Sandra blushed. This was good for her; in the future, she would do her best to please this man.

As this thought crossed her mind, he looked down at her with a faint smile. “After you recover, you’ll begin training.”

Training? To serve a man? She was confident she could win his heart.

Sandra subconsciously asked, “Training for what?”

“To be my slave.” His tone, though a lover’s whisper, held an indescribable coldness and cruelty, shattering her anticipation.

“Fail, and you’ll be a maid. Understand?” He laughed and strode away.

Sandra sat on the bed, her head buzzing. She thought of the lifeless female slaves, their vacant stares. What torture had they endured?

A shiver ran down her spine. No! She wouldn’t become a slave. This might be her last chance. She had died once; this time, she would grasp it.

Sandra wiped her sweat and grabbed a maid’s hand. “You’ve been through this test. Tell me about it!”

The slave girl smiled, a toothless, unsettling smile—a common expression among them.

Sandra choked, then said, “Medicine! Bring me the medicine!”

Out of caution, she secretly spat out half, fearing other ingredients. Her precautions seemed unnecessary; this man was far scarier than she’d imagined. The slave girl readily obeyed, even providing water.

Sandra took the medicine. Severely injured, recovery would take half a month. Time was short.

Late summer bled into early autumn. A month passed quickly. The Lovell City heat subsided, replaced by cool air.

In early October, Abbie’s new TV series, Dreams of Rising, dominated the headlines. Its premiere was Friday. Filming was only half-finished, with a two-episodes-a-week release. Reviews were polarized; some praised it, others panned it. It was a crucial comeback test. After so long out of the public eye, confidence was hard to maintain.

That night, Abbie met with Tiffany and Zoo. Tiffany handled the bill; Zoo comforted Abbie. A large meal eased Abbie’s nerves, but fear remained—fear of failure, of audience scorn, of a failed comeback despite the cleared slander.

Tiffany sipped her juice. “Don’t worry. Trust Mr. Fraser’s judgment. He wouldn't support you as the lead against all odds without reason. If this fails, there’s always another chance. You always have a chance.” It was a calculated reassurance; money was readily available.

Abbie was amused and touched. “We’ll know in two days. Let’s hope it’s not disappointing.”

On the premiere, curiosity drove high viewership. Engaging plots captivated the audience. In a market saturated with dramas, Dreams of Rising had the advantage. Abbie's striking face and superb acting garnered praise.

Online comments exploded:

“[She’s winning Best Actress! A real actress.]” “[She never disappoints! Beautiful and cool.]” “[She’s back! Other actresses are shaking. And the male lead is hot!]”

Dreams of Rising trended for three days, mostly focusing on Abbie’s triumphant return. Even the screenwriter trended. This mysterious writer had worked with top celebrities on successful projects, creating anticipation before the show even aired. Their anonymity fueled curiosity.

Tiffany, browsing comments, received a call from director Harold Lester. “Miss Kelley, I’ve drafted the script you inspired. With investment, we can start filming. I’ll add you as a screenwriter.” He hadn’t forgotten her past favor. A successful series would boost her reputation.

Tiffany raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Lester, need investment? Talk to me.” He’d used this film to become a renowned director in a past life. Investment would yield huge returns. However, she didn't want to exploit him excessively. “I’ll invest until shooting is complete. I’ll take 20% of the box office. How’s that?”

“Seriously?” Harold was stunned. “Miss Kelley, you’ll likely need investment yourself later.”

Only 20%—a small investor's share, but she'd bear the losses if it flopped. Though tempted, Harold refused. “No, I can’t let you take that risk.”

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