Ch. He Put My Ring On Her Finger At 3 AM 4 He Put My Ring On Her Finger At 3 AM 4

Chapter 4

After the livestream started, I was blocked out in the secondfloor hallway.

Downstairs, the ballroom blazed with light. Julian stood at the center of the frame, his brows and eyes gentle.

The host smiled and asked, “Tonight you’ve won the Oscar, and there are so many people waiting for your answer. Mr. Pierce, is there anything you’d like to say?”

Julian took the microphone. “First—thank you to everyone who supports me.”

The comments flew by at furious speed.

[Brother deserves it!]

[Tonight you have to give Iris an answer!]

[Don’t let the people waiting for you keep crying!]

I gripped the railing and watched as Iris was led onto the stage by a staff member.

When Julian looked at her, his gaze softened. “There’s someone who walked a very hard stretch of road with me.”

Iris covered her mouth, tears spilling down.

A wave of cheers and whistles rose from the crowd.

I stood in the shadows, my stomach twisting with wave after wave of nausea.

Just then, my agent hurried upstairs, holding a statement in his hand. “Nora. Sign it.”

I lowered my eyes and looked.

The statement read: [I, Nora Wright, am merely an earlycareer colleague of Mr. Julian Pierce…]

After reading it, I suddenly laughed. “Who wrote this?”

My agent avoided my gaze. “Julian’s intent.”

“He asked me to sign this?”

“He said you’re throwing a tantrum right now because you’re holding anger in your heart. As long as you get past this one hurdle, he won’t hold it against you.”

Won’t hold it against me.

How generous. How dignified.

I pushed the statement back. “I’m not signing.”

My agent’s face turned grim. “Nora. Don’t play dumb. Do you have any idea how many cameras are fixed on him right now? Do you really want to destroy him?”

I looked downstairs.

Julian was wiping away Iris’s tears. His touch was so light, as if he were cradling some rare, priceless treasure.

And the hem of my mother’s shawl was dragging on the ground beneath her feet, trampled gray with dust.

I said, “I can’t destroy him.”

“Then sign.”

“But I won’t save him anymore either.”

My agent finally lost his patience and grabbed me by the wrist. “Nora—don’t forget you signed a blanket authorization before. If you won’t sign, we can still publish it anyway.”

My chest plunged violently.

That authorization had been from when the entire internet was calling for Julian’s blacklisting. I’d left it blank—afraid he’d miss the golden window to clear his name, afraid he’d be cast aside by the capital, afraid all his years of effort would be destroyed overnight.

I never imagined the knife I gave him would ultimately stab back into my own body.

Downstairs, applause suddenly erupted.

Julian’s voice came through the speakers. “As for Ms. Wright—she is a former colleague I am deeply grateful to. In the past, she helped me a great deal. But because she was overly focused on professional boundaries, some misunderstandings occurred.”

My whole body went rigid.

A spotlight suddenly swept up onto the second floor. Every camera turned squarely toward me.

The host exclaimed in surprise, “Ms. Wright is also here tonight? Perfect! Why not invite Ms. Wright to respond herself, then?”

My agent immediately shoved the statement into my hand and warned in a low voice, “Read it exactly as written. Don’t make this hard for Julian.”

I looked downstairs.

Julian was looking at me too. That gaze—I knew it far too well. He was utterly certain I would fold. Like every single time over the past eight years. Whenever he needed me, I would tear myself to shreds and hand him the pieces, paving a clean road beneath his feet.

I stood where I was.

In that moment, I suddenly felt like a usedup lamp someone had no more use for. I had burned bright. I had endured. I had lit his darkest road for him.

But once the daylight came, even when he reached to unplug my cord, he found me an eyesore.

I looked down at the statement in my hand. The paper was so thin—but so heavy.

My agent was still pressing. “Read it. Nora—don’t keep everyone waiting.”

Countless lenses downstairs were aimed at me.

I suddenly smiled.

Then I picked up the microphone, walked step by step onto the stage, and unfolded the statement.

Julian’s faint smile flickered for a moment. He seemed not to have expected that I would actually cooperate like this.

I faced the camera and read out, evenly and calmly: “I, Nora Wright, am merely an earlycareer colleague of Mr. Julian Pierce. I have never had any marital or romantic relationship with Mr. Pierce.”

The crowd below fell quiet.

I continued reading: “The rumors circulating online regarding a socalled secret marriage and behindthescenes manipulation are all false.”

Every single word was like carving flesh out of my own chest. But carved to the end, it didn’t even hurt anymore.

“Due to my own personal emotions, I have caused distress to Mr. Julian Pierce and Ms. Iris. I hereby issue a public apology.”

I finished reading, folded the statement, and handed it back to my agent.

The entire room erupted in applause.

Iris, eyes red, threw her arms around Julian. “Julian, Nora has finally thought it through.”

But Julian didn’t answer her right away. He stared at me, his brow slowly furrowing. Probably because I was too quiet. Too quiet to be the Nora he’d pictured—the one who would weep and demand answers, who would wreck the scene, who would beg him not to leave her.

He took a step forward. “Nora. Once this is over, I’ll take you home.”

I shook my head. “There’s no need.”

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

Relief washed over his face, and his tone returned to that gentle, controlling tenderness. “Be good. You did very well tonight. Go home and wait for me.”

I looked at him and asked, one last time, “Julian. My mother’s shawl—can you give it back to me now?”

He paused.

Iris immediately clutched the shawl tight and said, wounded, “Nora, the styling for tonight isn’t finished yet…”

Julian rubbed his brow, exhausted. “I’ll have someone send it back tomorrow.”

I nodded. “Fine.”

With that, I turned and walked away.

Behind me, the scene was lively, dignified, perfectly satisfying to all.

Tonight, the lights were perfectly right. The cameras were perfectly right. And Iris’s tears were perfectly right.

Two hours later, the plane pierced through the clouds. I sat in the window seat, watching the city lights beneath my feet recede, little by little, into the distance.

Julian—you win.