On the day the Cannes Film Festival ended, it coincided with the funeral of an old friend. Pictures of Luke Smith attending the funeral with his child went viral on the internet.

In the photo, Luke was holding the hand of a little girl, about three or four years old. She had a remarkably beautiful oval face, and when she smiled, two sweet dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth.

Luke publicly stated that she was his daughter.

The media quickly noticed that this little girl's smile bore a striking resemblance to my younger self, even down to the angle of her arched eyebrows.

Rumors had long circulated that Luke's current wife couldn't conceive.

The media immediately thought of me because, before Luke married his current wife, our names were always linked together, and our past was widely covered in the headlines.

'Luke Smith and Hazel Jones's passionate car kiss'

'Luke Smith and Hazel Jones spotted together in Iceland'

'Luke Smith accompanies Hazel Jones to the film festival'

Our sweet past had now transformed into icy daggers, piercing the most delicate layers of my heart.

It wasn't until later, when the headline 'Luke Smith and Hazel Jones Airport Argument' went viral, that we became the top trending topic of the year.

That marked our last public appearance. The public's speculation about our relationship remained uncertain. At that time, most were just bystanders, mocking my initial audacity in trying to climb the social ladder in this city, ultimately leading to my own downfall.

As time went on, opinions shifted unpredictably. Few remember that when news of my relationship with Luke Smith first came out, it was these same people who filled screens with phrases like "perfect couple" and "storybook romance."

However, fiction always stays fiction, and the harsh reality before us is the undeniable truth.

"Ms. Jones, we've heard that you broke up with Mr. Smith just over a month ago, and shortly after, he announced his engagement. Could you share your thoughts on this?"

"Ms. Jones, there have been rumors that Mrs. Smith is unable to conceive. Can you confirm whether you are indeed the biological mother of Mr. Smith's daughter?"

"Ms. Jones, we've heard that you shared a mutual friend with Mr. Smith at the funeral. You chose not to attend the funeral. Was it to avoid encountering Mr. Smith, or is there more to the story?"

"Mr. Smith publicly stated that you two had an amicable breakup, yet there haven't been any public sightings of you together since. Is there a hidden secret that the public is unaware of?"

The barrage of questions assaulted my ears like a blizzard, causing my eardrums to buzz. My manager stood in front of me, fending off the reporters who surged forward like a tidal wave. "We won't be answering any personal questions. Please focus on Hazel's work," my manager declared.

Surrounded by security guards, I was escorted to the waiting car parked by the roadside. We were encircled by a tight security cordon, and the reporters couldn't squeeze their way in.

Then, a voice rang out loudly, "Hazel, I heard you're getting engaged next month. Will this affect your engagement plans?"

I came to a gradual halt, fixing my gaze on the reporter who had posed the question. I recognized her; she was a frequent figure in the world of tabloids, known for her sharp and probing inquiries. My manager, Susan, had advised me to steer clear of her if possible.

Her stare was penetrating, as if she could see right through my thoughts and shatter my self-esteem.

"I'm not well-acquainted with Mr. Smith, so in that case, I wish him and Mrs. Smith a lifetime of happiness and a harmonious family," I replied calmly.

"I'll be having an engagement ceremony next month, and if Mr. Smith is willing, I extend a warm invitation to him," I added with a smile, maintaining a composed demeanor. Finally, I concluded with an expressionless statement, "Mr. Smith is leading a happy life now, and so am I."

Camera flashes were going off non-stop, and the blinding lights from all directions had the potential to blind anyone. They seemed determined to scrutinize every subtle nuance on my face, hoping to uncover any lingering sorrow.

Before the trending headline ‘Hazel Jones, Cannes Best Actress’, there was another one that came before it—'Hazel Jones Talks About Luke Smith Again’. After four years, our names were once again intertwined.

Upon seeing the news, my mom wasted no time in approaching me as soon as I arrived home.

"These reporters really know how to dig up old news from years ago just to create a sensation. They're even willing to compromise their dignity for a story. Darling, don't let this get to you. Focus on preparing for your engagement next month."

"I've already bought everything, and your engagement gown will be delivered in a couple of days. As for you, take a break from work during this time and give yourself some rest."

Over the years, she had become increasingly knowledgeable and attentive to my life. She had transformed from an elderly lady who had never touched a mobile phone into a savvy fan who knows how to like, share, and comment.

I nodded lightly, "Understood. I'll head upstairs for a nap to adjust to the time difference."

She gazed at the photo on her phone, the one showing Luke holding the little girl's hand, and couldn't help but sigh, "You two were so good together back then, how did it all of a sudden..."

I abruptly stopped in my tracks, feeling a sudden twinge of sadness in my nose. In that moment, a surge of emotions overwhelmed me, my heart pounding.

Memories flooded back, the seven years with Luke, filled with both laughter and sorrow, felt like a series of tumultuous waves, devouring reason. In the end, it was as if they had confirmed that old saying.

Our fate was nothing more than "Two souls, worlds apart."

