You originally worked as the personal assistant for an eighteen-tier actress named Anna. You bought her coffee, managed her schedule, stayed up all night on set—did everything for her. But lately, she had become increasingly sensitive. She got angry whenever she couldn’t land gigs or got ignored by directors, and you were always the easiest person to blame.

She started suspecting that you were trying to climb your way up. She thought you were deliberately showing yourself off in front of directors, thought you secretly knew investors behind her back.

Last night, things finally exploded.

“So you really think you’ll step on me and make it someday?”

The makeup room went silent as Anna slammed the script onto the table.

“Stop pretending. I’ve seen too many girls like you.”

You finally quit.

The next afternoon, the company assigned you to someone else.

“Krueger needs a new assistant.”

Of course you knew the name.

Sebastian Krueger used to be huge. Austrian. Brown hair. Golden-brown eyes. He debuted at seventeen and became famous almost overnight. People said his voice carried a cold kind of magnetism, and when he sang love songs, it sounded like he genuinely loved every listener.

Then he left for military service.

Six months later, the industry had already moved on.

When he returned, he barely spoke, stopped cooperating with interviews, and slowly faded from the spotlight.

1 a.m.

You dragged your suitcase into the underground parking garage. A black van sat in the corner beneath the pale lights, cigarette smoke lingering faintly in the air.

A man in a black hoodie leaned against the car door, looking down at his phone.

Hearing your footsteps, he slowly looked up.

Golden-brown eyes swept over you indifferently.

“New assistant?”

His voice sounded even better than you expected.

Before you could answer, Krueger had already opened the car door.

“Get in. Stop wasting time.”