The silence of her room was almost louder than the chaos of the studio. It was a small space, filled with the scent of jasmine incense and the familiar sight of her university textbooks stacked neatly on the desk—a world so far removed from the cold marble hallways and blinding stage lights she'd just escaped.
Sayna didn't even bother taking off her shoes. She stumbled toward her bed, the weight of her makeup kit hitting the floor with a dull thud, and threw herself face-down onto the mattress.
She pulled a pillow over her head, trying to press the world out, trying to muffle the sound of her own heart. But the physical effort of holding it all together for the last hour had exhausted her. The moment the familiar comfort of her own bed rose up to meet her, the dam finally broke.
A soft, jagged moan of a sob escaped her, muffled by the fabric of the pillow.
It wasn't a loud, dramatic cry. It was the sound of someone who had been holding their breath for far too long. It was the sound of a girl whose dreams had just been used as a weapon against her.
Social climber. The words echoed in her mind, turning like a key in a lock. Every late night she had spent perfecting his look, every time she had defended him to other staff members, every ounce of genuine care she had poured into making him look like the god the world expected him to be—he had looked at all of it and seen an agenda.
She gripped the edges of the mattress, her fingers digging into the sheets. She thought of her parents in the other room, probably thinking she was having the time of her life working on a major set. How was she supposed to tell them she'd walked out? How was she supposed to explain that the man they saw on the posters was a shadow of the person she had just faced?
Another sob, more forceful this time, shook her shoulders. She felt pathetic. She felt like a fan who had flown too close to the sun and was now feeling the burn of the fall. But underneath the pain, there was a tiny, flickering spark of that same icy fire from the hallway.
She turned her head to the side, her cheek damp against the pillowcase. Her eyes landed on her laptop sitting on the desk.
"If he wants a villain," she whispered into the empty room, her voice thick with tears but gaining a sudden, sharp edge. "I'll give him a story he can't script his way out of."
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The morning air in Beijing was freezing, biting at Sayna's cheeks as she walked from the subway station. Her breath came out in shaky little puffs of white. Last night, she had cried until her eyes were puffy, but this morning, she had used every trick in her makeup kit to hide it.
I am not a social climber, she whispered to herself, her boots thumping against the pavement. I am Sayna Wahid. I'm an artist. He's just a job.
The fear was still there, like a cold stone in her stomach. What if he cornered her again? What if he tried to get her fired? But then she remembered the way he looked—how small he seemed when she finally talked back. The anger flared up again, hot and protective.
"I won't let him do this," she muttered, adjusting the heavy strap of her kit on her shoulder. "He doesn't own me just because he's on a poster."
As she approached the massive studio gates, she saw the fans already gathered, holding banners with Tian's face on them. They looked at the "Golden Boy" with so much love. Sayna felt a pang of pity for them. They didn't know the man who slammed his hand against walls and yelled at the person trying to help him.
She scanned her ID badge. Beep. She didn't look down at her feet today. She kept her chin up, walking through the lobby past the fancy elevators. Every step was a tiny victory.
You're nothing but a touch-up, Tian, she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs like a drum. And today, I'm not cleaning up your mess.
She pushed open the heavy, soundproof doors of the set. The smell of hairspray and expensive coffee hit her immediately. Usually, she'd feel lucky to be here. Now, she just felt ready. She headed straight for her station, ignoring the curious looks from the lighting crew.
She wasn't a fan anymore. She was a professional, and if he wanted to play a game, she was going to win.
Sayna pushed through the heavy studio doors, the blast of the air conditioner hitting her face. Her heart was thumping against her ribs like a trapped bird. She had spent the whole commute from the subway station practicing her "I don't care" face in the train window, but her hands were still a little cold.
"Sayna! There you are!" Yueyue called out, scurrying over with a clipboard in her hand. She looked Sayna up and down, her eyes narrowing. "What happened last night? You vanished like a ghost without saying a word to anyone. The Director was looking for you for the final touch-ups!"
Sayna swallowed hard, clutching the strap of her makeup kit. "I... I felt a bit sick, Yueyue. The lights were too bright, and my head was spinning. I'm sorry I left so suddenly."
Yueyue sighed, waving a hand as if to dismiss it. "Well, you look better now. Anyway, don't just stand there. Go to the green room. Fan Cheng is already there waiting for his base layer. We're behind schedule."
Sayna blinked, her mind stumbling. "Fan Cheng? But... where's Tian? Isn't he scheduled for the morning shoot?"
Yueyue looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Didn't you check the group chat? Last night was the last shooting day with Tian. His parts are wrapped. There's nothing on the schedule for him now—hopefully, we'll work with him again in the future, but for this project, he's done."
The words hit Sayna like a physical weight. Done. She felt a sudden, sharp wave of relief wash over her. She didn't have to face those bloodshot eyes. She didn't have to worry about him slamming his hand against a wall or calling her names. The "Golden Boy" was gone from her daily life just like that.
But as she walked toward the green room, a different feeling crept up her spine. It was a messy, heavy knot in her chest that she didn't want to give a name to. Was it guilt because she hadn't told him the truth about the rumors? Was it fear that he still hated her? Or was it just... sad?
She thought of the wallpaper she had deleted last night. She had spent years admiring him from afar, and her first real "interaction" with her idol had ended in a scream and a shattered pedestal.
The green room was exactly how she remembered it from yesterday, but the air felt completely different. The same bright vanity lights, the same smell of hairspray, and the same plush chair where everything had shattered.
Yueyue pushed the door open and led Sayna inside. "Fan Cheng, this is your makeup artist for the day. This is Sayna. She's an intern from India—she actually won second place in a huge international competition, so she's very talented!"
Fan Cheng looked up from his script. Unlike the cold, heavy energy Tian always carried, Fan Cheng had a bright, easy-going face. He flashed a wide grin that made his eyes crinkle.
"India? That's cool!" he said, switching to English with a surprisingly good accent. "Hi, Sayna! I know English, so you don't have to worry about the language barrier with me."
Sayna felt a lump form in her throat. She gripped the handle of her makeup kit, her knuckles turning white. Standing in this exact spot made her feel a wave of nostalgia that hurt. Just a short while ago, she had stood in this same place, looking at the same mirror, but the person in the chair had been Tian.
Back then, she had been so excited she could barely breathe. But instead of a "hello," she had been met with cold glares. She remembered the way Tian had looked at her like she was something beneath his feet. He had called her a stalker. He had made cruel comments about her skin being "dark" under the studio lights.
But now, looking at Fan Cheng's friendly smile, the contrast was like ice and fire.
"Hi," Sayna managed to whisper, her voice finally steadying. "Nice to meet you."
She began to lay out her brushes on the black marble counter. No one was calling her names today. No one was accusing her of having an agenda. It was peaceful, professional, and exactly what she had dreamed of—but her heart still felt heavy.
Even though Tian was gone and he had been a monster to her, the empty space where his shadow used to be felt strange. She hated that she still felt a tiny bit of sadness for the "Golden Boy" she thought she knew.
"You okay?" Fan Cheng asked, noticing her hand pause over a blending sponge. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Sayna forced a small smile and shook her head, focusing on the foundation palette. "I'm fine. Just... adjusting to the lights."