| Chapter 1
Thanaphatwanich Building, Bangkok
"Goodness! Look at that, girls. Miss Shanya is here to see the Boss again."
"Look, he's handing her something. Probably her allowance."
"Looks more like a box. Could it be those diamonds the secretary just ordered? And here I thought it was a birthday gift for Miss Sasithorn. Well, I never..."
The voices of the employees, huddled together in a gossiping swarm by the fourth-floor windows—just below the executive suite—chirped like a disturbed nest of sparrows as one o'clock approached. The group was a mix of men, women, and the queer community.
"Oh! Look at that parting hug. No shame at all, even out here in the open. If Madam Khaekhai or Miss Ni saw this, they'd blow a fuse."
"Saw what?"
The new voice, booming from behind, sent the small gathering into a panicked scatter. They whipped around to face a young man and woman who had just descended the stairs from the fifth floor, bypassing the elevator. Eyes darted away in a frantic blur, though many of the women couldn't help but steal glances at the tall, striking figure of the mixed-race man. He stepped away from Nisakorn to lean against the glass, hands tucked into his slacks, staring down at the parking lot—the source of the commotion—with a look of mild amusement.
The latest 'boyfriend' of Boss Bancha's daughter was a prominent businessman whose poise outshone every man in the room—even the A-list actors Nisakorn had dated in the past. Though he lacked the sugary affection she usually displayed with her exes, his presence was undeniable.
"Oh, it's nothing, Miss Ni. Are you back from lunch?" the bravest among them piped up.
"I'm dieting. I don't do lunch beyond a salad and half a boiled egg," Nisakorn said flatly, her eyes raking over her father's staff with a sharp, judgmental glint. "It's nearly one. Don't you all have work to do?"
"Going right now, Miss... Yes, on our way..."
Nearly a dozen employees scurried to clear a path for the elegant silhouette of Nisakorn Thanaphatwanich. The era's most celebrated leading lady stepped up to the glass, her expression turning icy as her father's subordinates fled down the stairs.
Below, a sleek white Audi sports car was pulling away.
Boss Bancha stood there, waving at the retreating car as if bidding a fond farewell before stepping into his own European sedan, held open by his chauffeur. On the other side, Bunphot, the family lawyer, slid into the back seat to join him. They were clearly heading off on business.
This wasn't the first time her father had shown such blatant disregard for her mother, Khaekhai. It had turned them into the laughingstock of servants and employees alike, leaving Nisakorn and her mother with nowhere to hide their shame.
Yet, of all the 'little houses' her father kept, none fueled her rage quite like the owner of that Audi.
Must she haunt every corner of my life? Is it not enough to be the third party in my career—must she be the third party in my family too?
Her beautiful face was taut with a simmering internal fire. Only when she caught the eye of the large man beside her did she attempt to stifle her temper. She offered him a wan, embarrassed smile.
"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to see something like this."
"Like this?"
"My father and... well, that mistress actress."
"I don't meddle in other people's private lives," the man replied softly.
"Still, I'm ashamed. My father, on the other hand, seems to have no shame at all—taking a girl his daughter's age as a kept woman."
"Perhaps it's a misunderstanding? I've seen Boss Bancha's advertisements; he hires many actresses as presenters."
"He hires this one for both the work and the bed," Nisakorn snapped, before freezing. Realizing she had overstepped, she added, "Forgive me. You have nothing to do with this, Wes."
"It's fine. I didn't even notice which actress it was," he said, pacifying her.
If the listener didn't understand the implication—or perhaps chose not to—she wasn't going to let it slide.
"Her name is Shanya. Phutphitchaya. She's at the same station as I am."
"Mhm." The man, who never followed entertainment news, offered only a non-committal hum. "The one in the period drama currently airing?"
"You watch it?"
The leading lady narrowed her eyes as if searching for a lie, making him let out a hearty laugh.
"Grandpa keeps the TV on during meals. I've caught glimpses," he said, telling only half the truth.
The reality was the housemaids, who were hopelessly addicted to the drama, had asked to keep the TV on while attending the dining table. Eventually, his grandfather had started watching along.
"Lord Anant? Watching prime-time soaps?" Nisakorn exclaimed.
The image of Lord Anant Damrongkrittaphas—the former chairman of DP Group, a seventy-year-old patriarch who, despite handing the reins to his only grandson years ago, still commanded absolute fear and respect—hardly fit the profile of a soap opera fan. It was said that even cabinet ministers showed him deep deference. A man of his stature wasn't supposed to consume the entertainment of the working class and housewives.
"Grandpa likes the TV for company while he reads or helps me look over company documents."
His eyes crinkled with a smile as he spoke, as if it were a trivial detail.
The actress looked relieved. "I see. Shall we go then?"
"You can drop me here, Ni. My car is parked just downstairs."
"I don't mind walking you. You were kind enough to take me to lunch."
"A single egg salad hardly qualifies as a meal."
To his grandfather, that would have been called an 'offering to the gods' instead.
'She eats like a ghost. How does she have the strength to work?' Lord Anant had once grumbled after seeing the tiny portions Nisakorn consumed at a product launch event where he'd hired her. In truth, Wesley should have called him 'Grandfather' or 'Gong,' but he'd picked up the habit of calling him 'Grandpa' from his younger cousin, Ploynapat.
"Still, I'd like to see you to your car."
The ringing of his mobile phone cut through the conversation. He pulled the device out to check the screen.
"An important call. We'll talk later, Nisakorn."
