Jennie Frost:

I slammed the door, and the hall lamp rattled.

I gulped when I saw my father sitting on one of the sofas. We both stood motionless, staring at each other, until his eyes wandered to the clock on the wall.

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. The silence between us spoke volumes.

"You're early," he said finally, in a calm voice... too calm.

“I had… business,” I muttered, forcibly removing my shoes.

He made a low sound, the same one he made when he didn't believe me but didn't want to argue. Then he went back to his newspaper, as if I wasn't there.

The weight on my chest grew heavier. I headed toward the stairs, but her voice stopped me mid-stride.

"You should eat something," he said without looking at me. "You're starting to look like her."

She.

My mother.

I swallowed, blinking rapidly.

—Good night, Dad.

—Good night, Jennie.

Upstairs, my room was still the same—too tidy, too untouched. Like a museum of who I used to be.

I dropped my bag on the floor and sank into the bed, letting out a long exhalation that swept away all the pent-up tension.

For a while, I just stared at the ceiling.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him: Vuk Markovic, standing in front of me, with his cold eyes and firm voice.

“Vuk Markovic isn't a property you can buy. You have to beat me.”

The words repeated themselves until they were engraved in my mind.

What was I thinking? Walking into his office and asking him to marry me like a desperate little girl.

I had told myself it was for business.

But it wasn't. Not really.

It was hope.

And hope was a cruel thing.

I covered my face with both hands, holding back the sob burning in my throat. For once, I wished he'd screamed. Swear at me. Anything but that merciless calm.

Because that calm meant he hadn't even considered me.

I was nothing more than momentary entertainment for him. A fool entering the lion's den hoping for mercy.

My chest ached. My body felt empty.

Maybe Vuk was right. Maybe I was naive.

The tears came silently, soaking the pillow until I couldn't tell where the pain ended and the tiredness began.

And when sleep finally came, it wasn't peace... it was surrender.

When I woke up the next morning, sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains. My head throbbed and my arms felt like lead. Still, I forced myself to get up, brush my teeth, take a shower, and take the pills the doctor had prescribed.

I dressed in something simple—a cream-colored sweater and jeans—and went downstairs. The smell of coffee filled the air, warm and nostalgic. My father stood by the door, already dressed for work, adjusting his tie.

"Good morning," he said, glancing at me briefly.

—Good morning, Dad.

He looked at me for a moment before asking:

—Have you thought about it? You could start at the company next week. Something stable will help you regain your balance.

I hesitated, clutching the edge of the counter.

—No, Father. I'm not ready to give up yet. I want to keep working in my field.

He frowned.

—Jennie, are you serious? Daughter, please face reality. Your name and image are everywhere! The industry will devour you if you come back now.

“I know,” I said quietly. “But please, don’t make me do something I hate. Just… have faith in me. I’ll recover.”

He sighed heavily, as he always did when he wanted to argue but didn't have the strength to do so.

Then he nodded once, slowly.

—Then don't waste this opportunity again, Jennie.

"I won't do it," I whispered.

When the door closed behind him, the silence became so thick he could hardly breathe.

My hands were shaking so much I couldn't force myself to eat. A spoonful of food was enough to bring tears to my eyes—hot, messy, uncontrollable.

I took my phone.

Mistake.

Every headline screamed my name.

THE FALL OF JENNIE FROST.

EXACTRESS OR EXDIGNITY?

SPONSORS BREAK UP WITH DISGRACED STAR.

The internet was a courtroom, and I was the spectacle. My fans were divided; those who defended me were also under attack.

Every photo of me was dissected, every movement analyzed.

By the third day, I could no longer stand the walls.

I needed air—just five minutes of silence.

So I put on a hoodie and dark glasses, pulled my cap down, and walked out the side door.

But as soon as I set foot outside—flash.

Other.

And then dozens more.

—Jennie! Jennie Frost!

—Jennie, did you buy his love?!

—Smile for us, fallen goddess!

I didn't answer. I didn't look up.

I pushed through the noise and got into my car, my hands shaking as I started the engine.

Drive. Just drive.

I didn't know where I was going—only that it had to be far away.

When I finally stopped, the sky was a dark, almost nocturnal purple. A quiet street, one of those people forget exists. I parked on the corner, rolled down the window, and breathed.

For a moment, it almost felt normal.

Until I heard it.

—Isn't that Jennie Frost?

My stomach sank.

A female voice. Then laughter. Then more voices joining in.

—How does it feel to fall from grace, huh?

—You used your money to buy love, right?

—She looks so pathetic! Where is your husband now, goddess?

My breath caught in my throat. My vision blurred. The cameras lifted, the flashes popped again, and the air filled with laughter that burned hotter than fire.

I stumbled back, tears stinging my eyes, and started running.

I didn't know where—just far.

I walked through the crowd, through the flashes, my hood falling off and my heart beating so hard it drowned out the world.

I saw a familiar car—my car—and ran toward it like it was my salvation.

I swung the door open, slammed it shut, and gasped for air.

"Drive," I sobbed, pressing a shaking hand to my chest. "Please, just drive."

The engine started instantly.

Except… I hadn't turned the key.

The air inside the car felt different—colder, sharper. The faint scent of an expensive perfume enveloped me like an electric shock.

I looked up.

And I froze.

It wasn't my driver who was driving.

And next to me—sitting with that same calm, indecipherable expression—sat Vuk Markovic.

For a second, everything inside me stopped. The noise outside faded, the lights went out. My stomach twisted with fear.

Of course.

Of all of them, it had to be him.

I swallowed, preparing for the inevitable shove, the cruel order to leave. The crowd outside was approaching, shouting, recording.

I closed my eyes, waiting.

But instead, his voice cut through the chaos—low, dangerous, firm.

—Have you lost your hearing?

I opened my eyes suddenly.

He stared straight ahead, his jaw tense, his voice a silent command to the man behind the wheel.

—Drive.

The car started, and I felt the world fade away—the lights, the noise, the hate—until it was just us.

Silence.

Breathing the same air.