Breaking Free from Shadows

Chapter 1

The rain outside pattered softly against the windows.
Eleanor curled up in the corner of the couch, her head bowed, and her fluttering eyelashes trembled like a butterfly eager to take flight.
The man's voice came casually from the entrance as he changed into his slippers, as if this scene had played out countless times before.
Eleanor slowly lifted her head, her pale face illuminated by the amber light, her eyes reflecting the tall figure of the man.
“...Not really.”
“Little one, still waiting for me, huh?” Gideon Hawthorne stepped into the room, tossing his suit jacket onto the couch. As he loosened his tie, he glanced toward the kitchen. “What’s wrong? Did the housekeeper not come today?”
“I don't want to do this anymore...” Eleanor suddenly spoke, her gaze fixed intently on Gideon's face.
Gideon's expression flickered with surprise for just a moment before he quickly composed himself and smiled.
“Don't be silly, it's just a few days. The place is strict.”
Gideon Hawthorne was always like this: busy with work, strict at home, and tired. These excuses cycled endlessly, while Eleanor, who desperately wanted to be the perfect girlfriend, always chose to wait patiently for him.
But she gradually came to realize that no matter how busy he was, there was always time to respond to texts. The times he went silent for an entire day weren’t due to his workload but rather his indifference toward her.
After all, to him, she was just a plaything; did it require much effort to keep her happy?
A year ago, when Gideon declared he wanted to date her, Eleanor had been elated. After all, a young man like her, with an unremarkable appearance in the glitzy world of entertainment, was hardly someone extraordinary. To think that someone of Gideon’s stature was interested in her felt like a dream.
She threw herself headfirst into what she thought was a budding romance.
But this river of love could drown her—just a week ago, while idly browsing through Gideon’s unlocked phone, she stumbled upon a photo in his “Favorites” album.
The man in the photo was strikingly handsome, with porcelain skin, deep black eyes, red lips, and jet-black hair. He exuded a delicate yet regal charm. His gaze, icy yet captivating, seemed to belong to someone untouchable.
Panic bubbled up in her heart, spilling over like water seeping through cracks in the stone.
She began to reflect on every little detail of their relationship, recalling each time Gideon mistook her favorite color, her favorite dishes, or her personal habits. It suddenly dawned on her:
She was just a substitute.
A plaything disguised as a girlfriend.
The rain intensified, the sound drumming against the window.
Eleanor’s heart felt tossed in the storm, and finally, she voiced the name that had haunted her thoughts:
“Isolde, isn’t it? I’m just Isolde’s substitute, right?”
Gideon’s surprise deepened, but he quickly regained his composure, though his smile seemed a bit strained as he replied,
“Baby, why would you think that?”
He approached her and attempted to embrace her, drawing close.
Eleanor shot up from the couch, her bare feet hitting the floor. At that moment, she felt an overwhelming sense of disgust for Gideon Hawthorne.
“Gideon Hawthorne, you lied to me...” she said, her voice steady yet trembling, rasping through tight breaths.
In response, she was met with a long silence from Gideon.
Tick, tock, tick, tock...
Eleanor could no longer tell if it was the rain outside or the clock's ticking sound on the wall. Each second felt like a tormenting ache in her heart.

