The offer came through an old agency contact—someone who remembered Lena not as the rising star of Velvet Bloom, but as the quiet, polite trainee who used to help with translations when no one else could.
"It's a low-budget reality series," he said. "About living simply. Viewers are into that these days. We're showcasing a few people who left the city for rural life."
Lena almost declined on instinct.
Cameras? Again?
But the money was good. And she needed it.
So she said yes.
When the crew arrived in Fernhollow, they expected a fragile ex-idol trying to play at country life.
What they got was a woman in muddy boots, hair tied back in a ribbon, pulling weeds from a stubborn patch of earth while humming an old song from her debut days.
They asked if she'd be okay without makeup.
She laughed and said, "I haven't worn foundation in weeks."
They filmed her cooking by firelight, repainting her fence, making soap in old molds. They captured her hanging laundry and reading books by candlelight when the power cut out during a storm.
And she—surprisingly—didn't mind.
The public didn't know what to make of her at first.
"Is that Lena Hart? The one from Velvet Bloom?""Why is she in the countryside?""Did she go broke?"
But something about her calm voice and soft humor disarmed them. The clips of her quietly making soup while rain fell outside went viral.
Comments poured in.
"She's so down to earth. I thought she'd be stuck-up.""She was my bias in Velvet Bloom. Still is.""I met her once when she worked part-time at a bookstore. She was so sweet.""She looks genuinely happy."
That last one hit Lena the hardest.
Because… it was true.
She was happy.
Maybe not in the way she imagined years ago—with bright stages and red carpets—but in a different, deeper way.
She was no longer chasing anything.
She was just living.
The producers asked if she had any old photos from her college days.
She dug up a few—images of her in a tiny apron at the ramen stall near her dorm, balancing trays at a diner, studying with a friend in a crowded café.
She had hidden these parts of herself before. Too ordinary. Too unglamorous.
Now, she shared them with quiet pride.
When the episodes aired, she didn't expect the flood of messages.
Former classmates. Former fans. Even a few old Velvet Bloom stylists.
They all said the same thing: "We're proud of you."
And maybe for the first time since she left the city, Lena felt like she hadn't failed.
She had just found a different kind of success.
She returned home after filming wrapped. Her shoes kicked off at the door, hair slightly damp from the misty air. The sun was golden on the horizon.
She watered her garden, humming under her breath, when she noticed something strange.
There was noise across the street.
Construction noise.
She walked to the edge of her garden and stared.
The lot that had been empty for years was now a full house—sleek, modern, far too expensive for this sleepy town. The build had finished fast. Too fast.
She tilted her head.
No one had moved in. Yet.
But she could feel it.
Something was coming.
Or someone.
What Lena didn't know was that someone had already arrived.
He stood on the balcony of the second floor, watching her from behind shaded glass.
Ethan Cross.
He said nothing.
He only stared.
And when she smiled up at the sky, sun catching her hair, something inside him tightened.
Because she looked perfect.
And she had never looked farther away.