She Is the Unattainable Dream

"Julian, it hurts so much... It's all your fault for being so rough in the car earlier. I think I'm torn down there!" Clutching the ultrasound report I had just received, I stood in the corridor, watching my husband hold another woman in his arms. The woman was wearing sunglasses, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. Instead of being embarrassed, my husband looked utterly heartbroken for her, coaxing her tenderly. The crowd stirred, whispering and murmuring among themselves. "Wait, who is actually Mrs. Foster?" The next second, Julian Foster looked up, his gaze cutting straight through the crowd and locking onto mine. He paused for barely half a second before averting his eyes and saying coldly— "What are you looking at? Anna is Julian Foster's wife." I trembled all over, the ultrasound report in my hand crushed into a crumpled ball of waste paper. Six weeks. Our baby was six weeks old. But this man... I didn't want him anymore. 1 Yolanda Vance's POV I was in the waiting area of the obstetrics and gynecology department at St. Mary's Hospital, clutching a thin ultrasound report in my hand. The report clearly showed a tiny gestational sac—the crystallization of love that Julian Foster and I had been hoping for for three years. "Congratulations, you are six weeks pregnant." The young nurse handed me my medical record, her eyes shining with irrepressible excitement and envy. "I never expected to see you here! I've watched the movie you won Best Actress for over a dozen times. But seeing how happy your family is now, and how good Mr. Foster is to you, it was definitely worth leaving the entertainment industry for love." I forced a gentle smile and offered a word of thanks. Happy? I looked down at my lower abdomen, but a quiet sense of unease bloomed in my chest. Two hours ago, Julian Foster had promised over the phone that he would pick me up in person so we could celebrate this good news together. But up until now, his phone had been completely unreachable, and he had not shown up. Ever since Julian Foster won the Best Director Award for the movie that I had half-written and used all my connections to secure funding for, he had grown busier and increasingly distant. "Ms. Vance, you can rest on the bench outside while you wait for Mr. Foster to pick you up," the nurse said thoughtfully. I nodded. Just as I stepped out of the examination room, a loud commotion broke out at the end of the corridor. "Out of the way! Everyone get out of the way! Call your director over! Prepare the best VIP suite!" Several bodyguards roughly pushed aside the crowd blocking their path, throwing the corridor into instant chaos. A few young nurses at the nurse's station poked their heads out and gasped. "Oh my god, it's Mr. Foster! He said Mrs. Foster is injured and wants a VIP suite arranged immediately!" "Mrs. Foster?" The nurse who had just handed me my report froze, turning to look at me standing nearby. "But... isn't Mrs. Foster right here?" My heart violently skipped a beat. I peered through the gaps in the crowd, and my breathing instantly ceased. The man surrounded by bodyguards was none other than the husband I had been waiting two hours for, Julian Foster. And at this moment, Julian Foster was carrying a young, beautiful woman in his arms. The woman was wearing sunglasses, but I recognized her instantly. Anna Sterling, the third female lead newly promoted in Julian Foster's new drama crew. "Julian, it hurts so bad..." Anna Sterling squirmed coquettishly in Julian's arms, her voice loud enough for everyone around to hear. "It's all your fault for going so hard in the car just now. You tore me up down there and pulled a muscle. I hate you!" These words exploded like a clap of thunder in the quiet corridor. The surrounding crowd cast shocked and gossipy looks. Instead of feeling embarrassed, Julian lowered his head and coaxed her, his face full of heartache. "It's my fault. I was too impatient. Be good, I'll have the doctor look at you right away." Slap! As if still unsatisfied, Anna Sterling raised her hand and delivered a crisp slap to Julian Foster's face. A dead silence fell over the entire hall. I stared unblinkingly at the scene, the blood in my body seemingly drained in an instant, as if I had been plunged into an ice cellar. I knew Julian Foster too well. Born into poverty, his self-esteem was incredibly fierce, even to a pathological and warped degree. He absolutely would not tolerate anyone acting insultingly toward him. Once, when we were joking around, I had playfully patted his face; Julian Foster had flown into a rage, smashed everything in the house, and refused to speak to me for an entire half-month. But now, in front of so many people, he actually let Anna Sterling slap him without even knitting his brows. There was nothing but endless indulgence and doting in his eyes. "Who on earth is Mrs. Foster?" someone nearby gasped