Chapter 2

"Suddenly, Gideon Hawthorne's voice cut through the tension, his gaze fixed and unyielding, more distant than she had ever seen it. 'I've given you plenty of resources...'
'Just because you've thrown money at me doesn't mean you can deceive me, treat me like a stand-in or a toy!'
His hands clenched into fists at his side, tension radiating from his spine as he trembled with rage.
'Isn't that the truth?' Gideon's demeanor darkened. 'After all this time in show business, haven’t you figured out the score? You lack talent, can’t handle pressure, and are so naïve. If it weren’t for my help, you wouldn’t even be a second-tier actress now. You should be thanking your face, it’s practically a carbon copy of Isolde's.'
With every word, Eleanor's body shook more violently, tears streaming down her cheeks like the rain beating against the window outside.
'Gideon Hawthorne, you idiot!'
She yelled, her voice carrying, ringing in her ears.
'You’re a fraud. A coward! You like someone but are too scared to pursue them and only bully me in the meantime. You bully me!'
Her voice cracked with emotion as she finished her rant, a sob escaping her throat.
Gideon shot up from his seat, fury written all over his face. 'Eleanor! Don’t you dare forget your place! You live in my house, use my resources—what do you think gives you the right to speak to me like that? If you're so bold, then why don’t you just leave right now?'
'Fine, I’ll leave!'
Eleanor fired back, storming out.
The door slammed behind her with a loud bang as she rushed down the stairs.
With tears running riot, she didn’t know where she was going, just that it had to be far away from Gideon Hawthorne.
The sound of the rain intensified, falling cold and hard against her face and body. Hot tears mixed with the icy rainwater, cascading down her neck as she walked forward.
Suddenly, a car barreled toward her—
'Skreeeech!' The tires screeched as she was thrown into the air, her consciousness consumed by an overwhelming darkness.
…
'Thud.'
'Ouch!' Eleanor winced, instinctively pressing her palm to her forehead.
Her manager, Leopold, chuckled from the driver's seat.
'If I told you once, I told you a thousand times to get some sleep! You slept like a log in the car and knocked your head against the window, didn’t you?'
Rubbing her forehead, Eleanor shot him a look.
'Seriously, Leopold? You’re the one who insisted I watch "The Actor's Self-Discipline" last night! I really tried to focus, but…'
Confusion clouded her thoughts, her mind still tangled with all those complicated and obscure acting terms.
It led to dreams of her past life and about that idiot Gideon.
Fuming, she thought,
'Ugh.'
Leopold smirked. 'You’ve been putting in some effort lately.'
'What choice do I have?' She retorted. 'Not working hard means I get stuck being someone’s stand-in.’
'On that note, you’ve got two upcoming gigs to choose from. One is a variety show called "The Warm Hearth" or a TV drama; I think you’d fit well for the male supporting role. Which one do you want to pursue?'
Eleanor froze.
In her past life, she had taken that very supporting role and ended up crossing paths with the scoundrel Gideon Hawthorne.
No way was she going down that path again.
'Let’s go with the variety show.'
'Great, I’ll set it up… I’ve heard a big-name guest might be featured, so make sure you seize the opportunity.'
'Yeah, yeah,' Eleanor dismissed, not truly absorbing his words.
Unbeknownst to her, when she finally met that mysterious guest, she’d almost drop her jaw in shock.

Chapter 3

Eleanor finally arrived at the filming venue for the reality show.
The show was called "The Warm Hearth Show," where guests completed various tasks based on a script in a restaurant setting. The first floor was the dining area open to the public, while the second floor was designated for the guests’ accommodations.
Eleanor, still a struggling actor trying to break into the industry, felt incredibly lucky to have landed a gig like this. He arrived early in the morning, greeting the director and the crew on-site. However, he received nothing but indifferent responses.
But Eleanor was mentally prepared for this—having been supported by benefactors in his past life meant he never had to fend for himself. Now that he was on his own, he was resolved to work hard and make it happen.
As he waited, he couldn't help but notice that despite being told to check in at nine, none of the other contestants had arrived yet. He sat alone in a corner, twiddling his thumbs for nearly an hour, with no one acknowledging him or letting him know when things would kick off.
Just as he was about to go find someone to ask, a production assistant called out, “Eleanor, head to the Second Floor Parlor.”
“On my way!” He hurried over.
To his surprise, several other guests had finally arrived but were lazily lounging in the parlor, munching away on snacks. Among them were the popular heartthrob, Vivienne Woolsley, and fellow actors Sebastian and Margaret, along with the singer, Alistair. Eleanor felt obscure—he was the least known among them.
As he entered, everyone gave him a cursory glance before turning back to their chat and snacks.
When the room assignments were handed out, the four best rooms were eagerly claimed, leaving tough luck for Eleanor, who was assigned the cramped attic room. Smirking, Vivienne kicked her extra suitcase toward him and said, “Hey, we’re in neighboring rooms anyway, can you take this upstairs for me?”
Eleanor bristled at her assumption. He wasn’t her assistant!
“Why don’t you help Gideon out? He’s got a ton of stuff too,” the lead production assistant replied with a fake smile.
Looking at Vivienne, who already considered herself too important to wait, Eleanor had no choice but to comply. He struggled to lift her suitcase, not knowing what was packed inside. It felt heavy enough to contain a small elephant. He dropped it off upstairs and returned for his lighter bags, utterly exhausted.
After a miserable lunch—the boxed meal provided was tasteless and hard—Eleanor joined the others, who were buzzing with excitement. The director announced that a surprise celebrity guest would be arriving to act as their restaurant manager for the weekend and assist them in completing their challenges.
Vivienne and Sebastian were filled with giddy chatter, but Eleanor hardly touched his food. His stomach turned with disappointment—glancing over at the others' table, he spotted their delivery bags filled with fancy sushi while he had to settle for dry rice.
Just as he contemplated slipping out to grab a bite, a chorus of gasps erupted around him.
“Oh wow!”
Eleanor looked up, stunned. It was Isolde.
A tall man entered with a striking black turtleneck, his long and sleek hair framed a classically beautiful face that blurred the line between masculine and feminine. His deep-set, midnight-black eyes sparkled, and his presence seemed to chill the air around him as if temperatures had dipped by several degrees.
This was the recently minted best actor, the man known as "The Celestial King" for his brooding performances—Isolde.
Even Vivienne rose to greet him, visibly trembling with excitement. “Mr. Bai! I can’t believe it’s you! I’m honored!”
“I can’t believe Mr. Bai is here—I'm fainting!” Sebastian squeaked.
“I can’t wait to work alongside you, Mr. Bai!” Margaret chimed in, practically swooning.
Meanwhile, Eleanor sat in the corner, silently staring at Isolde, a trail of bitter thoughts racing through his mind.
Hmph. Celestial King, my foot. He’s not all that good-looking—much less appealing than I am.
Just as he gripped the script so tightly his knuckles turned white with frustration, he missed the brief glance that Isolde cast his way—was that a flicker of hostile recognition? Surely not.

