Chapter 5
That black business card had been lying quietly on my nightstand for three whole days.
Every night I would stare at it for a long time, imagining what would happen after dialing those numbers. But every time my fingers touched my phone, fear would take over my brain—I was still that girl with scars on her face, while he was an internationally renowned photographer.
Until the fourth morning, when my phone rang.
"Unknown number." I hesitated before answering.
"Scarlett? It's me, Liam." That familiar voice made my heart skip a beat instantly.
"How... how did you get my number?" I stammered nervously.
"Amy gave it to me, I hope you don't mind." His voice carried a careful tenderness, "I was thinking... if you have time, we could meet up and have a proper chat."
My hand holding the phone was trembling. He actually reached out to me first.
"I know a very quiet café with beautiful sunlight, you'll love it."
"I..." My voice was barely above a whisper, "Okay."
After hanging up, I sat on the edge of my bed for a full five minutes, phone still pressed to my ear. Was this real? Liam actually asked me out?
I jumped up suddenly and rushed to my closet. What should I wear? That black dress was too formal, jeans too casual... Finally I chose a simple white blouse with a navy blue skirt, looking fresh without trying too hard.
Standing in front of the mirror, I carefully applied my makeup. Concealer, foundation, blush... each step more meticulous than usual. Although the mask would cover most of it, I still wanted to look my best.
Before leaving, I checked myself one last time in the hallway mirror and took a deep breath.
"You can do this, Scarlett," I said to my reflection.
Driving to the café, my palms were sweating. Stopped at red lights, I kept adjusting my hair, worried about whether my mask was positioned properly. I even considered turning around and going home, but my foot honestly pressed the gas pedal forward.
Twenty minutes later, I sat in that downtown Los Angeles café, sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto our table. I nervously wore my mask, fingers unconsciously stirring the mint latte in front of me.
"You remembered I like mint lattes?" I asked quietly, my inner shock far exceeding my surface calm.
Liam smiled and nodded: "I remember all your preferences. You said mint tastes clean and makes you feel at peace."
My heart skipped a beat. After all these years, he still remembered what I had said?
"I always remembered you saying you wanted to learn makeup, and now you've really done it." His blue eyes held a tenderness I couldn't quite read.
"Just special effects makeup..." I lowered my head, "Can't compare to your achievements."
"Art has no hierarchy, I've seen your work online, it's wonderful."
I looked up sharply: "You... you've been following my work?"
"Of course." He said it matter-of-factly, "I've always been keeping an eye on you."
My brain went blank. He had been following me?
I did post some makeup tutorials and work photos on Instagram, but the comments were always mixed. While some praised my technique, there were more voices saying "With a face like that, makeup won't help" or "Fix your own face first before teaching others makeup."
Over time, I posted quietly, without many followers. I thought someone at Liam's level would never notice a nobody like me...
The next week felt like a high school dream come true.
Liam texted almost every day asking me out. Movie theaters, art galleries, beaches... each date location was carefully chosen. He always stood on my right side, shielding me from the sea breeze; when walking, he always let me walk on the inside while he stayed closer to the street.
What touched me most was that he never urged me to take off my mask, never even deliberately mentioned it.
"This feels just like high school," I couldn't help saying what was in my heart as we walked on Santa Monica Beach, "You're still that gentle boy."
"And you're still that special girl in my memory," he replied softly.
My face burned red under the mask. Maybe... maybe the difference in our status really wasn't an issue? Maybe we really had a chance?
This sweet illusion lasted a full week.
But on Wednesday of that week, things changed.
I was at home texting Liam when I suddenly saw an entertainment news push notification: "Liam Parker Officially Responds to Romance Rumors: Relationship with Anastasia Purely Professional"
I clicked on the news and saw Liam's official statement posted on Instagram:
"Thank you all for your attention to my work. To clarify, my relationship with Ms. Anastasia is indeed purely professional, please don't over-interpret it. I hope everyone can focus on the work itself rather than baseless speculation. Thank you for understanding."
The statement was concise and official, but the effect was immediate.
The comments section exploded:
"So Anastasia was just clout-chasing?"
"Hahaha talk about getting rejected, he doesn't like you at all!"
"That interview Anastasia did was so awkward, total wishful thinking!"