in shock. This exclamation was exceptionally piercing in the empty corridor. Julian Foster looked up, his gaze cutting through the crowd to collide directly with my red, disbelieving eyes. The air seemed to freeze at this very moment. Julian Foster's footsteps paused for only half a second. There was no panic of a husband caught red-handed in his eyes, no guilt—only a chilling indifference. He withdrew his gaze, holding Anna Sterling, and walked straight past me. The moment we brushed shoulders, his cold voice drifted into my ears and hammered into everyone's hearts. "What's there to look at? Anna is Julian Foster's wife." I trembled all over, the ultrasound report in my hand crushed into a crumpled ball of waste paper. "Julian Foster!" I finally reached my limit, my voice cracking with anger and grief. "Do you even know what you're saying?!" Julian Foster stopped walking. Without looking back, he simply threw down a cold line. "Yolanda Vance, let's get a divorce." 2 Yolanda Vance's POV I didn't know how I managed to walk over to the outside of the VIP suite. The corridor was empty, with only the pungent smell of disinfectant wafting through the air. Like a soulless puppet, I stood stiffly outside the door. The suite door wasn't fully closed. From inside came Anna Sterling's unbridled, coquettish whining and complaints. "Ow, Doctor, gentler! It's all the fault of that beast Julian Foster. He acted like he hadn't touched a woman in eight hundred years. Why did he have to go so hard?!" "Sweetheart, my bad. I'll definitely be gentler next time. Does it still hurt?" That was Julian Foster's voice, so tender it could melt water—a tone that Yolanda Vance had not heard in a whole year. Standing outside the door, I felt cold all over. It was a chill that seeped from the marrow of my bones, freezing me so deeply that even breathing made my internal organs ache. I used to think Julian Foster was just too tired from work, just under too much pressure after winning the award. For him, right after winning Best Actress at the absolute peak of my career, I announced my retirement from the industry to become a homemaker and the woman behind him. I revised scripts for him, entertained investors on his behalf, and managed everything in his wake. Yet all I got in return was him "going too hard" on another woman. The suite door was pushed open, and Julian Foster walked out. The tenderness on his face vanished the instant he saw me, replaced by that familiar coldness—defensive and annoyed—that I had grown used to lately. "Since you've seen and heard everything, let's make things clear." Julian Foster lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled a puff of gray-white smoke. "Yolanda Vance, let's get a divorce." My eyes were red-rimmed as I stared dead at him, my voice trembling uncontrollably. "Julian Foster, do you even know what you're saying? You want to divorce me for that woman inside?" I took a deep breath, and tears finally spilled over, rolling down my pale cheeks. "I came to the hospital today because... I'm pregnant! I'm carrying your child!" Julian Foster's hand holding the cigarette jerked to a halt, his pupils shrinking abruptly. Looking at the tears on my face, he habitually reached out, wanting to wipe the tears from the corner of my eyes. But the moment his fingertips were about to touch my skin, he snapped awake and pulled his hand back quickly as if he had received an electric shock. "Get rid of it." Julian Foster averted his eyes, his voice as cold as if he were talking about discarding a piece of trash. "I don't love you anymore." I stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "What did you say?" "I said, I don't love you!" Julian Foster suddenly raised his voice, a long-suppressed resentment bursting from his eyes. "Yolanda Vance, do you have any idea what you brought me? Disgrace! Whenever anyone mentions Julian Foster, they say I became famous because of Yolanda Vance! They call me a gigolo living off a woman! Your light was too bright—so bright that it suffocated me!" He pointed at the suite door, a pathological fanaticism flashing in his eyes. "But Anna is different. She understands me. She idolizes me. She recognizes my talent and capability. She is willing to rely on and love me with all her heart, instead of looking at me with that high-and-mighty, patronizing gaze of yours!" Hearing this utterly absurd speech, I suddenly burst into laughter. I laughed until my tears streamed down, laughed until my entire body shook. "So that's the reason?" I demanded bitterly. "You think I'm high-and-mighty? Julian Foster, have you forgotten who stayed up all night revising those garbage scripts with you when you were hitting walls everywhere? Who swallowed their pride to beg for investments? I retired from the industry at the very peak of my career for you, giving up my dreams, and now you have the nerve to tell me my sacrifices were a