He gave her a slight nod, answered the call, and headed straight for the elevator. There was no trace of lingering or any desire for her to follow him, as other men usually did. He left Nisakorn staring after him, her expression one of longing.
She'd had many boyfriends. Some relationships were intimate, following the modern way of dating. Yet, Nisakorn always maintained her composure and guarded her image carefully. She was confident that if given the chance... she could handle him.
Phanthakant Wesley Damrongkrittaphas might be as majestic and formidable as a young tiger—blessed with both wealth and power—and high society knew well that he never bowed to any woman. Beyond fleeting dalliances, he never committed.
But she was the daughter of Boss Bancha and Madam Khaekhai. Her lineage and status were second to none, and she was one of the country's top leading ladies. What man could possibly reject her? Unless...
A flicker of a memory from the past caused the embers of her rage to reignite.
A slender yet curvaceous figure, draped in a form-fitting dress that accentuated every curve, stepped out of her white Audi sports car. She had just returned from a job upcountry and had to honk twice before anyone came to open the gate.
The actress looked up at the magnificent Siwaratchaphakdee mansion and sighed, wondering if the person she was looking for was still inside at this late hour.
The word was that Watshon had been brought along to a bachelor party hosted by the city's most notorious high-society playboy—the owner of this very house—for his large circle of friends.
She had been friends with 'Namfon' or Watshon since they first entered the industry through music videos five years ago, back when they were students at a top state university. Now, at nearly twenty-six, she was a full-fledged actress—one of the station's top villains, never lacking for work.
But Watshon, who had been given more opportunities as a lead in her first drama, which had been a massive hit, should have had a brilliant path. Instead, her work had dwindled to minor roles over the last two years. Whenever she made the news, it was usually scandalous gossip—blind items about being a 'sugar baby,' drug use, or sex work.
It all started when a blurred video surfaced of a woman resembling the leading lady in a tryst with a sugar daddy old enough to be her father.
That man had a perfect family, and his name was highly respected. To make matters worse, the young actor who was Watshon's boyfriend broke up with her around the same time, leading everyone to believe the rumors were true. The result was a social ban. Despite denials from everyone involved, the station and various advertisers pulled her work, unable to withstand the social outcry.
Affairs—especially the issue of the 'third party'—are a sensitive topic in Thai society. People often judge immediately that the 'third party' is the villain. What was worse was that afterward, leaked photos showed Watshon meeting the same man several times.
However, Phutphitchaya, who had been a close friend, knew the full truth behind the scandal and felt a deep, heartbreaking pity for the former leading lady.
Some images look repulsive, but the 'truth' can be many times worse.
The 'third party' might actually be the 'victim' in real life.
Because of that, Phutphitchaya Sukonthi—or Shanya—had followed her here after helping solve the problems Watshon had created many times before. If this time her friend refused to answer a famous producer's call, her path in the industry would only grow dimmer, and the light might eventually go out for good.
"Sorry I'm late. I thought no one else was coming. Oh! Miss Shanya."
The voice came after the massive front gates of the mansion swung open. It belonged to the security guard whose job was to check names from invitations and manage the parking for guests. He had just returned from the restroom after hearing the long honk.
The guard stared at her, stunned. Even though dozens of beautiful actresses had arrived earlier, none were as striking as the woman stepping out of the car to stand before him now. She was so beautiful that the TV screen didn't do justice to the real person, who was twice as radiant.
"Hello. I thought no one was coming out," Phutphitchaya greeted him, offering a friendly smile.
The guard looked awkward but didn't forget his duty. "Miss Shanya, your name isn't on the list Mr. Wat gave me."
The 'Mr. Wat' he referred to was Wasawat Siwaratchaphakdee, the owner of this grand mansion and the host of the party.
He was a legendary figure in society, the only son of M.R. Warinrampai and her foreign partner, who later remarried Lord Saratch Siwaratchaphakdee—one of Thailand's top billionaires, a Southerner who had built a fortune across various trades.
"I'm just dropping by to see a friend. Her name is Watshon," she said softly, far from her on-screen villain persona. She used her 'industry' nickname to create a sense of familiarity and accessibility. "I don't know if she's still inside. I have something important to discuss with her."
"Ah, I'm not sure. We have two people on duty out front today, but I think Miss Watshon hasn't left yet."
The listener let out a breath of relief. "Could you take me to see her?"
"My duty is out here," the guard said apologetically. "So I don't know which room she's in."
"I assume everyone would be in the banquet hall."
The guard hesitated. The iron rule of this house was to never gossip about the master, even though he had a vague idea of what was happening.
"Mr. Wat opens rooms for his friends to stay over when he hosts parties. At this late hour, the guests who are still here usually stay the night."
"Just let me in. I'll find her myself."
"Normally, he doesn't allow uninvited outsiders inside. Because once there were reporters..."
"I'm an actress, not a reporter," she laughed. "You can search my bag first if you like."
"Er, I know that. Why don't you try calling Miss Watshon first, Miss Shanya?"
"I've been trying since this evening. Namfon probably left her phone somewhere or the battery died. I'm truly anxious. If I don't see her, she'll be in a lot of trouble. Can't you make an exception just this once?"
Her pleading eyes made the employee's heart melt, though he was still mindful that defying orders could easily cost him his job.
"Let me go in and ask Mr. Wat first."
"Then let's go in together. I'm sure he'll allow it."
"All right then. Oh, you can call me Sakol."
After introducing himself, Sakol pulled the radio from his belt to hand off his post to a colleague patrolling the back of the house. He explained briefly that there was an unexpected guest, while Phutphitchaya waited calmly, despite her growing anxiety.