Lin Yuyan had always believed in control. If not over her destiny, then at least over her image.
The morning after the awards, she was back on set by seven. Hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, sunglasses hiding tired eyes, her figure wrapped in the gray costume of her new lead role: a brilliant but haunted war reporter. It fit too well.
Director Shen glanced up from her clipboard. "You sure you're okay to shoot today?"
"I'm not here to be okay," Yuyan replied. "I'm here to work."
And she did. For hours.
Scene after scene, take after take—crawling through dust, slapping fake blood on her face, shouting lines into the wind until her voice turned raw. She bled herself dry on camera, and it was the only time she didn't feel anything.
Until the nausea hit.
It started during a lunch break. A sudden wave of heat. Then the sour twist of her stomach. She barely made it to the portable restroom.
"Something you ate?" Shen asked later, concerned.
Yuyan smiled thinly. "Probably."
But the vomiting didn't stop.
Two days later, alone in her trailer, she stared at the test in her hand. The second pink line bloomed slowly—quietly—like a secret that demanded to be kept.
Pregnant.
Lin Yuyan sat down, the shock flattening her thoughts like static. Her hands trembled around the tiny plastic strip.
It could only be Luchen's.
A memory flashed: his arms braced on either side of her, his breath harsh, his voice broken—"You're mine."
She closed her eyes. Her body still ached some nights. Her heart more.
She hadn't told him no. But she hadn't said yes, either.
And now, this.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Lemin: He doesn't deserve you. Please let me take you away from this. Just one dinner. One talk.
She locked the screen without replying.
Another buzz. Luchen this time: You disappeared. Are you alright? Yuyan, please answer me.
She set the phone down and gripped her knees.
The father might be powerful, obsessive, terrifying. The uncle might be cunning and false. But this child—they were innocent.
And hers.
Yuyan swallowed hard.
She wouldn't tell them. Not yet. Not when her career was finally rising again. Not when her emotions were still ash and fire. Not when she didn't even know if she could love the baby without breaking all over again.
She told her assistant to cancel the rest of her interviews. Claimed fatigue. Avoided the press.
She called her doctor privately, booked the prenatal appointment under a false name, and began rehearsing new lies.
When Director Shen asked if she was okay, she just said, "Give me the strongest scenes. I need to feel something real."
And she did.
Each scene she acted was another brick in the wall she was building between herself and the truth.
But that night, when she sat alone in the makeup trailer, hands protectively over her lower abdomen, she whispered, "I'll protect you. No matter what."
Outside, the city pulsed with headlines.
Zhao Heiress Wins Best Actress — But Skips Afterparty Drama
Love Triangle Between Lin Yuyan, Zhao Twins?
But none of them knew the real story.
Not yet.
---