The transition from the velvet-lined theater to the "Genesis Living Quarters" was a deliberate psychological shock. The producers didn't want the contestants to feel at home; they wanted them to feel observed. The dormitory was a sprawling, modernist complex of glass and steel, where almost every wall was transparent or mirrored. High-definition cameras hung from the ceilings like unblinking robotic eyes, tracking every tear, every yawn, and every whispered secret.
Meilin stood at the entrance of Room 101—the "Diamond Suite." As the highest-ranked legacy trainee, she was entitled to the largest room, but it was a lonely victory. The room was cold, decorated in shades of slate and chrome.
"Your luggage has already been scanned for prohibited items, Miss Li," a production assistant said, not looking up from a tablet. "Mic checks are at 6:00 AM. Don't cover the lenses with your clothes, or we'll deduct points from your 'Professionalism' score."
Meilin ignored him, dragging her suitcase toward the bed. She felt the weight of the cameras on her back. Every movement had to be curated. If she slumped, she was "depressed." If she looked too intense, she was "plotting." She sat on the edge of the mattress, the silence of the room ringing in her ears.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted in the hallway.
"I told you, this isn't my bag!" a voice cried out—a voice Meilin recognized.
She stood up and opened her door. A few yards away, Shanshan was standing in the middle of the corridor, surrounded by three other contestants led by Linna. Shanshan's meager canvas duffel bag had been turned inside out, her few belongings scattered across the polished floor. A worn sweater, a small bag of toiletries, and a stack of handwritten sheet music lay trampled underfoot.
"Oh, oops," Linna giggled, her heel grinding into a piece of paper. "I thought this was the trash. It's so... dingy. Maybe you should ask your 'mentor' Lu Yan to buy you some real luggage, Shanshan. Or is that not part of the 'service' you provide?"
The other girls laughed, a sharp, jagged sound that echoed off the glass walls. Shanshan was on her knees, her face pale, her fingers trembling as she tried to gather her music.
"Give it back," Shanshan whispered, her voice thick with suppressed tears. "Please. That's... that's all I have."
"This?" Linna picked up a sheet of music, scanning the lyrics. "'Lullaby for a Ghost'? How dramatic. Is this the song you use to lure Alphas into your bed? It's a bit pathetic, don't you think?"
Meilin watched from her doorway. Her pulse quickened. She knew what was expected of her. In the "script" of this show, the Heiress was supposed to walk by and offer a cutting remark, solidifying the hierarchy. The cameras were zooming in, waiting for her to join the fray.
But Meilin looked at Shanshan's hands. They were raw, the nails bitten down to the quick—the hands of someone who worked until they bled. She saw the way Shanshan was shielding her sheet music with her body, as if it were a living thing.
Meilin stepped out into the hall. Her heels clicked like a countdown. The laughter died down as she approached.
"Linna," Meilin said, her voice dropping to a temperature that felt like a frostbite warning.
Linna smirked, thinking she had an ally. "Look at this, Meilin. The little songbird is nesting on the floor. Should we call housekeeping?"
Meilin didn't look at Linna. She looked down at Shanshan. For a moment, their eyes locked. Shanshan's gaze was defensive, filled with a jagged hatred that assumed Meilin was there to deliver the finishing blow.
"Pick it up," Meilin said.
"See?" Linna crowed. "Meilin says pick up your—"
"I was talking to you, Linna," Meilin interrupted, her eyes snapping toward her half-sister.
The hallway went silent. Even the production assistant stopped typing.
"Excuse me?" Linna's smirk faltered.
"You dropped it. You pick it up," Meilin said, her posture as straight as a spear. "And then you will apologize for obstructing the hallway. Your behavior is beneath the dignity of this program. If the sponsors see the 'representative' of the Li family acting like a common street bully, I will personally ensure your stipend is revoked before the sun sets."
"You wouldn't," Linna hissed, her face turning a blotchy red. "Father would never—"
"Father cares about the stock price, Linna. And right now, you are a liability. Pick. It. Up."
Trembling with rage and humiliation, Linna bent down. She snatched the sheet music and shoved it toward Shanshan, nearly hitting her in the face.
"This isn't over," Linna muttered to Shanshan before turning and storming toward her own room, her entourage trailing behind her like frightened shadows.
Shanshan remained on the floor, stunned. She clutched her papers to her chest, looking up at Meilin with a mixture of confusion and deep-seated suspicion.
"Why?" Shanshan asked, her voice raspy. "You hate me. You told me I was playing a dangerous game. You told me I'd burn."
Meilin looked at the camera lens positioned directly above them. She knew she had to stay in character for the edit, or the producers would punish her later.
"I told you I hate messy players, Shanshan," Meilin said, her voice returning to its porcelain chill. "Bullying is a low-level tactic. It's boring. If you're going to fail, I want you to do it because of your own lack of talent, not because my sister is an idiot."
She turned to walk back into her room, but Shanshan's voice stopped her.
"I didn't choose him," Shanshan said, her voice small but fierce. "I didn't choose to have him touch me. I know what everyone thinks. I know what you think. But I'm only here because I have to be."
Meilin paused, her hand on the door handle. She didn't look back. She couldn't. If she looked back, she might see herself in the other girl's eyes.
"We are all here because we have to be, Shanshan," Meilin replied. "Some of us just hide the chains better than others."
She entered her room and closed the door. She leaned her forehead against the cool wood, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had just broken the script. She had defended the "Vixen."
Outside, Shanshan stood up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She looked at the closed door of the Diamond Suite. She thought of Meilin's fiancé, Lu Yan—his heavy hands, his suffocating scent, the way he looked at her like she was an appetizer. Then she thought of Meilin—the girl who seemed to have the world at her feet, yet spoke of chains.
Misunderstanding was a thick fog, but for the first time, a single beam of light had cut through it.
Shanshan walked to her own small, cramped room at the end of the hall. She sat on her bed and opened her sheet music. There, at the bottom of the page Linna had stepped on, was a small, faint smudge of blue—the dust from Meilin's sapphire-encrusted gown.
She touched the smudge.