Chapter 2

From that day on, Serena and I fell into a cold war.

Using "work" as an excuse, she came home later and later, until she stopped coming back entirely.

I knew she was with Carter.

After all, whenever, wherever, under any circumstances, Carter only had to snap his fingers, and Serena would run to him.

Whether it was our anniversary or my birthday, she would leave without a second thought.

In the past, I would have lost my mind.

I would have stopped eating, stopped sleeping, and searched the entire city for her.

I would torture myself imagining her with another man, driven mad by jealousy.

But now, I didn't care.

A few days later, just as I was drifting off to sleep, the beep of the smart lock at the front door woke me up.

Serena and Carter walked in together.

She was completely drunk, her designer dress torn and messy.

That dress was bought with the money from three months of side gigs I worked, saving every penny.

Back then, I had been so excited to give it to her, but she had looked at it with utter disgust, saying a cheap dress didn't match her status as a rising star.

Now, she was finally wearing it—only to get drunk and wild with another man.

Carter looked down at me coldly. "There are paparazzi outside. Make sure you clear her name on Instagram."

In the past, whenever Serena got into a scandal or got caught with Carter, I was the one who cleaned up her mess.

Her fans used to call me "the queen's most loyal golden retriever."

Looking back, that title was incredibly insulting.

I spared Carter a cold glance, then looked directly at Serena. "Why should I do it? Did I tear her dress?"

Serena frowned. She probably didn't expect me to mock her twice in a row.

"Ryan, are you seriously going to keep score right now?" Carter sneered. "Look at the time. Serena is wasted. Instead of taking care of her, you're picking a fight with me?"

On the surface, his logic seemed flawless.

I had to hand it to Carter; his gaslighting skills were top-tier.

Hearing his words, Serena’s eyes welled with tears as if she were the victim. "Yeah, Ryan. Carter was nice enough to bring me home, and you're treating him like this? Are you even a man?"

I had never seen anyone "nicely" escort someone straight to their bed.

I stayed silent. Serena, her eyes red, leaned her weight onto Carter, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Carter, since he doesn't trust us, let's just leave."

Carter smirked at me, his eyes dripping with triumph.

"But there are paparazzi outside," he murmured.

"Let them take photos. I don't give a damn."

With that, she grabbed Carter's hand and pulled him toward the door. When she noticed I didn't move an inch to stop her, shock and anger flashed in her eyes.

I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to fight Carter out of jealousy.

She loved being worshipped on stage, and she loved being fought over off stage.

My sudden indifference was breaking her ego.

I waved lazily. "Remember my advice. Get pregnant. A baby is your only shot at securing that bag."

Then, I shut the bedroom door.

But the drama didn't stop there.

Before I fell asleep, my phone buzzed with a video message from an unknown number.

I clicked it. Though blurry, it clearly showed a man and a woman passionately tearing into each other.

The woman was wearing the exact dress I had bought Serena.

Soon, the video showed them tangled together. Even an idiot could tell what they were doing.

So, they had been caught on camera, which was why they came back to me to use me as a cover-up.

I ignored it. A few minutes later, a text popped up: "Two million dollars."