disgrace?!" "Enough! Stop bringing up the past! Everything is in the past!" Julian Foster cut me off roughly, his gaze becoming incredibly venomous. "Yolanda Vance, I'll have my lawyer draw up the divorce papers. I want you to give up the assets." I looked at him in shock, as if looking at a monster. "Are you insane? Most of those assets were earned by me before our marriage!" "Anna likes money, and I won't let her suffer any grievance with me," Julian Foster said as if it were only natural, his tone even carrying a hint of vindictive pleasure. "Besides, if you don't give up the assets, I guarantee you won't be able to take a single step in the entertainment industry, let alone in this society." My world completely collapsed at this moment. Looking at the man before me who had once sworn to love me for a lifetime, the love in my heart was crushed piece by piece, turning into bone-deep hatred. I wiped away my tears, pulled my spine straight, and my gaze turned cold and hard. "In your dreams, Julian Foster. I will never agree to give up the assets, and I will absolutely never let you and that bitch live in peace!" Julian Foster sneered, tossed the cigarette butt onto the ground, and crushed it hard under his leather shoe. "Fine. Let's wait and see." 3 Yolanda Vance's POV Leaving the hospital, I didn't go home but went straight to a law firm I was familiar with. However, after I explained the situation, the top-tier lawyers who used to treat me with great respect—and even suck up to me—all showed expressions of difficulty. "Ms. Vance, we are truly sorry. It's not that we won't take your case, but Mr. Foster has already given us a heads-up beforehand..." "Ms. Vance, Julian Foster is at the peak of his fame right now, and we can't afford to offend the capital backing him. You'd better find someone else." "Yolanda, take my advice. You can't win against him. If Julian Foster told you to give up the assets, just sign it to save yourself the pain." I visited five law firms in a row, only to receive the exact same answer. Cornered, I sat in a street corner cafe, watching the bustling traffic outside, feeling helpless for the first time in my life. Julian Foster was driving me to the brink of death. Just then, the phone on the table began to vibrate frantically. It was a call from one of my few friends in the industry, the famous producer Ethan Shaw. The moment the call connected, Ethan Shaw's anxious and angry voice came through. "Yolanda! What on earth are you doing?! Have you lost your mind? Even if Julian Foster wants a divorce, even if you're short on cash, you can't go and film that kind of adult movie! You're a Grand Slam Best Actress!" I was completely dazed. "Ethan, what nonsense are you talking about? What adult movie?" "You don't know yet?! Quickly look at X! It's the number one trending topic!" With trembling hands, I tapped open X. Hanging right at the top of the trending list was a deep red word "Explosive": #Former Best Actress Yolanda Vance's Racy Photos Exposed#. The one who posted these photos was none other than Julian Foster's verified account. In the photos, I was wearing revealing lace lingerie, posing in various seductive ways. There were even a few topless shots, my eyes hazy. Those were private photos taken when we first started dating, while vacationing abroad. Julian Foster had coaxed me into taking them, saying he wanted to capture me at my most beautiful. They were proof of our love, the absolute bottom line of my wholehearted trust in him. But now, these photos had been made public by him, labeled as "audition photos for an adult film comeback." Looking at myself in the photos—smiling so happily with eyes full of Julian Foster—I couldn't help but let out a shrill, mocking laugh. Just how foolish was I to treat an ungrateful wolf as the love of my life? The comment section had already fallen, filled with vulgar and eyesore insults: "Holy crap! Truly can't stand being lonely, selling herself even after retiring!" "I feel so bad for Mr. Foster. No wonder he wants a divorce. Turns out his wife is a slut!" "This body is insane. Wonder how much she costs for a night?" "Get out of the entertainment industry! Slut!" Right after, I refreshed the page, and Julian Foster's account had posted another update: "Three years in the making, the release date for our latest pure, coming-of-age art film 'White Dove' is officially set. Female Lead: Anna Sterling. She has the cleanest, most pure soul I have ever seen." I stared fixedly at the screen, my fingernails digging deep into my palms, drawing faint traces of blood. I understood. Julian Foster didn't just want to force me to give up my assets; he wanted to destroy me completely! He wanted to step on my reputation to pave the way for that bitch, Anna Sterling! He wanted to use my "filth" to highlight Anna Sterling's "purity"! Want to make me submit? Want to ruin my reputation and make me roll out like a dog? Keep dreaming! I took a deep breath and wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes. My journey from playing extras to winning Best Actress was never built on a man's charity, but on the resilience and unyielding spirit in my bones. I stood up, preparing to go home to gather evidence of Julian Foster plagiarizing my script. Just as I got home, before I even had the chance to open my computer, a deafening pounding suddenly came from the front door. Bang! Bang! Bang! Before I could react, the security door was violently busted open. Julian Foster barged in with seven or eight burly bodyguards. He didn't even look at me. With a sinister gaze, he said coldly, "Smash everything!" 