"Wait—hold on!"

A girl in a sailor uniform stumbled her way into the elevator, her limbs almost flailing as she pried the doors open. Once inside, she kept her head down, mumbling to herself while circling the buttons. "Huh? Where's the eighth floor...?"

Her face was flushed red, her eyes unfocused—a mix of drunkenness and that charming uniform somehow gave off a completely different vibe.

"It's already pressed," a calm, icy voice broke the awkward silence.

Startled, the girl blinked, finally noticing there was another person in the elevator—a man.

His messy bangs casually fell onto his forehead, giving off a lazy sort of air, but beneath them, his eyes were cold, sharp, almost piercing, like stars in a wintry night sky. His thin lips pressed into a tight line, his expression clearly not pleased.

The girl giggled awkwardly. "You... you're kinda... kinda good-looking for a little thing... hic..."

A wave of alcohol hit him.

The man frowned just slightly, barely perceptible.

"I'm Isabella Carter. Let's be friends..." Before she could finish, Isabella wobbled and suddenly toppled toward him.

She felt the firmness of his arm catch her—a solid, almost grounding presence against her. The coolness of his skin touched hers, and a fleeting surge of heat ignited inside her, spreading almost instinctively. It was like some invisible force was driving her, making her unwilling to part from the man. Instead, both her hands clung tightly around his neck, and she pressed her flushed cheeks against his chest. The coolness of his body brought her overheated face a fleeting moment of relief.

"So comfy..." Isabella Carter mumbled, her words slurred, practically hanging off the man.

Ethan Adams' brows furrowed tightly as he tried to pry her hands away. To his surprise, this seemingly frail girl had quite a grip! His expression turned colder by the second, irritation and anger nearly bursting to the surface. He barely managed to contain himself through sheer willpower.

Meanwhile, neither of them noticed that in the security room, someone was recording the surveillance footage on their phone.

"I was just going for some dirt on the 'innocent' author, and now this lucky bonus fell into my lap!" The man behind the camera smirked smugly before making a call with another phone.

"Get the reporters ready. I'll bring them over soon..."

Before long, the elevator gave a soft "ding."

"We're here," Ethan said curtly, shoving Isabella away.

But she stumbled forward almost instinctively, refusing to let him go. Her mind was hazy, her body burning—she felt unbearably restless and suffocated.

Ethan finally stopped to unlock a door.

Isabella leaned against the wall nearby, her half-lidded eyes glistening faintly. "You... live on this floor too?" Her voice was soft and unsteady.

The air around Ethan grew colder, his patience thinning with every passing second.At this moment, Isabella Carter was utterly clueless. She cluelessly wrapped her arms around the man from behind. “You smell so good… so cool and comforting… mmm…”

She couldn't seem to get enough. Her hands roamed over the man, her restlessness evident.

As the door opened, she stumbled inside first, hooking her arms around the man’s neck, pulling him along. With a heavy slam, the door closed behind them.

Ethan Adams shut his eyes and exhaled slowly, visibly reining in his urge to explode. He kept reminding himself not to lose it, not to act impulsively.

Drunk antics? Fine, he’d sober her up.

Dragging her along, half-pushing and half-pulling, Ethan brought her into the shower room. Without hesitation, he shoved her under the showerhead. Cold water poured down over her. Isabella jolted as the shock of the cold brought her partially back to her senses. The fiery sensation coursing through her body began to cool. Leaning feebly against the bathroom wall, she blinked at the man in confusion. “Who… are you?”

Ethan’s expression was cold and sharp, his gaze cutting like a blade. He spoke slowly and deliberately: “What you’re doing right now qualifies as unlawful entry into someone else’s home. And your actions towards me earlier count as harassment. If I decide to press charges, you’d be looking at up to three years in jail or detention.”

“I’m giving you one last chance. Three minutes. Get out. Or deal with the consequences.”

Ethan felt like he had just drained every ounce of his lifetime’s patience delivering that warning. He shouldn't have moved here, plain and simple.

And yet, his assistant had the audacity to keep assuring him over and over about the "exceptional security of this neighborhood."

What Ethan Adams didn't expect was that the second he said those words, Isabella Carter suddenly burst into tears, catching him completely off guard.

