Trouble in Paradise



Suddenly, there was a loud bang. A man dressed in black casual wear, wearing black sunglasses and a black hat, stood up from the audience and threw his cup of water to the ground.

He shouted, "If the host is unprofessional, get off the stage! If you can't talk properly, you might as well donate your mouth to the mute!"

He clenched his jaw tightly, and his large sunglasses made his jawline look sharper than a knife. His anger almost filled the entire studio as he strode toward the stage with his long legs. That man was Pete.

I broke into a cold sweat for him because he hadn't taken more than a few steps before the bodyguards near Nicholas, as if anticipating this, stood up.

Outnumbered, Pete was immediately restrained by four men and dragged out of the studio.

Throughout the entire scene, Nicholas kept his gaze lowered, not making a single unnecessary move. This outburst wasn't even enough to make him raise his brows.

He simply tilted his head slightly, as if he too was waiting for my response.Original from NôvelDrama.Org.

The commotion didn't affect the live broadcast since the mics weren't picking up the noise. Thus, Jasmine continued pressing me with an aggressive tone.

"What's wrong, Ms. Jones? Have you not managed to move past the trauma yet?"

At that moment, the director, seemingly convinced that I was about to embarrass myself, signaled the camera crew to zoom in on me with a close-up shot.

I had no idea what answer Nicholas was expecting to hear, nor had I ever properly discussed this matter with him. I didn't know if he would be indifferent or if he might feel apologetic to me. But now, everything was in the past, and I no longer cared.

Smiling at the camera, I said confidently, "What kind of women get targeted by slanderous rumors? Those who are either beautiful, powerful, ruthless, or impressive.

"Only then do others have the desire to bring you down with rumors. By doing so, they're admitting that they see themselves as inferior.

"In that case, there's no need to retaliate like the woman in the story using illegal means. Instead, we should wield the weapon of the law."

I took control of the conversation with a professional tone. Taken aback by my response, Jasmine looked as if she had learned a valuable lesson.

She hadn't forgotten that this was a live variety show though it was meant to focus on legal education. So, she tried her best to lighten the mood.

She smiled and asked, "The woman kept a diary to document her emotional journey. So, how do you all like to record your lives?"

One by one, the guests answered her question. Some said they recorded videos, others said they wrote journals. When it was my tum, she exclaimed with an exaggerated tone, saying, "Ms. Jones, we hope you will give us a different answer!"

There wasn't anything particularly special about my life, so I hadn't recorded anything in a long time.

I replied, "When I was younger, I used Facebook, but I don't use it anymore."

Jasmine clapped her hands and said, "That's really unique! I wonder if you could share a few of your diary entries with us?"

Someone even went as far as handing me my phone, and suddenly, all eyes were on me. I felt like I had boarded a

pirate ship with no way out.

Just the combination of Jasmine and I as Nicholas' current girlfriend and ex-wife on-air at the same time was a huge sensation. The director was probably thrilled to see this situation unfold, expecting our appearances to generate a lot of views.

I looked at Jasmine and answered, "They're just personal thoughts, nothing interesting." "How could that be? I think we're all curious about what kind of boy you liked when you were younger. Since we're on TV, if fate allows, we might even help you reconnect with an old friend. That would be wonderful, wouldn't it?"

She probably didn't know that the boy she referred to had already grown into a man and was sitting silently in the audience and watching me. If she did, she would've regretted making that suggestion.

"June 15, Saturday. I wish to know him more. Right now, I only know how to read his name, but I don't know how to spell it. The moment I saw him, my heart started racing...

"June 16, Sunday, I've learned how to write his name. I told my dad that I wanted to go to the same school as him. Dad said I'm too young and that I'll never catch up. How I wish I could grow up faster!"

Jasmine read each of my Facebook posts aloud, and it felt like I was listening to someone else's story. Even Nicholas, who was still in the audience seat, was listening intently.

During our divorce, he constantly questioned me, asking if I didn't love him as much as I had claimed. I thought he wasn't sure whether I loved him or not.

But today, for the first time, my love for him took a tangible form. He probably realized that his significance to me wasn't just a superficial marriage alliance.

As Jasmine continued reading, she started to sense that something was off. Awkwardly, she asked, 'Ms. Jones, have you only liked one person since you were young? Could you tell us who this person is?"

In my posts, every word was referring to Nicholas, but I never mentioned his name, which was why I felt safe sharing my Facebook posts.

Yet, she still wasn't satisfied. She wanted to hear another name from my lips.

With a faint smile, I replied calmly. "It's unfortunate. He passed away."

Suddenly, Nicholas stood up from his seat and glared at me with a sharp gaze. I wasn't lying. To me, the Nicholas that I once knew was long dead.