"We need to talk about going public," I said. Feng Chen didn't look up from his mirror. He held a compact brush in one hand and smoothed his hair with the other. The green room smelled of hairspray and victory ribbon. "Not now," he said. "Not now?" I laughed, sharp. "You just stepped offstage with three trophies. Not now?" He met my eyes. "I said not now." "Five years of silence, and you say 'not now' after an award?" I leaned forward until the LED bulbs burned my skin. "When will you marry me, Feng Chen?" He blinked once. "Not yet." Silence spread, no softening, no negotiation. I watched his jaw tighten. He put the brush down and turned his back to me. "You can't say that," I said. "I can," he replied. "I'm not ready." "You're not ready after promising me—" He cut me off. "Promises aren't press statements." "You promised." The words came out small. I pressed my palm to the wall to keep myself upright. "You said you would make things official this year." "Plans change," he said. "Plans don't erase people," I said. He shrugged. "People move on." "Don't dismiss me," I said. "I've carried your bad takes, your risky roles, your—" "Stop," he said. For the first time, his voice was flat, empty of the warmth I'd learned to trust. "This is not the time. There's an interview tomorrow. The agency has a narrative. Let