She Treated Me Like a Dog, Now Kneeling in the Rain Begging Me

The afterglow of the Los Angeles sunset never penetrates the shadows of Beverly Hills.

I stood before that familiar black and gold lacquered door, holding my six-year-old daughter Lily's hand. I raised my right hand and pressed my index finger against the fingerprint lock.

"Beep—No fingerprint recorded."

A cold, mechanical female voice echoed in the empty hallway. My fingers froze in mid-air, my knuckles turning white from the force.

"Daddy?" Lily clutched my clothes tightly and asked softly, "Is Mommy not home? I'm so hungry..."

My daughter's voice was soft, with a hint of cautious pleading. Just two hours earlier, I'd been chased away like stray dogs by security guards from a film studio on Hollywood Boulevard. I only had three coins left in my pocket, not even enough for a hot dog.

"It's okay, Dad will try again." I took a deep breath, concealing the bloodshot in my eyes, and switched to using a password.

This is the house I lived in for five years; the password is my birthday.

"Beep—Incorrect password."

I was stunned. Just as I was about to ring the doorbell, the front door clicked open from the inside.

A strong, pungent TF oud fragrance wafted over me.

Through the crack in the door, leaned a man holding a half-empty glass of champagne. He wore a dark blue haute couture silk bathrobe, the collar open, revealing his deliberately muscular chest.

It's Carl. He's currently a rising star in Hollywood, a second-tier celebrity.

It was also the culprit that ruined my marriage.

Ironically, the $5,000 bathrobe Karl was wearing was a gift I bought for Elena's birthday with the money I earned from staying up three all-nighters revising the script. Now, it was loosely draped over this man's shoulders.

"Oh, entering the password?" Karl swirled the wine glass in his hand, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "Didn't Elena tell you? The locks on this house were just changed yesterday, and the current password is my birthday."

I stared intently at that exquisite yet arrogant face, saying nothing, but simply shielding Lily behind me.

"Why aren't you saying anything? You couldn't make it out there, so you've finally decided to back down?" Karl turned to the side and made an exaggerated "please come in" gesture. "Come in, Elena is waiting for you in the living room. Just letting you know in advance, so you don't get the newly changed carpet dirty."

I led Lily into the entryway.

曾经极简而朴素的客厅如今被各种奢华的镀金装饰塞满了。爱马仕橙色盒子散落在巨大的皮沙发上，空气中弥漫着昂贵却令人窒息的化妆品香味，每一寸都炫耀着女主人在好莱坞电影行业的地位。

“敲，敲，敲。”

高跟鞋在螺旋楼梯上敲击的声音响起。

埃琳娜身穿贴身黑色丝绸连衣裙，手里叼着一根细烟，缓缓走下楼梯。三年过去了，时间的恩惠似乎降临在她身上;权力和金钱如同浸入毒药的黑玫瑰般滋养着她。

她停在楼梯拐角，低头看着站在门口的父女。

“我还以为你会在好莱坞街头饿死，带着你那荒谬的傲慢呢。”埃琳娜呼出一口烟雾，声音慵懒而冰冷。“什么，你写了三年的'伟大'剧本，还是没人要？”

我的喉结上下动了一下：“埃琳娜，我只想要一个莉莉能睡觉的房间。我不想要别的。”

“想要房间吗？当然。”埃琳娜嗤之以鼻，指向走廊尽头。“保姆以前住的储藏室现在空了。我收留你只是出于旧友谊。但亚瑟，记住这一点。”

她走下最后两级台阶，走向我，高跟鞋的鞋尖几乎碰到我的运动鞋。

“现在，在这房子里，我是制片人，卡尔是一部票房即将达成数百万票房的大片的男主角。而你——“埃琳娜用拿着烟的手指敲了敲我的胸膛，”你不过是个被行业拒绝的垃圾。你可以留在这里，但闭嘴，乖乖听话。明白了吗？”

我没有躲开她的目光，眼中充满死寂：“我明白。”

“乖孩子。”埃琳娜满意地笑了笑，转身走向沙发。“卡尔，把我刚才看的合同拿来。”