"Fate" has always been predestined, much like when I was fifteen, sitting by the window shaded by locust trees, admiring the graceful dance of the neighbor. Never did I think that one day, I would become a renowned female celebrity.

Similarly, when I first met Luke, his pair of lonely and indifferent eyes drew me in. Little did I imagine that one day, our lives would become intertwined, filled with complexity and twists.

In the summer of 2008, there was an unparalleled sense of excitement and bustle. During that time, people were living in comfort and contentment, blissfully unaware of the looming financial crisis. They also had no inkling that, a year later, the global financial crisis would sweep through, indiscriminately affecting every resident in the global village.

During that year, I was a twenty-year-old college student, still fresh and inexperienced. In addition to my studies, I took on part-time work as a background actor in film and television, as well as modeling for print advertisements. It was during this tumultuous and unique period that Luke's path crossed with mine.

On my fourth visit to the media company, where I requested payment for two outstanding projects, the person in charge drenched me from head to toe with a glass of water.

"I've told you countless times, we don't have any money. Not a dime. We haven't even recovered our expenses, so how can we afford to pay your salary!"

In society, there's no time for your growth; it only waits for the perfect moment to deliver a crushing blow, leaving your bones and veins entwined in agony. Then it announces to the world, welcoming you to the "hell" of society.

Tears streamed down my face as I sobbed uncontrollably. In a moment of desperation, I confided in the person in charge, explaining that my mother was in the hospital and we needed money. I hoped he'd be compassionate and lend a hand.

The person in charge nonchalantly pointed across the street, saying, "If you want to make quick money, go sell yourself over there. You can earn tens of thousands in a day. Don't bother me!"

At the tender age of twenty, I came to understand that tears were the most useless weapon of vulnerability.

I was shoved and tumbled out through the glass door by the person in charge, landing in a heap on the steps. At that moment, a clear and soothing voice drifted gently toward me.

"An adult like you, picking on a young girl. How utterly shameless."

The man had fair skin, and his arm blocked the glass door, preventing my hand from being caught. His long, bright eyes scanned me with a casual air, as if he had just concluded a meeting and still carried the weariness of work. He lazily propped his foot against the door and looked at the person in charge with nonchalance.

Back then, I was still quite naive and couldn't distinguish luxury brands. I had no clue that the logo on his belt could cover several years' worth of my tuition fees.

"Hand over the money."

He uttered only four words, dripping with icy disdain.

The person in charge, as if recognizing him, cowered like a turtle, offering profuse apologies. I counted my hard-earned wages, not a substantial sum but sufficient to help us during this tough period. With a lowered head, I softly uttered, "Thank you."

The harsh sunlight softened its glare on his face, revealing his features more clearly – a face with sharp angles, well-defined jawlines, and a pair of captivating deep-set eyes. I couldn't help but inquire, "Are you an actor as well?"

My question seemed to amuse him, as a faint smile played upon his lips. He countered, "Are you an actress?"

"No, I'm studying to become a director. Right now, I'm just doing part-time work."

"I see..." He lit a cigarette, and the crimson tip gradually drew closer to his fingertips as it burned. He remarked, "This media company is teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. Next time you take up a part-time gig, do some background checks. Don't let them dupe you again."

At the age of twenty, in a brief and striking moment, he entered my life like a sudden savior. Life back then was remarkably uncomplicated, so much so that I overlooked the complexities of love. My energy was largely consumed by the demands of education and the everyday grind. In retrospect, during that period, Luke Smith always stood out as someone extraordinary.

Unfortunately, at that time, I was so naive that I thought the world only consisted of the rich and the poor. By the time I truly understood the constraints of social classes, I had already been entangled with him for several years.

However, during those years, I was at the height of my pride, viewing any advice or caution as poisonous. I remained resolute in my belief that we had a future together. As for what followed, I stumbled and fell, eventually finding myself on my knees, beseeching the heavens for forgiveness.

I had expected that the night after my aspiration was fulfilled would bring a peaceful and satisfying sleep. However, my attempt to adjust to the time difference suddenly came to a halt in less than two hours. I got out of bed and sat there on the soft mattress, feeling an inexplicable sense of emptiness.

My nearby phone kept flashing with a continuous stream of messages. There were congratulations from colleagues, invitations from internationally renowned directors, and a few familiar financiers politely suggesting dinner at the Davinci Restaurant. The influx of messages overwhelmed my thoughts.

I didn't hurry to respond. Instead, I casually turned on the TV, letting the background noise fill the bathroom as I started my shower. Over time, I had developed a habit of creating background noise in quiet surroundings.

While I was in the middle of my shower, the entertainment news segment began, and the sound from the TV seeped into the bathroom, blending with the cascading water from the showerhead. I paused in my actions and listened attentively.

"Mr. Smith, after six years abroad, your sudden return to the country, does it suggest that the Smith family is on the verge of a major change?"

"Mr. Smith, your wife didn't accompany you on this trip back to the country. Is there a hidden reason behind it? Would you be willing to share any insights?"

"Not at all convenient!"

