Chapter 3

Stella POV

Backstage in the dressing room for "Exes Roast Night," the atmosphere was tense.

Serena swept in, surrounded by a crowd.

She wore a flowing white gown, her makeup flawless. Seeing me, she offered a sweet, gentle smile.

"Long time no see, Stella. I never thought we'd meet again under these circumstances."

She said, pushing a brand-new Hermès Birkin box towards me. "I know you're a little tight on money lately. Consider this a welcome gift. Also, Julian is, after all, the face of the company. On the show, please... show some discretion."

The surrounding staff quietly watched, their gazes fixed on me.

I didn't even bat an eyelid. Instead, I leisurely unwrapped the package and took out this 'limited edition' handbag.

My fingers ran over the stitching, then I leaned in to sniff the leather, like a picky quality inspector.

A few seconds later, I let out a soft laugh and tossed the bag casually back onto the table, where it landed with a soft thud.

"Ms. Thompson," I finally looked up at her, my voice cold, "not only are you a relic, but even your gifts are knock-offs. This kind of stitching and leather-are you worried people won't notice your cheap eagerness to climb the social ladder?"

Her face instantly drained of color.

Audible gasps rippled through the room.

Just as the atmosphere froze, a staff member in a uniform and a baseball cap walked over, carrying a walkie-talkie. He spoke to Serena's assistant. "Excuse me, there's a problem with the equipment in dressing room three. Ms. Thompson, please move to seven."

Number seven was a cramped, dimly lit storage room at the end of the hall.

Serena's body trembled slightly, but she could only pack her things and leave.

Under everyone's undisguised stares, she hurried away with her entourage.

The young staff member tidied the table. As he passed me, he paused and, in a voice only I could hear, said, "Looking forward to your trash sorting performance."

I froze, and by the time I looked up, I only saw his retreating back. Beneath the brim of his cap, a pair of smiling eyes seemed to hide.

Five minutes later, the live broadcast officially began.

As the first guest, I walked onto the stage under the blinding spotlights.

I ignored the carefully prepared, tame jokes on the teleprompter. I gripped the microphone, and my first sentence instantly silenced the room.

"Hello everyone, I am Stella. Today I want to talk about something. It is about how incredibly foolish a business elite can become when afflicted with a severe case of love blindness."

The entire hall erupted.

"When my ex husband was pursuing his first love, he once broadcast love declarations for seven consecutive days on the largest commercial screen in the city center. He thought it was the pinnacle of romance. To his company's employees, however, it was a public disgrace that directly caused the company's stock price to fall three points that week. All of it was due to the CEO's questionable judgment."

A wave of laughter and applause burst from the audience.

I shifted my tone, my voice turning sharper. "But the real gems were his true love's classic lines. Like, 'I didn't mean to hurt you; I just didn't know how to reject him.' Translation: 'I had options, but I went for the fattest wallet first.'"

I dissected every piece of that calculated ambiguity, translating it into plain, brutal honesty. Every line landed perfectly.

That was when a commotion erupted backstage.

I knew it. Julian couldn't tolerate his private affairs and scandals being exposed like this to a national audience.

I looked up, a smile curving on my lips as I faced the camera, my voice clearly amplified through the microphone to fill the venue and the live stream.

"See? The person I just roasted is probably trying to cut the power right now."