4 Yolanda Vance's POV Crash! Expensive vases were shattered, custom sofas were slashed, bookshelves were pushed over, and books and scripts scattered all over the floor. Watching this thuggish behavior, I trembled with rage. I rushed forward, grabbed Julian Foster's arm, and questioned him sharply. "Julian Foster, are you insane?! You're breaking and entering, and you brought people to wreck my home! I'm calling the police!" Julian Foster violently flung my hand away, his eyes filled with disgust and anger, as if looking at a heinous criminal. "You still have the nerve to call the police?" He let out a cold laugh, gritting his teeth. "Yolanda Vance, how did I never realize how vicious you are before? Ever since Anna saw you at the hospital, she went back and suddenly fell unconscious with a persistent high fever! The doctors couldn't find the cause. I brought in a medium, and the medium said that you cursed Anna!" I was stunned, then let out an utterly absurd, cold laugh. "A curse? Julian Foster, have you lost your mind, or did that woman suck your brains dry? You actually believe such superstitious nonsense?!" I pointed angrily at his nose. "She's unconscious? I think she's just addicted to acting! She doesn't want me to have an easy time, so she's messing with you, and you actually let yourself be ordered around by her like a dog!" "Shut up!" Hit where it hurt, Julian Foster's face turned livid. "Yolanda Vance, acting is what you do best. Who knows if you're the one framing her here! Search the place! The medium said the cursed object is hidden in this house!" The bodyguards ransacked the place, their movements growing even more violent. Before long, a bodyguard emerged from the southeast corner of the bedroom, holding a red sandalwood box in his hands. "Mr. Foster, we found this wooden box at the very bottom of the cabinet in the southeast corner." The so-called "spiritualist" wearing a long robe, who was trailing behind Julian Foster, immediately jumped out and pointed at the wooden box, screaming, "Yes! That's it! This is the culprit causing Ms. Sterling's coma! There must be something cursed inside!" The moment I saw the wooden box clearly, my face turned deathly pale, and my heart felt as though it were being viciously squeezed by an invisible hand. That was my parents' cremation urn! My parents had died in a car accident right when I first debuted. Since I had no other family and couldn't bear to bury them in a cold cemetery, I had someone make this red sandalwood box to keep their ashes in the quietest corner of my bedroom. It felt as though they were still here with me. "Stop! Put it down!" I lunged forward like a madwoman, trying to snatch the wooden box back from the bodyguard. "That's mine! You're not allowed to touch it!" Seeing how tense I was, Julian Foster became even more convinced by the spiritualist's words. He snatched the box from the bodyguard's hands and looked down at me coldly. "So nervous? It seems there really is something shameful hidden inside." "Julian Foster, give it back to me!" My eyes were bloodshot, and my voice was shrill with despair. "That's not some cursed object! Those are my parents' ashes!" His hand holding the wooden box froze, and a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes. "Mr. Foster, don't let her fool you!" the spiritualist egged him on from the side. "Who keeps dead people's ashes in their bedroom? This is nothing more than a coverstory for practicing black magic! Are you going to listen to this woman and watch Ms. Sterling die?" I saw the shift in Julian's eyes. His expression stiffened for a fraction of a second before twisting into ruthless determination. He gripped the wooden box so tightly his knuckles turned white. "No..." I saw the madness in his eyes, and my legs gave out, sending me to my knees right in front of him. I threw away all my pride, choking on my tears. "Julian Foster, I beg of you. Those are the parents who raised me. You hate me, you want a divorce, you want me to give up the assets—I'll agree to all of it! Just don't touch them. If you dare touch them, I, Yolanda Vance, swear that I will hate you forever, and I will make sure you die a horrible death!" Julian Foster's movements froze completely. Perhaps my gaze was too terrifying—a burning hatred ready to bring both of us down to ash—piercing his heart and making it shudder. 