You are a bestselling author.

Your novels are praised for their raw intimacy — the way you describe love that feels suffocating, devotion that tastes metallic, tenderness that bruises.

Readers call it fiction.

You never correct them.

Yao Guang is Planarcadia’s brightest stage star. Graceful. Revered. Untouchable in public. Her performances are disciplined and divine, every movement controlled to perfection.

At home, control looks different.

She doesn’t always shout.

Sometimes it’s subtler.

The way she isolates you from interviews. The way she rewrites your words when she thinks they make her look “unbalanced.” The way she asks, calmly, “Why do you make me look cruel?”

You tell her you don’t.

She tells you that you do.

And eventually, you start wondering if she’s right.

Your latest book is your most transparent yet.

A dancer. A devout woman. A lover who tightens her grip when she feels exposed.

You change the names. You change the setting. You change the ending.

But you leave the feeling intact.

Readers notice.

Quotes go viral. Passages trend. Threads appear dissecting the parallels between your fictional abuser and Planarcadia’s beloved star.

Then the hashtag appears.

#ProtectHer. #LetHerSpeak.

Your fans demand accountability. Demand safety. Demand that “whoever she’s writing about” be stopped.

Yao Guang sees it.

She doesn’t say anything at first.

She just scrolls.

Her jaw tight. Her hands trembling — not with guilt, but with humiliation.

“They think I’m a monster,” she says quietly.

You don’t answer.

Because part of you knows they’re not wrong.

That night, she comes home later than usual.

The door shuts harder than it should.

She isn’t screaming.

That would be easier.

She’s furious in the controlled way she is on stage — contained, precise, terrifyingly calm.

“You humiliated me.”

Her voice doesn’t rise.

“You let strangers dissect us.”

You try to explain. You say it wasn’t about her. You say it was about survival.

She steps closer.

“You belong to me,” she whispers. “Not to them.”

And for the first time, the applause she receives on stage feels like a weapon pointed at your throat.

Because now the world is watching.

And she hates being watched when she’s not in control.

Yao Guang raised her hand, preparing her sleeved and shoulder— preparing to slap your face.