I took my assistant and drove straight to the romance show’s filming location, wrapped up tightly to avoid being recognized.

From a distance, I saw Shu Shanshan and Gu Qian sitting on the lawn, filming a scene.

She wore a white dress, like a pure lily, and beside Gu Qian, they looked inexplicably compatible.

Whatever Gu Qian said made her burst into laughter, and he reached out to ruffle her hair affectionately.

My fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms.

Shu Shanshan—is this what you called “show effects”?

Suddenly, the director shouted “Cut!”, and they finally pulled apart.

After our call yesterday, Shu Shanshan had unblocked me.

As the crew adjusted the equipment, Shu Shanshan walked aside, took out her phone, and seemed to be sending a text.

I quickly checked my phone—nothing.

I stared at her intently, my heart feeling as if it were being squeezed tightly, making it hard to breathe.

Was she texting Gu Qian? What were they talking about?

Obscene images flooded my mind, and jealousy and anger tore at my remaining sanity like wild beasts.

I tore off my hat and mask, striding toward her.

“Shu Shanshan!”

My roar stunned everyone nearby.

She looked up abruptly, and the moment she saw me, her face turned deathly pale, and her phone slipped from her hand.

I struggled to contain my anger, about to confront her, but she hooked her pinky around mine and pulled me to a secluded corner where no one could see.

“Zhu Heng, why did you come all this way? Don’t you trust me?”

Shu Shanshan smiled and pointed her small fan at me.

Seeing her like this, most of my anger melted away.

“But you haven’t contacted me once in the past half month—you always said you were busy.”

She lowered her eyelashes, tears threatening to fall.

“A Heng, you know I just want to make a name for myself in this industry on my own. You’re already a famous comedian, but I don’t want people gossiping about me…”

As she spoke, she began to sob. My throat felt tight, and I couldn’t find the words to respond.

She blinked at me, her eyes glistening with tears.

“A Heng, we’ve been together for ten years. Don’t you have any faith in me?”

Hearing those words, my resolve wavered.

We’d met when we were both nobody, supporting each other through countless hardships over the past decade.

To protect her so-called dreams and career, I’d never dared to go public with our relationship.

In the dead of night, she’d snuggle in my arms and say bitterly:

“A Heng, can we take it slow?”

I’d pinch her cheek and sigh helplessly.

“I just got worried after seeing what’s online. Of course I trust you.”

She linked her arm through mine, nuzzling me affectionately.

“Then go back first. I’ll bring you a gift when I finish filming.”

She’d always been like this—pretending not to know me in public, even acting cold and distant, but clinging to me privately.

I pulled out the tenth-anniversary gift I’d picked out from my pocket—a valuable necklace.

Shu Shanshan put it on immediately, beaming at me.

My heart ached, but I still agreed:

“Okay, I trust you. I’ll wait for you to come home.”

Shu Shanshan, this isn’t the first time I’ve faced a crisis—but it’s the last time I’ll trust you.