Chapter 4

In the room, Isolde lounged on the settee, sipping her tea with an impassive expression as she directed the question at her assistant, Tamsin.
Tamsin Alistair looked up from packing Isolde’s belongings. "I think his name is Eleanor. He’s an up-and-comer, not really known yet."
Isolde raised her dark, obsidian eyes, glinting with a hint of cold annoyance. "Oh, send a message to the production crew. Have them put him through some rigorous training tomorrow."
Alistair paused his packing, then lifted a brow, amusement flickering across his features. "He must have upset you."
To outsiders, Isolde appeared to be an ethereal being, someone untouched by the mundane—a celestial manager among mere mortals. Yet, few understood that she harbored a score to settle for every slight.
Indeed, though it may have negative connotations, ‘retribution’ was an apt descriptor for Isolde.
"That kid doesn’t know the first thing about reality. A little tough love won’t hurt him," Isolde replied coolly.
"Ah, no issue there! Young people certainly need some grounding, and society has a way of teaching those lessons," Alistair readily agreed, all while mentally lighting a candle for Eleanor: Good luck, kid.
Oblivious to the fact that he was being set up, Eleanor was in his own room, eating takeout. The crew’s food had been awful—too spicy for his taste—and having had a discerning palate in his previous life, he found himself starving after a day of unsatisfactory meals.
As he ate, he couldn’t help but worry: With his delicate preferences and no one like Gideon Hawthorne around to care for him this time, would he be able to manage on his own?
Still, anything was better than selling himself as a decoy again. No matter how hard this life turned out to be, he refused to be duped by Gideon Hawthorne once more.
The next morning dawned, and the production of "The Warm Hearth Show" was ready to roll.
The format of the show hinged around a restaurant, naturally. The producers had orchestrated a scenario in which the guests would serve as the staff, with Isolde stepping into the role of the restaurant manager who oversaw and evaluated everything. Their task was to help a sweet old gentleman find "the flavors of his memories."
The old man had reminisced about a certain dish he enjoyed in his youth—Dumplings of Delight—yet, he hadn’t been able to find anything like it since. He implored the staff to make him a bowl of those dumplings to help him rediscover that long-lost flavor.
However, they needed to earn their own funds to buy the ingredients.
The director laid out the rules, dividing them into three groups by drawing lots. Their money-making methods were either A: selling at the supermarket, B: a street vendor setup, or C: handing out flyers. They had to surpass a minimum of $100 to earn points—extra for each additional dollar beyond that.
Unsurprisingly, tasks A and B, especially street vending, would come easily to social media stars like Vivienne Woolsley and Sebastian, whileC, the flyer distribution, was the least desirable and most laborious task with the least payout. Everyone hoped to avoid that.
When it came time to form teams, Vivienne Woolsley chimed in, "We should pair the guys and girls for the heavier work, so the girls won’t be as burdened."
This was her moment to show off her chivalrous side, and Annabelle didn't want to be left behind—she readily agreed.
Before Eleanor could voice her thoughts, Sebastian exclaimed, "Great! I want to team up with Ewan. We work at the same company; I don’t want people thinking we’re just a clique, ha!"
Margaret laughed along, "Wow, then I’ll team up with Gaius. I’m so excited!"
Eleanor could only sigh...
In front of the cameras, Sebastian turned on the charm, reassuring Eleanor, "You’re incredible, don’t worry about going solo. Next time, we’ll team up."
Eleanor plastered on a forced smile, hiding her irritation. "Sure, I look forward to teaming up with you next time, Sebastian."
Hmph! Just because you didn’t choose me doesn’t mean I can’t manage on my own; just wait until I draw a winning lot that makes you regret it!
Then came the moment of truth—drawing lots.
Eleanor soon discovered she had indeed drawn a ticket for disaster—C, the flyer distribution.
Great, just great. How unfortunate could one be?
Alone with the task of handing out flyers, not only would it wear her out, but the earnings would be pitiful at best.
The camera zoomed in on Eleanor’s face, capturing an exaggerated mix of grievance and embarrassment, layered under a strained smile meant to mask her vexation.
Watching from the control panel, Isolde lowered her lashes slightly, concealing the flicker of disdain in her gaze.