5 Yolanda Vance's POV "Mr. Foster, you can't hesitate!" the spiritualist urgently pressed, seeing Julian hesitate. "This cursed object is steeped in malevolent power. If you don't smash it today to break the curse, you will be shrouded in this woman's shadow for the rest of your life, never able to stand tall!" "Shrouded in this woman's shadow for the rest of your life." These words became the final straw that broke the camel's back. Looking at me kneeling on the ground, begging him, Julian Foster's eyes instantly turned bloodshot. "Yolanda Vance, you brought this on yourself!" Julian Foster raised the red sandalwood box high and, over Yolanda's desperate screams, slammed it down onto the hard marble floor with all his might. Crash! The wooden box shattered into pieces. Ash-gray powder burst out in an instant, scattering all over the floor. The French windows weren't fully closed, and a gust of night wind happened to blow in from outside. The wind whipped up the light ashes from the floor, like a bleak gray snowfall in the air, before scattering them out of the window to vanish into the endless black night. "No... please no... Dad, Mom..." I threw myself onto the floor like a madwoman. Ignoring the wooden splinters piercing my palms, I desperately tried to gather the remaining powder with both hands. But the more I tried to scoop it up, the faster the ashes slipped through my fingers. My palms were bloodied from the splinters, the fresh blood mixing with the ashes in a horrifying sight. "Ah!!!" I let out a wail like a dying beast—shrill, despairing, echoing through the entire villa. Even the bodyguards present couldn't help but shudder. Kneeling amidst the wreckage, my tears had run dry, leaving only hollow, bloodshot eyes. Slowly, I lifted my head and locked my gaze onto Julian Foster. "Julian Foster," my voice was raspy, like sandpaper scraping together, each word dripping with venom. "I, Yolanda Vance, swear to heaven today that I will hate you for the rest of my life. As long as I have a single breath left, I will make you pay this blood debt. I will ruin your reputation and make your life a living hell!" Meeting my eyes, a flicker of panic flashed across Julian Foster's face. "Let's go!" Julian Foster gritted his teeth, forcing down the panic in his chest, and fled in a hurry with his lackeys as if a ghost were chasing them. Dead silence fell over the villa once more. Kneeling on the floor, I carefully gathered the very last trace of ashes into my arms, pressing them against my chest. I didn't cry anymore. The vulnerability and grief in my eyes had vanished completely, replaced by a bone-chilling intent to kill. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. The phone rang three times before it was picked up, and a lazy, deep, and slightly mocking male voice came through. "What a rare guest. What brings you to call me? Did that useless Julian Foster finally let you off your leash?" Zachary Cole. A billionaire, the helm of an entertainment empire, and Julian Foster's most hated rival. "Zachary." My voice was dead calm, devoid of any emotion. "Do you want to completely bring down Julian Foster?" There was a two-second silence on the other end, followed by a low chuckle. "Oh? It seems Ms. Vance has finally seen through that loser's facade. What's this, want to partner with me?" "Yes." I looked down at the blood on the floor. "I want him destroyed." "Alright, you have a deal," Zachary agreed without a second thought. "Where are you? I'll send someone to pick you up." Julian Foster's POV I returned to Anna Sterling's apartment. Anna was already awake, clingily wrapping herself around me and begging for a hug. Yet, as Anna's soft body pressed against mine, an inexplicable wave of irritation and disgust washed over me. My mind kept replaying the image of Yolanda kneeling on the ground with blood all over her hands, and her words: "I will hate you for the rest of my life." "Julian, what's wrong? I want you..." Anna's hand began to wander down suggestively. "Stop it! I have things to do!" I shoved her away, grabbed my car keys, and headed straight out. I had to go see Yolanda. I told myself I was only going to warn her not to talk, to check if she was dead or alive. The Maybach sped through the streets, returning to the trashed villa. I pushed open the door and stormed into the bedroom. "Yolanda!" No response. The wreckage remained, and the blood on the floor had dried into a dark red. But the woman who had been kneeling there weeping in despair was gone. Not only was she gone, but all of Yolanda's documents and clothes had vanished without a trace. A cold wind swept through, leaving only my ragged breathing echoing in the empty room. An immense, indescribable panic flooded in like a tidal wave, completely engulfing me. Yolanda was really gone.