The lights were too bright. Even through the tinted lenses of his designer sunglasses, they burned. Even with the full coverage makeup layered perfectly on his skin, he could feel every bead of sweat sliding down his spine. A hundred reporters. A thousand flashes. And not a single person who really saw him.
He sat alone at the center of the press table, posture composed, face unreadable. In front of him, the name placard simply read:
Xiao Zhiyan — Actor
He wasn't there to defend himself. He already knew no one would believe him. They never had. The scandal had nothing to do with him. It was an old co-star. A string of harassment allegations. And somehow, by virtue of being friendly to him on camera two years ago, he had become part of the narrative.
But the truth was darker. The company CEO—powerful, ruthless—had carefully engineered this mess. His own cousin brother was the real predator. But no one touched him. Because family came first.
The omega had never bowed to the unspoken rules. He didn't "slip" or "stay silent" or "play the game." That alone made him a target.
"Industry protects itself." "Actors like him always know." "He smiled too much in that interview."
He hadn't even opened social media in days. His manager had begged him not to. Still, he had seen the headlines. And he knew how quickly this could destroy everything.
A question snapped him back.
"Mr. Xiao," a voice called from the front row. "Do you deny knowing about the allegations?"
His voice came out smoothly—trained, careful. "I had no knowledge of any misconduct. I was not involved, directly or indirectly. I support a full investigation and stand with the victims."
The reporter pushed, "Then why did you attend the after-party with him—"
"That party was organized by the studio," Xiao Zhiyan interrupted, still polite, still empty. "There were over 60 staff members present. That one photo does not imply loyalty or friendship."
Another voice. Another accusation.
His heart thudded steadily behind his ribs. But he didn't flinch. He wasn't the 17-year-old boy who used to tremble under spotlights. He wasn't the 19-year-old who flinched every time someone touched his arm too long. And he wasn't the 21-year-old who stood in front of a mirror and whispered, I'm going to be fine, even as his hands shook.
He was 25 now. An industry darling. An actor respected enough to be cast in leads without auditioning. And he was still just an omega the world saw as something else—tall, sharp, composed. They thought he was an Alpha, or at least a Beta. No one ever asked. So he never told.
He paused between questions. From the corner of his eye, through the folds of the velvet stage curtain, he saw it. A shadow. Still. Broad-shouldered. Jaw tight.
Wang Siyuan.
Even from a distance, he could feel it—that unbearable heat in his chest. The one that came only from him. Their eyes met. Just for a second. And then the shadow stepped back. Gone.
His throat felt tight, but he cleared it before speaking again.
"I've decided," he said, "to take an indefinite leave from work."
Cameras clicked. Reporters gasped.
"This is not an admission of guilt," he continued, voice unwavering. "It's a choice to let the noise die down without adding more fuel. I thank my fans, my agency, and those who've supported me quietly."
Especially you, he didn't say.
He stood, bowed low. Almost too long. As if memorizing the moment. Then he turned. Walked.
Backstage, the world became quiet—the roar of questions and camera shutters swallowed by the soundproof curtain behind him. He kept walking. Past his manager, who didn't speak. Past the team of stylists, who avoided his eyes. Past the place where Wang Siyuan had stood just moments ago.
His chest ached. His steps were steady.
He reached the back exit, stepped into the car waiting for him, and sank into the leather seat like a man finally allowed to fall apart. In the silence, his fingers hovered over the folded paper in his jacket pocket. A letter. He had planned to give it to Siyuan that day. It wasn't long. Just a few words. But it would've changed everything.
He closed his eyes and pressed the letter against his heart instead.
He would keep the truth to himself. For now.