Sayna's pov:
"Tian?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
The tiles of the hallway were freezing against my shoulder blades, a sharp contrast to the searing heat radiating from Tian. Just seconds ago, thinking of nothing but getting back to my kit. Now, the world had narrowed down to the sliver of space between us and the terrifying shadow he cast over me.
He didn't just step toward me; he lunged. His hand slammed against the wall next to my ear, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the cramped corner.
"Is it a game to you, Sayna?" His voice was a jagged whisper, stripped of the melodic calm I'd fallen in love with on screen. "What did you tell them? Which part of 'forget it' did you find too difficult to understand?"
I looked up, my breath hitching. This wasn't the man from the posters. His eyes were bloodshot, turbulent with a dark, restless energy. I realized then—he wasn't just angry at the whispers of the staff. He was shaking. The guilt from last night was a physical weight on him, and he was trying to crush me with it so he wouldn't have to carry it alone.
"I... I didn't say anything," I managed to whisper, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"Liar!" He leaned closer, his face inches from mine, his scent—usually so clean and expensive—now heavy with the stress of a man coming undone. "They're talking. They know. You couldn't resist, could you? A mere makeup artist from god knows where getting a piece of the star... it makes for a great story, doesn't it?"
The words stung worse than the grip on my arm. My idolization—the years of saving for his merch, the dreams of just being in his presence—shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. The "Golden Boy" was gone. In his place was a man who was scared, cruel, and desperately projecting his own shame onto the easiest target he could find.
I didn't feel like a fan anymore. I felt like a casualty.
"Did you think telling the staff would make you more than just a makeup artist?" Tian's voice was a low snarl, his hand tightening against the wall. "That you could use last night to climb your way up?"
I stared at him for a long heartbeat. My pulse was thundering, but the fear had been replaced by a bitter, icy clarity. He wanted a villain? Fine. I would give him exactly what his guilty conscience was looking for.
I let out a short, dry laugh—the kind that didn't reach my eyes—and tilted my head.
"You caught me, Tian," I said, my voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. I stepped closer to him, watching his eyes widen in surprise as I refused to shrink back. "Yes. I told them. I told them everything."
I watched the color drain from his face as his grip on my arm slackened.
"I told the lighting crew, the Director, even the catering staff," I continued, my smile as sharp as a razor. "I told them how the 'Mega star' of the screen actually looks when he's losing control. I told them every detail of how pathetic you were last night. I'm thinking of calling the tabloids next—maybe I can get a front-page spread for 'The Girl Who Saw the Idol Crumble.'"
The silence that followed was deafening. Tian looked like I'd physically slapped him. The guilt he'd been trying to push onto me was now a suffocating cloud around him, and for the first time, he was the one who looked small.
"You... you wouldn't," he stammered, his bravado vanishing.
"Wouldn't I?" I snapped, the sarcasm dropping away to reveal the raw fire underneath. "You think so little of me anyway, Tian. Why should I bother being the 'good girl' who keeps your secrets? If you're going to treat me like a snake, don't be surprised when I start to bite."
I wrenched my arm free and stepped out of the shadow of the corner, leaving him standing there, paralyzed by the possibility that his nightmare had come true—and realizing too late that he had turned his only ally into his most dangerous enemy.
.
.
.
The green room was too bright. Every mirror felt like an accusation.
I didn't wait for the Director's cue. I didn't wait for my paycheck. I just grabbed my kit—the brushes I used to clean with so much love for him—and shoved them into my bag like they were trash. My hands were shaking, a mix of cold fury and the kind of heartbreak that makes your chest feel hollow.
"Yes, I told them. I told them everything." The sarcasm still tasted like copper on my tongue. I'd seen him flinch. For a second, the "Mega Star" of the screen looked small. Pathetic. Scared of a girl from Kolkata because she knew the truth behind his perfect skin and scripted lines.
But as I stumbled out of the studio and into the humid heat of the street, the shield of my anger finally cracked.
The first tear was hot and angry. By the time I was in the back of the taxi, I was shaking. It wasn't just that he'd pinned me to a wall. It was that he'd pinned my heart there, too, and then ripped it apart with a single, cruel word: Social climber.