"My parents have an incredibly strong bond. Next month is my birthday, and they've promised to host a birthday party for me at Disney. I even have a beautiful princess dress!"

In the camera frame, Luke held the little girl in his arms, and she spoke with a sweet, childlike voice. Her fine double ponytails swayed like drumsticks, and she displayed clear annoyance at the reporters' intrusive questions, pouting to express her discontent—very discontent indeed!

Luke chuckled and brushed her hair behind her ear, teasingly scolding her, "Don't bite your fingers, it's not hygienic."

In that moment, Luke looked every bit like a doting father. The little girl seemed deeply hurt by Luke's public scolding, her eyebrows and eyes curved, her lips pouting, tears held back in her throat.

Luke hastily lifted the little girl, showering her with kisses and comforting words. He anxiously pressed his cheek against hers, and the child's teary sobs gradually subsided.

Luke had always been defenseless against girls' tears, whether it was in the past or now.

I vaguely recall the first time I landed a role from a famous director. I was so filled with emotion that I both laughed and cried while resting on Luke's chest. I wiped my running nose and tears on him, which he found quite repulsive. He wanted to change his clothes, but I clung to him, crying and blaming him for not sharing in my happiness. Eventually, Luke lost his temper and cradled me like a baby.

"Okay, alright, my dearest Hazel is the best! In the future, she's heading for Hollywood, aiming to become an international leading lady and grab an Oscar. I might not even be worthy of holding your dress for you then.

"Who knows? Maybe this heartless lady over here might kick me to the curb and say, 'I'm an international superstar, who's Luke Smith?' You better stay far away from me!"

He teased me, mimicking my voice, with a hand over his throat.

I remember how I responded back then. Oh yes, I said, "Of course! On the road to becoming a renowned actress, I'll have to avoid any mortal romantic entanglements. I'll be the one to leave you behind and ascend to godhood."

Luke looked at me with a smile in his eyes, always so gentle. It seemed like he never had a temper.

But later, our playful words turned into an unfortunate prophecy. It's hard to say whose fault it was.

I strolled alongside the earth-toned walls of the Westland Cathedral, draped in a light coat. The sycamore leaves swirled lazily into my hands on that chilly November day.

In recent years, the Westland Cathedral had undergone several major renovations, and its exterior landscape had little resemblance to what it once was. It seemed to have forgotten the days when we stood silently beneath the golden ginkgo trees at the entrance, bidding our farewells.

My mom called to ask if I had eaten, as she had prepared a meal.

"I'm getting engaged next month, so I want to seek some blessings at the Westland Cathedral. Didn't you mention their blessings are the most efficacious?

"I understand. After I'm done with the prayer, I'll come back. Go ahead and eat."

I lowered my head, a faint smile gracing my lips as I gazed at my well-worn leather boots. They had served me for quite some time; perhaps it was time for a replacement. As I shifted my gaze, that's when I spotted Luke.

He hurriedly stepped out of the car, bearing the dust of the road. His throat rose and fell unevenly with each breath, and his deep, intricate eyes gazed at me. In the early winter weather, he was clad in nothing but a slightly thin black shirt and casual trousers. His attire emanated a chilly and desolate vibe.

He held the hand of a young toddler girl, with rosy cheeks and round, blinking eyes that exuded innocence. She looked at him, then at me, and with a soft voice, she called out, "Daddy."

Her voice carried a charming sweet accent.

I momentarily disregarded my mother's question on the phone, gently placing it down. The cold wind brushed against me, making me feel as though my body was being filled with a cool breeze, ready to be carried away.

After four years without contact, I had nearly forgotten how to start a conversation without it feeling awkward. Despite the memories of our past, we were now like strangers in an unfamiliar land.

"Are you here to pray with your child too? Why isn't Mrs. Smith here?"

Luke stood in front of me, looking somewhat leaner than he did four years ago, his stature appearing even taller. He bent down and exchanged a few words with the little girl. She responded with a sweet smile, bid farewell, and then cheerfully hopped into the black car parked by the roadside.

"Hazel, my grandfather passed away last month."

This statement carried significant meaning. Luke's gaze turned solemn, concealing some deep emotions. While his grandfather was alive, he had held a firm grip on the reins of the Smith family, including decisions about the marriages of the younger generation. His grandfather played a substantial role in stopping me from marrying into the Smith.

I had expected this news to be somewhat shocking, but in the end, I found myself surprisingly calm. "So what's next? Are you finally free to divorce Mrs. Smith and keep me as your plaything?"

He suppressed his emotions and replied, "I will handle this matter slowly, Hazel. Just wait for me, okay..."

I wasn't interested in hearing his explanation. Instead, I turned my gaze towards the cute little figure swaying in the black car parked by the roadside and sighed, "Your daughter is very adorable. Your family must adore her, right?"

Luke's lips moved, but he couldn't continue my sentence.

I turned back to him, maintaining my calm tone as if I had asked him countless questions before. "Yes, your child is healthy and happy, receiving unwavering love from all the adults in the Smith family. Yet, my child died one lonely night without anybody caring. Luke, how can we ever go back to the past?"