Everyone present couldn't help but sit up straighter.
Durrell Landon was a little caught off guard, but soon let out a low chuckle, his voice tinged with a hint of delight: "You're the first person who dares to treat me like this."
"Is that so? That's because you're the Landon Family's second young master. Others respect you, fear you, but I don't care. If you really piss me off, don't blame me if I drag you down with me."
Durrell Landon looked up at her. The instant their eyes met, her gaze was ablaze with a fire that seemed capable of burning the world to ashes. And yet, within those layered flames, there was a heavy fog of mystery, impenetrable and elusive.
For a fleeting moment, he had the illusion that they were cut from the same cloth.
A faint arc of a smile appeared at the corner of his lips. He truly was finding it harder and harder to let go.
Julian Haworth saw that Quiana Sutton still refused to loosen her grip and grew a bit anxious:
"Quiana, if you dare hurt Durrell, I swear you won't walk out of the North Star's door."
Hearing this, Quiana Sutton tightened her grip a notch, veins showing faintly under her pale skin, as if she wished for someone to etch something rotten and decadent onto it.
Oliver Gale lounged on the sofa, legs crossed, as if thoroughly enjoying the show.
That Sutton girl was doing something he'd never have dared to do in his whole life; in his eyes, she was already a warrior.
Suddenly, Quiana Sutton lost interest and let go of her hand.
"You guys keep playing. I've got other things to do, so I'll be leaving first."
After Quiana left, Durrell Landon absentmindedly stroked his neck, where her fingertips' warmth still lingered.
Quiana stood in the corridor after leaving the private room, casually lighting a cigarette and letting the smoke blur her outline.
Lately, she'd been smoking more and more. That was hardly a good sign.
Yet she still liked this feeling—it was as if all of herself could be concealed in darkness, safe from others' gaze.
Not far off.
Two figures slowly appeared—Chloe Summers and Ella Shaw. The two of them were quite surprised; they'd never expected to run into Quiana Sutton at the North Star.
Ella was even more shocked, "Chloe, Quiana is actually smoking."
Within the entertainment industry, Quiana Sutton was an oddity; she had loads of haters, but also many fans. As long as she didn't act in anything, she'd occasionally wash her image clean. But for Ella, it was different—even if she barely had the same clout as Quiana, she didn't have nearly as much traffic.
Several times, when talking endorsement deals, the other party had made it clear they'd rather have Quiana than someone as lukewarm and unremarkable as her, who couldn't stir any waves at all.
It had pissed her off so much that she'd held a grudge against Quiana ever since.
Chloe Summers didn't take Quiana to heart at all, looking at her as if she were an ant.
They were artists of the same era, but she had already left Quiana far behind. There was no way Quiana could ever catch up to her—her real dream was to one day stand on the Oscars stage, just like her idol Evelyn Windsor.
As for Quiana, she was just an occasional distraction in the banality of life.
She spoke with a leisurely air: "Doesn't Quiana always set herself up as a gentle and demure lady? If her fans saw her smoking right now, don't you think her image would collapse?"
There was something unreadable flickering in Ella's eyes. She quietly snapped a photo and sent it to a gossip account.
Whatever the gossip account did with it was none of her concern.
...
After leaving the North Star, Quiana went to a psychological counseling studio. The doctor there seemed to be an old acquaintance of hers.
As soon as they met, he said, "You haven't been here for a while. What brings you in so suddenly today?"
Quiana didn't bother with small talk: "Same as always. Prescribe me something."
The doctor clearly didn't agree: "All medicine carries some poison. You can't keep relying on drugs."
He'd wanted to offer Quiana some psychological counseling before, but her guard was too strong. She'd nearly driven him into depression himself, so he'd had to give up in the end.
But when they'd first met, her condition wasn't this bad. Later, it would come and go—sometimes severe, sometimes as if she'd recovered.
But in his heart, he knew that with Quiana's case, recovery was impossible; she was beyond saving.
Maybe doctors are all a little sentimental, but he still hoped Miss Sutton could live a bit happier. He spoke slowly:
"Find someone to stay with you. Maybe you'll truly be yourself again."
Quiana found this amusing:
"You mean someone to redeem and save me?"
The doctor nodded. That's exactly what he meant.
She let out a cold laugh, tinged with irony.
The so-called redemption narrative had never suited her. She never looked for rescue from others; the only one who could drag herself out of the inferno was herself.
"Just prescribe me something."
The doctor sighed helplessly. He knew any more words would be useless, so in the end, he still handed her a bottle of pills.
Quiana gave it a glance, tossed it casually into her bag, and waved her hand: "I'm leaving. Remember not to tell anyone I was here."
"I understand."
After Quiana left, the doctor poured himself a cup of coffee, stirring it slowly and carefully.
Miss Sutton was his most surprising patient; clearly terminally ill, yet she appeared no different from a normal person.
She was even better than most people at seeming normal.
Yet at the same time, he was curious—if you peeled away Miss Sutton's imperious shell, would you find decay and rust, or a darkness so deep even she couldn't see its bottom?
Ever heard of the balloon theory?
The distance to explosion is often just a tipping point away. It was clear Miss Sutton was about to reach that critical mass; no matter how well she hid, sooner or later she'd break apart.
Quiana sat in the driver's seat, carelessly tossing her bag aside. It rolled on the seat, spilling its contents into the cabin.
She bent down to gather the scattered things.
Among the lipsticks and pills, there was also a peace charm.
At the sight of the peace charm, a layer of almost invisible but very real confusion flickered in her eyes.
Back when she'd been on set filming, an accident had happened. She'd been injured and hospitalized for a while.
After she returned to her apartment, he had given her this peace charm.
She'd always thought she'd thrown it away long ago, never realizing it had stayed in her bag all this time.
She suddenly recalled what the therapist had just said to her.
Find someone to save yourself.
Heh…
She never believed in such things, nor did she need to. Instead of shoving the peace charm back into her bag, she threw it out the window.
As soon as she returned to Imperial View Manor, she ran into Zeke Landon who was about to leave.
Zeke Landon didn't look much surprised to see her, but in his inky eyes swirled emotions too complicated to make out.
Just as they were about to brush past, Zeke Landon called after her.
"Wait."
She paused, looking back at him. "What is it?"
A moment ago the wind still roared; now, all had fallen silent.
His gaze settled on her.
"Miss Sutton, a pleasure to meet you."