David Huang lowered his head, guilt weighing on every breath he took. He knew there would be no forgiveness waiting for him once everything came to light.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Nattalie didn't want to make you all worry. She begged me not to tell anyone."
Norte Huang's fist tightened, ready to swing — but he stopped himself just in time. Their father had already slapped David across the face, the sharp sound echoing through the hospital corridor. It was enough to sting both his skin and his pride.
Vincent Huang looked on, his expression tight and unreadable — a twisted smile ghosting his lips.
"What's this?" he asked, voice cold. "Do you hate our sister that much?"
Their mother, Lilian, was already crying, her voice trembling as she turned to her husband.
"Dear, what should we do? How could someone be so cruel to our daughter?"
Nakulla Huang said nothing for a long moment. He was too shocked, too furious, too betrayed to find words. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but deadly calm.
"If you knew about this… you should've told us immediately. Instead, you kept secrets with her. You went behind my back?"
David's shoulders sagged under the weight of his father's glare. He could feel his pulse hammering in his ears. "I told you," he murmured, "she begged me not to say anything. She didn't want anyone to panic — or stop her from working."
The air grew colder. Nakulla's eyes glinted with controlled rage.
"Fine," he said sharply. "Then I'll stop her myself. I'll make sure she never sets foot on another set again. I will not allow my daughter to be an actress."
David exhaled heavily, despair pooling in his chest. His eyes drifted toward the hospital room where Nattalie lay unconscious.
She's going to kill me for this, he thought.
Feng Yi Bai — the director — stood silently nearby, looking more helpless than ever.
Vannie Lung wasn't just any actress. She was his actress — the one who had carried his drama to success with her talent and presence. Her portrayal of Fong Jia Li, the cruel and manipulative mistress, was so breathtakingly real that the audience both loved and despised her for it.
But that was the problem.
On social media, the hate had become poison.
They called her ambitious.
They called her fake.
They called her a cursed woman.
Yet through it all, Vannie Lung never reacted. Never lashed out. Never complained. She smiled through the insults like they were applause — and perhaps, in a twisted way, she believed they were.
Feng Yi Bai had secretly admired her for that. For her restraint. Her composure. Her pride.
But her flaw — the one that now haunted him — was her stubborn independence.
She had refused to hire an assistant despite the chaos of her growing fame. She pushed her limits, demanded perfection from the crew, and compensated them afterward with gifts and generous tips.
No one complained. She was difficult — but fair.
Still… how could someone like her hide something this serious?
She had been terrorized for two months straight.
Two months of threats. Two months of letters. Two months of pretending everything was fine — just because she didn't want to "trouble" anyone.
Feng Yi Bai rubbed his temples, exhaustion written all over his face.
Forty years old, a veteran director who had seen scandals, breakdowns, and tragedies — but nothing like this.
When his assistant, Lu Mei Ying — or Lulu, as everyone called her — stepped into his office, her face was pale.
"Director Feng," she said nervously, "how is Miss Lung? Is she all right?"
He looked up at her with weary eyes and sighed. "She's stable. Still unconscious when I left, but the doctor said she'll wake soon."
Lulu shuddered. "It's terrifying. I can't believe someone would go that far — just because of a role."
Feng Yi Bai let out a bitter laugh. "You think I understand it? If I hadn't seen it myself, I'd say it was impossible."
He leaned back, rubbing his neck. "Everything was normal until today. Who could've imagined she'd been living like that all along? Keeping every threat to herself."
Lulu hesitated. "And now? What happens after this?"
Feng's face darkened. "Her father wants to pull her out of the production."
Lulu gasped. "What? Miss Lung is leaving the drama?"
Feng snapped his gaze toward her. "I said he wants to. It's not final."
But Lulu's expression already crumbled into panic. "Then we have to hold auditions, right? To find a replacement before—"
Feng cut her off sharply. "I said no! Don't twist my words. Nothing is confirmed yet. Do you understand?"
Lulu pressed her lips together, shrinking back. "Fine, fine. But don't take it out on me, Director. If the Lungs decide to quit, it's not my fault."
Feng's hands tightened into fists. "I'm not angry at you. I'm angry because none of this should have happened."
The room fell silent again — thick with dread, frustration, and the faint echo of the chaos that had started it all.
Outside, the night grew deeper.
And in the hospital room down the hall, under a sliver of cold moonlight — Vannie Lung's fingers twitched.
The curse was not finished with her yet.
***