?Chapter 1142:


    Shey in bed staring at the ceiling, wide awake and tense. Sleep was impossible. After tossing and turning for an hour, she grabbed her phone and blocked Heidi’s number.


    That should have been the end of it. But it wasn’t.


    The next night, at exactly midnight, a different number rang her phone. Then another the night after that. Always at midnight. Always Heidi.


    Shelly was unraveling. She considered turning her phone off before bed, but what if her manager needed to reach her?


    In the end, she handed her phone to her assistant every night before sleeping, finally getting some rest—barely.


    At work, she tried tough it off while venting to her manager.


    “Honestly, Lucy, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Shelly said, shing a tired smile.


    “It’s nothing,” Lucy replied casually, unfazed as always.


    “Oh, by the way,” she added, holding out a small box. “Did you order something online? This package came for you. I signed for it.”


    Shelly frowned and shook her head. “Nope. Didn’t order anything.”


    She nced at thebel. “To my dearest Shelly,” she read aloud, her brow furrowing. “Probably from some overzealous fan.”


    Not thinking much of it, she casually opened the box and pulled out a folded piece of paper.


    But the moment she unfolded it, she screamed and dropped it as if it burned her.


    Lucy rushed over. The lettery face-up on the floor—sttered in what looked like fresh blood.


    And in red, smeared writing, it read: “Shelly, even in death, I won’t let you go…”


    Lucy carefully picked it up, trying to calm her. “It’s probably a prank. Maybe some crazy anti-fan.”


    Shelly’s expression had gone cold. Her voice dropped low. “No. I know exactly who sent it.”


    She let out a bitterugh. “Another one of Heidi’s pathetic games.”


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    But this time, Shelly wasn’t scared.


    Thete-night calls, the bloody letters—none of it worked. So Heidi changed tactics. She began pretending to be one of Shelly’s obsessed fans—watching from the shadows, following her schedule, trailing her every move.


    Then, one day, she found an opening.


    Shelly had just wrapped up a grueling photoshoot. She stormed out of the studio alone, her mood foul. The photographer, though famous, was notoriously difficult to work with.


    “Total lunatic,” she muttered, still fuming over the photographer’s endless demands. To make things worse, Lucy had taken the day off, leaving her without backup.


    As she approached the nearly empty parking lot, a voice sounded behind her.


    “What’s the problem?”


    Shelly froze. She hadn’t seen or heard anyone behind her.


    Slowly, she turned—and saw someone standing in the shadows, wearing a horrible mask.


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