back your emotions a little more; silence carries more power than overacting." Under his guidance, my acting improved rapidly. Two years later, thanks to an art-house film, I stood on the stage of the Golden Shadow Awards to accept my trophy. The spotlight shone on me as I accepted the Best Actress Trophy, my gaze cutting through the crowd to rest on Victor Lancaster in the audience. He sat in the corner, his eyes deep and inscrutable, a faint, barely noticeable smile curling at the corners of his lips. After the awards ceremony, he waited for me backstage. "Congratulations." He handed me a glass of champagne, his tone tinged with amusement. I took the glass, our fingertips brushing, and a jolt of electricity surged through me. "Thank you, Mr. Lancaster." Our relationship always teetered on the edge of a gray area. He never made it public, so I didn't ask.