"Why are you so mean..." Her voice came out muffled, almost inaudible, "Do I look that easy to push around?! Fine, go ahead! Sue me if you want! I worked so hard on my writing, pulling all-nighters just to update more chapters. Sitting in front of the computer every day, I feel like I'm turning into one myself! And just when I finally started to make some progress... but..."

Ethan turned off the showerhead, his cold gaze fixed on her, showing no signs of sympathy.

"Why are they saying I plagiarized? I didn’t! I really didn’t! If they’re so confident, let them make one of those color-coded comparison charts!" Isabella cried louder, her voice shaking with frustration. "Which part of my storyline or characters was supposedly copied?! Even if it goes to court, I’m not scared! But hiring fake accounts, manipulating public opinions against me—that's just dirty, underhanded tactics..."

"Everyone's tearing me apart, even the readers don’t believe me anymore...!"

"Are they all brainless or what?!"

"The characters and stories I’ve spent sleepless nights creating—they mean the world to me..." "Today... I, I went to the writer's conference... They looked down on me, wouldn't even sit at the same table. Some even said straight to my face that I don't deserve to write books..."

Isabella Carter buried her face in her hands, curling up into a small ball.

Her cries gradually softened, but her body kept trembling nonstop. Her voice was hoarse, yet the tears wouldn't stop flowing down her cheeks.

"Everything I worked so hard for... it's all ruined."

"All ruined..."

Her sobs grew louder again.

Ethan Adams, standing nearby, had a look that constantly shifted. A barely audible sigh escaped him, and a flicker of compassion crossed his eyes. Without saying much, he picked up the drenched Isabella: "Let's get you into some dry clothes."

Isabella suddenly seemed to feel uncomfortably warm.

Leaning against Ethan's shoulder, she muttered, "I'm so thirsty... Why is it that being near you feels so strange? Sometimes it's nice, sometimes it's just hot... It's unbearable..."

Ethan paused mid-step.

These kinds of tricks—not something he'd been through personally, but he’d heard enough to recognize them. Judging by what she'd said earlier, it seemed like she'd drunk too much because of her mood and ended up being drugged...

The last trace of irritation in his eyes faded, replaced with resignation.

He carried Isabella to the guest room and put her down on the bed. Grabbing one of his shirts, he placed it nearby for her to change into.

Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Ethan Adams rubbed his temples, feeling a little dazed as he opened the door. The moment he did, a swarm of reporters surrounded him, throwing rapid-fire questions his way:

“What’s your relationship with Isabella Carter? She portrays this sweet, youthful image online, but now her behavior seems bold and chaotic. What’s your take on that? Do you think her real-life personality is far from the one she shows online? Are you her boyfriend or someone she just hooked up with? Are you aware of the plagiarism accusations against her?”

“What’s your comment on all this?”

The leading reporter’s expression was hard to read, but there was a sinister glint in his eyes behind those glasses.

Ethan squinted, sensing something off. Without hesitation, he slammed the door shut with a loud bang, cutting off the noise completely.

What the hell.

This woman was nothing but trouble.

Ignoring the persistent knocking outside, Ethan grabbed his phone and quickly searched for “Isabella Carter.” The first autofill suggestion that popped up was “Isabella Carter plagiarism scandal,” followed by a string of other terms like “Isabella Carter scandal photos,” “Isabella Carter fake innocent image,” and “How many men has Isabella Carter slept with?”

A writer? She was practically being treated like a celebrity.

Ethan pursed his lips and opened a few links and comment sections. That perpetually stoic face of his began to darken with irritation.

Online anonymity was really something that needed to be dealt with.The online comments about Isabella Carter were downright vicious, enough to make one's skin crawl.

They photoshopped her obituary, told her to drop dead, cursed her and her family, and someone even boasted on social media about getting her address to send her a funeral wreath—completely shameless!

For argument's sake, even if Isabella had actually plagiarized something, it’s morally wrong, but come on, she didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

Nobody does.

The sheer malice of it all struck Ethan Adams like a punch to the chest, a bitter reminder of how powerless he was in the face of such cruelty.

In this world, criminal acts like murder and arson are punished by law, but what about verbal violence?

A dark shadow lingered in Ethan’s eyes, as if he couldn't shake off the heaviness pressing on his heart.