Chapter 5

Eleanor slumped against a wall, feeling utterly drained.
The weather defied the season; though it was late autumn, today's bright sunshine seemed to blind him. No one recognized Eleanor as he handed out flyers on the street, blending in like any regular street vendor.
His calves ached, feet sore and hands trembling, while beads of sweat formed on his brow, threatening to ruin his carefully applied makeup. Why did he have to draw such a miserable assignment? It was exhausting and devoid of excitement, with pay that barely scratched the surface. He had finally landed an opportunity on a variety show, but if he didn’t stand out, the production team would surely cut his segments. By the time it aired, he’d be barely more visible than the crew in the background.
“I can’t take it anymore, I’m so tired!” he complained, crouching down with the thick stack of flyers, eyeing the camera like a pitiful puppy.
“Hey, camera guy, don’t you ever get tired of filming me?”
The camera wobbled slightly, as if acknowledging him.
Eleanor held a hand up to the lens. “Look! This paper is cutting into my skin. It hurts so much!”
The freshly printed sheets were sharp as blades, and he had sliced his hand without noticing.
The camera zoomed in on his pale, delicate fingers, which were smaller than most men's. As he opened his palm, there was a visible cut, a dot of dried blood staining the skin.
Just as he was about to let out another grievance, Gideon Hawthorne's voice echoed in his mind.
“... You have no talent, can't endure hardship, and you're hopelessly naïve. If it weren’t for the opportunities I’ve given you, you wouldn’t even be at this level. Be grateful your face resembles a celebrity.”
Right, he couldn’t keep behaving like this. If he was determined not to be a side character in someone else's story, he had to put in the work.
With a tight-lipped smile, he picked up the flyers again, adjusting his demeanor. He turned to an assistant with a pleaful look. “Oh, I just realized that this doesn't align with my cheerful, sunshiny persona. Sir Percival, could you please cut this part from the footage later?”
He clasped his hands together, adopting a soft tone. “Pretty please? I’ll treat you to something delicious afterward!”
Unabashed, he flirted with everyone.
Isolde observed this whole scene from behind the monitor, her deep, dark eyes icy. Suddenly inspired, she grabbed her phone, her slender fingers flying over the screen.
In moments, her expression turned cool as she glanced back at the monitor.
Eleanor received a nod from Sir Percival, who assured him the awkward segment would be cut. His spirits lifted, and he began distributing flyers with renewed vigor.
“By the way, Little Warmth,” Sir Percival called from outside the shot, “the production team wants to give you a little treat.”
“What is it?” he inquired, confusion lighting up his youthful face.
“They’ve noticed how hard you’ve been working with those flyers. How about you wear a dress while handing them out? We’ll give you two hundred bucks for it. Sound good?”
Eleanor's cheeks flamed red at the suggestion. “A dress?”
What was going through the production team's minds? Regardless of the show's viewership, the idea of wearing a dress in front of millions was humiliating.
He could only hope that nobody would actually tune in...

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