When I woke up from a car accident, I found that I was the stand-in heroine in a sadistic novel. After the decisive divorce, I focused on my career, but my ex-husband went crazy.
He blocked the door of each of my press conferences, begging with red eyes: "I will give you whatever you want, I just ask you to destroy that diary."
I'm baffled. Is that just my business plan?
Until my brand reached the top, he knelt down on one knee in front of thousands of people and offered all his wealth: "Stop acting. I know you remember it."
But the script in my hand seemed different from the one he held.