"I knew it, how could Liam fall for that kind of attention-seeker!"
Netizens even dug up details from Anastasia's previous interview videos, creating "cringe moment compilations," saying she was "unilaterally creating fake romance rumors."
Looking at these comments, my feelings were mixed. On one hand, I was happy that Liam had cleared things up, but on the other hand, I felt inexplicably sorry for Anastasia. After all, she was just being friendly during work and got mocked by the entire internet...
But none of this concerned me. What mattered was that Liam had actively clarified things. This meant he was serious, serious about our relationship.
I looked at his statement again, my heart full of sweetness and emotion.
Until that damned Friday night.
I was sitting on the floor of my small apartment, happily organizing photos from my week with Liam. Every picture made me want to smile—me wearing my mask, him looking tenderly at the camera, like scenes from a fairy tale.
My phone suddenly started buzzing frantically.
One, two, ten... Instagram notifications wouldn't stop.
I frowned and opened the app, then my whole world collapsed.
Blake's exposé appeared on the trending page with a shocking headline: "Exposing Famous Photographer Liam's Violent Past"
My hands began to tremble.
"Hello everyone, this is Blake. Today I'm revealing a shocking truth. The famous photographer Liam Parker, this man packaged by the media as a 'gentle artist,' brutally beat a classmate in high school while protecting a disfigured poor girl, causing the victim's nasal bone fracture with lasting effects."
Disfigured poor girl...
My blood instantly froze.
He was talking about me. Blake was talking about me!
I continued reading, growing more horrified. Blake even attached hospital diagnosis reports and a video showing the scar on his nose bridge, his voice trembling as he described the pain of "post-traumatic stress."
"I didn't want to speak up before, but seeing his success now, thinking there might be more innocent people who could be hurt by him, I can't stay silent anymore. People have the right to know what kind of person they're worshipping."
The comments section had exploded:
"OMG, Liam has this kind of dark history?"
"Who is that disfigured girl? Where is she now?"
"#LiamViolence everyone share this, we can't let violent people get away with it!"
I collapsed on the floor, my phone sliding from my hands.
My first thought was to run. Pack up immediately, leave Los Angeles, go somewhere no one knew me. But this thought was crushed by reality as soon as it emerged—I couldn't even afford next month's rent, where could I possibly escape to?
My second thought was to clarify. I could stand up and tell everyone the truth, tell them that Liam was protecting me, that Blake was the real villain. But immediately I imagined the consequences:
"So this is that disfigured girl?"
"Looking like that and still has the nerve to show up?"
"What does Liam even see in her? Misplaced sympathy?"
"Scar freak ruined our male god, get out of the entertainment industry!"
My hand touched the scar on my face, feeling the uneven skin even through the mask. Ten years had passed, I thought I was strong enough to face any malice. But thinking about thousands of strangers staring at my face and pointing fingers, I was still terrified and shaking all over.
What made me break down even more was—this was all because of me.
If I had been brave enough back then, if I had learned to fight back against Blake instead of just hiding, if I hadn't been so cowardly as to let Liam stand up for me... he wouldn't have this "violent history," wouldn't be calculated against at the peak of his career.
I saw that brands were already posting on their official accounts about "re-evaluating partnerships." The #LiamViolence hashtag was still trending, each retweet like salt on my wounds.
Four years. It took him four years to become an internationally famous photographer, and now, one post could destroy everything.
All because of me, this burden.
My phone chimed with a message from Liam:
"Scarlett, did you see the news online? Don't worry, I'll handle this."
Seeing this message, I completely broke down.
He was still comforting me, still protecting me, just like ten years ago. And what about me? I was just a coward, only hiding behind a mask, only causing him trouble.
I wanted to reply, wanted to tell him I wanted to clarify everything for him. But my fingers trembled on the screen, unable to type a word.
"I can't do it..." I sobbed to the empty room, "I really can't do it..."
Maybe this was fate. Someone like me was destined not to deserve beautiful things. I should have stayed away from him from the beginning, shouldn't have hoped for some fairy-tale romance.
I turned off my phone and threw it on the bed, curling up on the sofa.
"I'm sorry, Liam..." I whispered to the darkness, tears sliding down my cheeks, "I'm just a coward. I don't deserve your protection."