就在这时，一声清脆的玻璃破碎声打破了寂静。

“我的箱子！”莉莉突然尖叫，声音因泪水颤抖。

我猛地转头。

卡尔不知怎么出现在入口的行李柜台，手里拿着一个被砸得粉碎的木制音乐盒。这是我花了一个月手工雕刻给莉莉的生日礼物，也是过去三年里唯一让女儿夜不能寐的东西。

“我的手滑了。”卡尔不由自主地耸耸肩，甚至伸出拖鞋，随意地踢开木头碎片。“那只是一块断木头。明天我让助理去商场给她买一块价值十万元的水晶。”

莉莉挣脱了我的手，冲过去跪在地上，拼命想把破碎的木片抱进怀里，泪水顺着脸颊滑落在地毯上：“没有水晶......爸爸做的......”

我感到脑中嗡嗡作响，一股嗜血的冲动直冲头顶端。

三年前，当我发现埃琳娜和卡尔之间模糊的关系时，我愤怒不已，砸碎东西，像疯子一样质疑。

但此刻，我没有疯狂。

我慢慢蹲下，帮女儿捡起碎片。我的手指被刺破，鲜红的鲜血渗出，但我没有感到疼痛。

我的目光慢慢从地上的木屑移到卡尔得意的笑容，再转向坐在沙发上冷冷看着的埃琳娜，她甚至有些恼火。

A feeling of utter absurdity suddenly struck me.

For the past three years, I've been pulling my hair out in my rented room, trying to write about the brilliance of humanity and the struggles amidst suffering, only to be ridiculed by all the producers for being "out of touch with reality" and "lacking in conflict."

And now, the most extreme arrogance, the most naked greed, and the most disgusting vanity are standing right in front of me, vividly and without reservation.

They were laughing wildly, giving alms, and crushing everything with their power.

Isn't this the perfect script?

My pupils dilated slightly, and my heartbeat suddenly slowed down. Immediately afterward, a chilling electric current shot from my tailbone straight to the back of my head.

Those inspirations that had been dormant for three years, those talents that had been stifled by rejection letters, were smashed to pieces by the hands of this group of people at this moment, and then burst forth in an even more frenzied and violent manner!

“Let’s go, Lily.” My voice was unusually calm. I picked up my daughter and stuffed the shards into my pocket.

"Hey, did I say something wrong?" Karl called out from behind, annoyed. "Stop pretending to be so high and mighty..."

"Forget it, Karl." Elena leaned back on the sofa, rubbing her temples in annoyance. "Ignore this good-for-nothing. Come here and look at this version of the male lead's lines."

I didn't look back. I carried my daughter and walked straight to the dark and cramped nanny's room at the end of the corridor.

Pushing open the door, I found only a single bed and a rickety old desk inside. The air smelled musty, as if the room hadn't been ventilated in a long time.

I gently placed Lily on the bed and wiped the dust and tears off her hands with a wet wipe.

“Daddy…” Lily sobbed, gripping my fingers tightly, “They are bad people.”

“Yes, they are bad people.” I lowered my head and placed a very light kiss on my daughter’s forehead. “So, Daddy is going to write them into the story. Sweetie, go to sleep. When you wake up tomorrow, everything will be different.”

Watching my daughter fall into a deep sleep from exhaustion, I turned around and walked towards the old, worn-out desk.

I pulled a black notebook with frayed edges and a pen from the faded canvas bag.

Outside the window, the extravagant lifestyle of Beverly Hills was unfolding; outside the door, the faint sounds of Elena and Carl flirting and laughing could be heard.

I ignored them. I sat down at the rickety table, my back ramrod straight, like a king about to go to battle.

My hands didn't shake; on the contrary, they were incredibly steady.

He turned to the blank first page and the pen fell heavily onto the ground.

"Power is never something that can be given away..."

Rustle, rustle.

The sound of the pen nib scratching on the paper echoed in the quiet nanny's room, growing faster and harder.

No outline or concept was needed; the breathtaking power games and the lines that tore apart Hollywood's hypocritical mask poured onto the paper like a flood.

"The Actor of Power".

A masterpiece destined to send those outside the door tonight, along with their proud capitalist empire, to utter hell, resonated with its first deadly echo in this dark corner of less than ten square meters.

In the dead of night.

The tyrant of Hollywood has opened his eyes.