I’d endured fifteen hours of pure starvation by now, hunger gnawing vicious at my insides like a feral beast after that failed breakfast mission locked my throat.
Dressed in a sleek emerald wrap dress from the Disguised Hearts set—silk hugging my curves with a deep V-neck and thigh-high slit that swished sexy for cameras—I’d powered through back-to-back shoots.
Morning on the movie lot—I nailed the server-hack scene as Jordan, prosthetics itching under hot lights, swaggering through the tech offices while Marcus’s actor loomed possessively around me.
Afternoon switched to Sarah’s Secret soundstage—chiffon gown flowing ethereal again, chemistry reads with Sarah sparking electric as we reshot the promise kiss, her golden eyes locking mine for lingering takes.
Crew praised my ‘starving intensity’—it was ironic, and it didn’t fuel me at all.
Exhaustion hit peak as I dragged home, emerald dress rumpled from travel, heels clicking weak on marble foyer.
A chime buzzed sharp—new mission forcing me to do chores.
🎯 Extra Mission: Spotless Return
🧹 Deep clean mansion post-shoot – virtuous welcome home ✨
✅ Reward: 180 pts | ❌ Fail: Double Chores Tomorrow
No break.
I scrubbed counters lemon-fresh, vacuumed rugs plush, dusted chandeliers till they sparkled—emerald silk smearing faint with polish, slit flashing thighs accidental as I bent low.
Legs jelly, stomach cramping fire.
Then Silvia appeared in the living room doorway, arms crossed over her black suit, red eyes cold.
Another screen flared, making me feel desperate.
🎯 Mission 4: Apologetic Beg
🙏 Beg forgiveness for coffee fail – earn dinner mercy 🍲
✅ Reward: 220 pts + Meal Share | ❌ Fail: Silence Penalty (No Food 24hrs Continued Until the Given Time)
Tears welled hot in my eyes as I dropped my duster, voice cracking.
“Honey, I’m so sorry for the coffee yesterday…
please forgive me.
I’ll never mess up again.”
She stared blank, smooth cheeks impassive, then turned away silent—no words, no mercy.
Screen chimed cruelly as it showed me my fate.
[Apology Ignored – Meal Reward CANCELLED | Hunger Lock Continued 24hrs]
Now I curled foetal even tighter on my massive four-poster bed, emerald dress hiked awkward high around my hips and clinging uncomfortably damp to my curves from the day’s dried sweat and set grime.
The silk fabric chafed against my skin, thigh-high slit twisted open from tossing in hunger pains.
Tears spilled free hot and unstoppable down my porcelain cheeks, tracing burning salty paths into the damp silk pillows that stuck to my face.
Stomach ached sharp and relentless, cramping waves rolling one after another, blurring my vision to fuzzy gray edges that spun slow.
I sniffed loud and ragged, hiccupping sobs shaking my entire frame like fragile leaves caught in a relentless wind—chest heaving, breaths shallow and desperate.
“Host, are you alright?
Talk to me,” CVWRS floated in close with real worry, its holographic form shimmering soft as disco eyes dimmed low and whiskers drooped sad and flat against its furry cheeks.
“Silvia…
hic…
starving me like this on purpose,” I whimpered weak and broken, clutching my belly hard where hunger clawed vicious and deep, fingers pressing into the hollow ache.
“Host, just nine more hours till the lock lifts fully.
Hang on strong—you’re tougher than this trap, I know it,” it encouraged gentle, voice softer than usual.
“Nine?
She will…
hic…
bully me even more…
hic…
tomorrow for sure—mock my weakness.” Sobs wracked me harder, shoulders shaking violent—starvation broke even seasoned actors like me, no matter the spotlights I’d claimed.
Virtuous wife role?
Hell no, pure poison.
But I had no choice except to follow the system rules or crash harder into penalties.
“Host, once you rack up enough points, you can buy food capsules from the shop if you need emergency fuel to tide you over,” CVWRS offered hopeful, pulling up a faint flickering screen beside the bed with shop icons glowing tempting.
My eyes sparkled desperate through tears as I sat up slow and shaky, wiping snot and salt from my face with the back of a trembling hand.
“How many points do I have right now?
Be straight with me.”
“Around 400 points total earned so far.
Food capsules need 1000 to unlock fully.
Shop has beauty pills for instant glow-ups, detoxification for hangovers or toxins, stamina boosts for long shoots—variety packs if you bundle.”
“I don’t need beauty crap or detox junk!
Just real food to stop this twisting,” I snapped sharp, voice cracking raw from thirst and frustration, fists balling the sheets.
“It’s just some information, Host—no hard push from me.
Options for later,” it backpedalled quick, tail flicking apologetic.
“But I need food now—something solid and warm!” Stomach growled thunderous in loud agreement, echoing off the bedroom walls.
“You can’t access capsules yet, Host.
Grind missions steady to build up.”
“Then why tease me like this when I’m breaking?” I groaned dramatic, flopping back against the pillows with a soft thud.
“Host, be patient with it.
Small steps add up fast.”
“How can I even be patient with this fire in my gut?” I whined, curling again as another cramp hit.
“Host, just keep quiet for now and drink water from the pitcher—hydrate to ease the edge.
You also don’t know how to cook proper meals anyway, right?”
“Yes…
true enough,” I admitted quiet, reaching shaky for the bedside carafe with its crystal gleam.
Cool water slid soothing down my parched throat in slow gulps, easing the dry nausea slight but not the void.
“How did you survive so long back there anyway? This chapter is updated first at novelping.com.
Your acting career wasn’t good at all—gigs paid peanuts, barely scraps,” CVWRS asked curious, hovering lower.
I lowered my head slow, old memories stinging fresh like open wounds.
“I boiled cheap vegetables like potatoes and carrots every single night on a hot plate.
Ate them plain and steaming with some raw bread torn by hand into chunks.
That was my dinner ritual—simple, filling, free.”
“What?!
And breakfast, lunch—how?”
“Breakfast stayed instant noodles from a cup—poured boiled water over the packets when I had a stove or kettle.
Lunch?
Whatever scraps clients tossed if I got lucky on set.
Most times nothing at all…
some kind bosses slipped me leftovers, cold sandwiches, or fruit.
Rare mercy.”
“You…
endured all that completely alone?
No family, no net?”
“No one wants an orphan actor scraping by in the margins,” I said flat and heavy, voice thick with resurfaced pain.
“Gigs dried up fast without connections or cash—auditions endless, callbacks zero.”
“Host, don’t sink back into sad now.
Think about the bright future ahead.
With all the money you’ll rake from these lead roles…
employ at least five personal chefs, round-the-clock.
Gourmet every meal—sushi bars, steak sears, whatever cravings hit.”
“Okay…” A small smile cracked through the drying tears, vision clearing slight as hope flickered.
“You’re talented beyond measure, Host.
Acting skills unmatched—raw emotion pours out natural, perfect timing every beat.
I believe in you fully, every step.”
I smiled wider genuine now, warmth cutting through the hunger chill like sunlight.
“Thank you, Cat.
Means more than you know.”
Then I drank more water slow and deliberate, pitcher glugging empty with final drips.
Nine hours loomed endless—but sleep called merciful.
Tomorrow, I’d hustle points harder, snag bigger roles, shatter her ice walls.
Then, I will be the one to divorce her.