14

The next morning, I walk into the studio with coffee, sensing tension.

Everyone's staring.

"Lu Lu… did you check Twitter?"

I'd turned off my phone to avoid the flood of messages.

Before I can check, they hustle me to the sample room.

"Help me fix this garment."

Confused, I follow.

At noon, noise erupts outside.

I step out and am blinded by camera flashes.

Reporters shove mics in my face.

"Ms. Qiao, is your affair with Han Jun true?"

"Qiao Lu, any response to plagiarizing Wang Yun's designs?"

I'm stunned.

Han Jun? That trending actor.

He ordered a suit when he was still small-time, asked me out, and got handsy. I slapped him twice and threatened to call the cops. He begged me not to expose him.

Wang Yun? A second-rate designer who bullies newbies and has no standout work.

The questions keep coming.

Han Jun's rabid fans scream.

"Slut, seducing our idol!"

"Plastic surgery freak!"

They surge forward, trampling my carefully planted flowers.

Fury rises, but they don't listen, just sling mud and snap distorted photos of me.

A bucket of ink flies at my face.

In a flash, a familiar figure shields me.

Lin Shen takes the hit, ink dripping down his back, neck, ears, hair.

The crowd goes silent.

His jaw tight, he turns to them. "I don't want a single photo from today online."

"Now, get out!"