Su Rui stared at her phone screen, her finger hovering just above the headline.
"Top Star Su Rui in Vegetative State—Agent Delayed News Release for Two Weeks"
The woman in the photo didn't look like her.
Not the poised, glowing version from her magazine covers. Not the confident woman that had once walked through flashing cameras like she owned every step.
This woman was pale, her cheeks sunken, lips dry, lifeless.
And yet… it was her body.
The body she had meticulously maintained with diets, massages, and rehearsals—now lying still on a hospital bed, stripped of all glamour.
Su Rui had thought the fall on the red carpet was just a bad accident. She thought waking up in a different body was some absurd twist of fate.
But now she realized—
She hadn't come back.
The world had gone on, assuming she was gone.
She scrolled down to read the article's details:
"Insiders reveal that Su Rui has remained unconscious for nearly two weeks since the red carpet incident. Her long-time agent, Li Jie, reportedly suppressed the news to protect her brand, assuming she would recover quickly. However, due to recent deterioration and mounting pressure from the hospital, the matter was finally disclosed to the public."
"Doctors confirm the actress is currently in a low-response vegetative state. Prognosis remains uncertain."
Su Rui's hand began to shake. Her knuckles turned white.
So Li Jie knew all along.
And still, she chose to keep the world in the dark—not for Su Rui's sake, but for "the image," the legacy, the metrics.
A dry laugh caught in her throat.
If she texted Li Jie now—"I'm alive. I'm here."—would anyone believe her?
Would they even want to?
Outside the supply room, chatter broke out.
"Did you guys see the news? That Su Rui—finally burned out, huh? Drama queen turned vegetable. Karma's real."
"My cousin worked her show once. She snapped at people like they were trash. Heard she made two assistants cry in a single day."
"Remember those dating scandals? One after another. Homewrecker. And now? Hospital food, every day."
"Apparently, the news was ready way earlier. Her agent kept it buried to avoid backlash. Guess the hospital couldn't cover for them anymore."
Their words stung more than any online comment section ever could.
Because these weren't strangers—they were coworkers.
People she passed in the hallway, who shared a microwave with her, who once helped her carry a mop bucket.
Su Rui stood frozen behind the door.
Her breathing was shallow. Her temples throbbed.
She almost—almost—stepped out.
Almost screamed, "You don't know me. You don't know what I gave up!"
Her foot was already raised.
But then… she stopped.
Not worth it.
That voice in her mind—cold, dry, and steady—cut through everything.
She lowered her foot. Slowly returned to the bench inside the cleaning supply room.
Lunch arrived not long after, but she didn't even lift the lid.
The smell of chicken, soy sauce, and rice meant nothing. It belonged to a different world now.
Her stomach began to twist, but she forced herself to keep working.
Until suddenly, the pain stabbed through her gut like a blade. She dropped to her knees, barely catching herself against the wall.
"Lin Aunty?! Lin Aunty, are you okay?!"
Voices rose in panic.
Footsteps rushed toward her. Someone yelled for HR, another for a car.
"She's clutching her stomach! Not her chest—get the emergency kit!"
The noise grew distant, muffled, like underwater echoes.
In her spinning vision, a sentence from the article replayed:
"Su Rui remains unresponsive to external stimuli, her consciousness uncertain."
She was staring at someone else.
But she knew—it was her.
Everything went black.
Her body had spoken.
Louder than any tabloid.
This was not a coincidence. It was a warning.
And a deadline.