Chapter 6
That night, I was almost completely sleepless.
My mind kept replaying those chat screenshots—Berenice's profile in the dim cinema light, playing on her phone, that ridiculous line about "the lens language being very linguistic?", and her casual lie after returning: "The overall vibe was great."
By 3 a.m., I was still mechanically sketching lines on my drawing board, trying to numb the turbulent pain raging inside me. But the storyline of "The Dreamers" felt stuck.
Maria's eyes, just like mine, were filled with confusion and pain, unable to find direction.
Right then, sounds came from the next room again.
Not sleep-talking, but the kind of voice I’d become all too familiar with—deliberately hushed, reciting lines as if from a script.
But tonight, that voice was filled with barely suppressed irritation and frustration.
"...The artistic value of charity projects lies in... lies in... Dammit, what’s the line again?!"
Paper was flipped forcefully, making a sharp, rustling noise.
"...Focusing on marginalized communities can enhance brand image... No, that sounds too calculating..."
Then a longer silence, followed by a low, stifled yet perfectly clear growl of resentment:
"Why?! Why was it so easy for that girl Candice in the previous life to talk to him so deeply?! I have all the answers and memories now, I know his preferences, I know the standard responses, so why did I still mess it up?! Why did he look at me with that ‘what-a-weirdo’ expression?!"
The charcoal pencil in my hand snapped with a sharp crack, its shards digging into my fingertip.
I leaned against the cold wall, my heart feeling as if it had been struck hard by that growl.
Berenice has complete memories of her past life. She knows what Adrian likes, what to say, even all the "standard answers"...
And yet she still failed? And failed so miserably? Adrian looked at her like she was a "monster"?
Then, in my past life... was it really just because she didn’t go that I "luckily" succeeded?
Or was the reason for success never about "who got the ticket first," but about "who was the one that could truly resonate with him"?
This thought was like a dangerous bolt of lightning, instantly illuminating a dark corner I had deliberately ignored.
No! I can’t think like this! I dug my nails sharply into my palm. It was my fault in the past life! I shouldn’t have taken Berenice's place to meet Adrian!
Right now, she just needs more time to adjust, needs more practice... Even though her practice sounds more like a disastrous recitation.
Yes, it must be that. I tried to convince myself, but the voice in my heart was so weak I couldn't even believe it myself.
The next afternoon, I was at the comic studio trying to focus, but it was useless.
My phone vibrated—a message from Berenice. Every word radiated her determination to regroup:
[Candice, Adrian asked me to check out a prep exhibition for a charity art project! This time, I have to do well! I can’t mess up again!]
I tried to make my reply sound supportive, but my fingers were stiff and uncooperative: [Go for it, Berenice! Just be well-prepared!]
But the moment I hit send, that familiar, nauseating feeling of being an accomplice surged up again.
Putting my phone down, an unprecedented sense of anxiety seized me. I could almost foresee another disaster happening.
Maya noticed my restlessness. She put down her brush and looked at me seriously. "Candice? You're doing it again. What are you worried about this time? Worried she'll ask 'how much can this thing sell for?' at the charity exhibition?"
"Maya!" I hurriedly stopped her, but my voice was too weak to hold any conviction. "Berenice is just... she just needs to learn more..."
"Learn?" Maya's expression turned serious, even carrying a hint of pity. "Candice, stop deceiving yourself. Do you really believe someone who only calculates ROI in their bones can suddenly, genuinely understand the true meaning of charitable art? A disguise might fool people for a while, but it definitely can’t fool them forever. Especially when facing someone like Adrian Mitchell, who has real ideals and insight. I doubt it."
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because a voice deep inside was frantically agreeing with Maya.
In the evening, exhausted, I returned home. Just as I pulled out my keys, I heard the sound of a phone conversation inside.
It was Berenice. Her tone was rapidly switching from fake sweetness to extreme impatience.
"...What? Investing in an art program for homeless children? Adrian, can we talk about something more practical? This kind of project is clearly a loss leader for publicity. Why would we do such a thankless task?"
A low, insistent voice came from the other end. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could sense the speaker's seriousness.
Berenice's voice suddenly rose, filled with incomprehensible irritation. "Isn't the standard of success making money and expanding influence? Isn't investment all about return? Adrian, that’s so naive! There are so many big commercial films we could invest in. Why are you so stuck on this?"
There was an even longer silence on the other end. A kind of icy disappointment, almost palpable enough to penetrate the door, seeped through.
I leaned against the cold doorframe, feeling as if the whole world was shattering beneath my feet.
The Adrian from my past life—his biggest dream and pride was using the power of art and capital to help neglected communities. His most cherished projects were those "unprofitable but deeply meaningful" ones...
He once said that was his responsibility and honor as a creator and investor.
And now, Berenice actually... used "thankless task" and "so stuck on this" to describe the ideals he held dear?
"Whatever. Think it over carefully." Berenice's tone was full of unconcealed impatience. "I'm going to take a shower now. We'll talk later."
The dial tone sounded after she hung up.
Immediately after, I clearly heard her loud, no-longer-concealed complaint in her room. Every word pierced through the door like an ice pick:
"Such a waste of breath! Another one of these stupid, do-gooder, brainless projects! Having money not to make but to do charity? Is he out of his mind! No wonder he had to hide his identity in the past life. Who would believe he's the Mitchell family heir with ideas like that?!"
I couldn’t listen anymore.
I rushed into my room, locked the door behind me, and slid down against it, my body shaking uncontrollably.
So in her eyes, the core of Adrian's values and dreams was him being "out of his mind"?
All this time, what exactly have I been "enabling"? And what "sin" have I been trying to atone for?
Trembling, I reopened my phone. The screen's light stung my eyes in the dark. Subconsciously, I clicked on my own Instagram again, my gaze lingering on the post about "The Dreamers" from yesterday.
Suddenly, my breath caught.
A new comment lay there quietly. The commenter's username made my heart stop—JustDreaming_LA.
His profile picture was a silhouette against the Los Angeles sunset.
[JustDreaming_LA: The story of Maria in 'The Dreamers' is deeply moving. One can feel the sincere care and power in your brushstrokes. Works focusing on the survival of those at the bottom of society are especially precious today. Thank you for creating this.]
I read those lines over and over, my fingers icy, my blood feeling like it was flowing backward.
He... he actually saw it? And he looked so carefully? He said "Thank you for your creation"...
He said he felt "sincerity" and "power."
But the next second, immense guilt doused me like ice water.
What was I doing? Was I feeling a shred of shameful joy because of his recognition? He's Berenice's boyfriend now! How could I feel like this?
This is a double betrayal!