I pulled out my phone. My wallpaper was still a shot of him from Love is Revenge. That cinematic, ethereal glow. That "perfect" man I'd spent my last savings to support.
Delete. The screen went black. Just like the pedestal I'd kept him on for years.
He wanted me to forget that night? Fine. I'd forget I ever believed in him. I'm more than just a touch-up for his guilty conscience. I'm the artist, and he's just a mess I'm tired of cleaning up.
Tian's pov:
The hallway felt like it was shrinking. The silence Sayna left behind was louder than her sarcasm, ringing in my ears like a physical blow.
"I told them. I told them everything."
Her voice had been like ice, cutting through the red haze of my panic. I stood there, my hand still pressed against the cold wall where I'd cornered her, my chest heaving. The guilt I'd tried to shove onto her had doubled back, hitting me with the weight of a lead curtain. I didn't just feel like a fool; I felt like a monster.
I looked at my hand—the one that had gripped her arm—and it was trembling.
What have I done?
"Sayna!" The name felt jagged in my throat. I stumbled out of the shadows of the corner, my polished shoes clicking frantically against the floor. I didn't care about the cameras, the lighting crew, or the "Mega star" image I'd spent a decade building. I just needed to stop her. I needed to tell her I didn't mean it—that the "social climber" comment was a lie I told myself because I couldn't handle the fact that I was the one who lost control that night.
I rounded the corner, my eyes searching for her small frame, her colorful dupatta, anything. I saw her at the end of the corridor, reaching for the heavy studio doors. She didn't look back.
"Sayna, wait—!"
"Tian! Where do you think you're going?"
A firm hand slammed into my chest, stopping me mid-stride. Manager Chen. His face was a mask of professional fury, his eyes darting around to see if any staff were watching my breakdown.
"Get out of my way, Chen," I hissed, trying to shove past him. "She's leaving. She's— You don't understand," I choked out, watching the studio doors swing shut. She was gone. "She... she said she told them. About last night."
Chen's eyes narrowed, but he didn't let go.
"She said what?" Chen's voice was sharp, cutting through my panic like a blade. He didn't wait for my answer. He gripped my shoulder, his face inches from mine, dropping his voice to a low, urgent hiss.
"Forget the makeup girl, Tian. We have a much bigger fire to put out. Did you even check the news this morning?"
I blinked, my mind still stuck on the image of Sayna's tear-filled, angry eyes. "What are you talking about? Sayna said she told the staff about—"
"Forget what she said!" Chen snapped, shaking me. "The staff aren't talking about her. They're talking about Zhang Xi. Paparazzi caught her entering your apartment building last night. The photos are everywhere. Every blog, every tabloid—they all think you spent the night with her."
The world seemed to tilt. My heart, which had been racing with guilt over Sayna, suddenly went cold.
"Zhang Xi?" I whispered. "But she... she went to meet her boyfriend I never met her last night—"
"It doesn't matter what the truth is!" Chen's eyes were frantic, darting around the set. "In the eyes of the public, and the eyes of every staff member on this set, you and Zhang Xi are the 'it' couple of the night. That's why they're whispering. That's why they're looking at you."
The realization hit me like a physical blow to the stomach.
I had cornered Sayna. I had called her a social climber. I had accused her of leaking our private, messy reality to the world. I had shattered the pedestal she kept me on—all because I was too blinded by my own guilt to realize the rumors weren't even about us.
She had been innocent. Completely, utterly innocent. And in return for her silence and her help, I had treated her like a criminal.
"Tian? Are you listening?" Chen was saying, pulling me toward the cameras. "We need to put out a statement. We need you to look happy, look like a leading man who's in love with his co-star, not a man who's about to collapse."
I looked at the heavy studio doors where Sayna had disappeared. She was gone. She had left with my insults ringing in her ears, thinking I was a monster. And the worst part? She was right.
"I have to find her," I muttered, my voice breaking.
"You're going to the set," Chen growled, his grip like iron. "Now."
I was pushed toward the bright, artificial lights. I was the 'Mega Star.' I was the star. But as the cameras began to roll, all I could see was the empty chair where a girl from Kolkata used to sit, and the ghost of the girl I had just destroyed for a rumor that wasn't even hers.