Born Into Villain's Family: I Have a 200\% Rebate System-Chapter 535: Friends

Jules let out a hollow laugh that echoed strangely in the quiet room.

"I’m not leaving, Annie. I’m cutting off something that keeps bleeding. Every time I see you, I remember how regretful it feels to have a mother like you. And every time you see me, you drown in guilt thinking about what you did. Isn’t it better if we part ways?"

Annie’s head moved back and forth repeatedly, but this time she did not chase after Jules when she turned to leave.

After the door closed, Annie remained seated for a long time. Slowly, she admitted to herself that Jules had spoken the truth.

From that day onward, Annie only watched her daughter from a distance.

When Jules needed help, Annie sent it quietly, anonymously.

When Jules declined the assistance, Annie did not celebrate it as a sign of lingering attachment. She simply accepted it.

She never saw her daughter again in person. She never saw a granddaughter or a grandson. Jules had made her boundary clear, and Annie respected it.

Even at the end of her life, lying on a bed that smelled faintly of antiseptic and fading flowers, Annie had only one wish.

’If she would just visit once,’ she thought. But Jules refused to give her even that comfort.

Perhaps Jules remembered too well.

There had been a time when Jules herself stood on the edge of despair, her mind swallowed by darkness.

She had reached out to Annie then, hoping for help, hoping for a single word to pull her back.

’I’ll try a little longer before I fall,’ she had told herself.

But Annie had ignored her.

Worse, Annie had looked at her with cold eyes and "If you want to end it, then end it. It would be better that way."

That sentence had shattered whatever fragile hope Jules still carried.

So when Annie lay on her deathbed, Jules did not go. She did not offer comfort. Some relationships, she believed, were better severed completely.

Far away from that sorrow, Dorothy was living an entirely different life.

There was a quiet joy in her days now. Her mother was receiving proper treatment, and Dorothy was working steadily in the acting industry.

She did not have abundant money, but she had enough time and enough purpose. She was doing what she loved.

Her new project had just begun, and she poured her heart into every scene.

Under the glaring studio lights that smelled faintly of heated wires and makeup powder, she pushed herself harder with each take.

As weeks passed, her acting improved remarkably. The director even requested certain early scenes to be reshot.

"When we first filmed these, you were still green," the director told her with a faint smile. "Now you understand the character."

Those early scenes were replaced with new ones, where Dorothy’s expressions carried depth and restrained emotion.

Two months of intense experience had transformed her completely. The difference between her older performance and her current capability was undeniable.

When that project ended, she moved on to another without pause.

She accepted side roles, male leads’ confidant, third female lead, minor yet crucial characters.

Though they were not leading parts, they meant a lot to her.

In one film, she played a spy who infiltrated a wealthy family’s mansion, intending to destroy them from within.

Yet she was gradually won over by their kindness. In the climax, she died protecting one of the protagonists.

Her final scene left the set in stunned silence.

Even the director admitted openly, "When we were told to cast you, we didn’t expect much. But you were made for this role."

More opportunities followed. Sometimes she played insignificant characters who passed by unnoticed.

Other times, she portrayed pivotal figures who shifted the story’s course. With each role, Dorothy grew stronger, her presence sharper, her heart steadier.

Anyhow, it could be said that Dorothy’s steady advancement into new projects gradually gave her exposure, the kind that did not arrive overnight but accumulated quietly like layers of dust under bright studio lights.

Eventually, she landed a small role in a big-budget picture.

The opportunity had not fallen into her lap easily; her company had fought hard for it, negotiating, persuading, almost pleading behind closed doors.

Because of that, Dorothy cherished it deeply. ’I cannot look ungrateful,’ she reminded herself again and again, pressing her palms together whenever anxiety crept in.

She arrived on set earlier than required, greeted everyone politely, and rehearsed her lines until her throat felt dry.

After that project wrapped up, Dorothy moved on to several others without pause.

It turned out that juggling so many roles within a single year worked in her favor.

Among all those projects, one became a massive hit, the very same big-budget film in which she had only a small role.

That small role, however, was unexpectedly memorable.

The story revolved around a gender-bender theme, playful and mischievous, and Dorothy portrayed the third female lead who disguised herself as a boy.

In the film, she enrolled in a boys’ school under a false identity, her hair cut short, her posture deliberately roughened.

She romanced one of the boys, their relationship unfolding in secret corridors and under the shade of old trees, and eventually, her character ended up with him.

It was an inside story woven into the main plot to lighten the mood of the film, offering laughter between intense sequences.

Yet audiences adored it. Her scenes received immense attention, and viewers began talking about her expressive eyes and effortless charm.

To everyone’s surprise, including her own, she was nominated for Best Supporting Actress.

When her name was announced as the winner, the applause felt distant, almost unreal.

The golden trophy was cold and heavy in her trembling hands.

Even after placing it carefully on the small table in her apartment, she could not believe it.

For two whole days, she stared at the award as if it might vanish.

’Did I really win?’ she wondered, touching the engraved letters with her fingertips.

Once the disbelief settled into reality, she felt an overwhelming urge to share the news.

She unlocked her phone, scrolling through her contacts, only to realize there was almost no one left to call.

After that humiliating incident in the past, when she had begged for work and financial help and received nothing but indifference, she had deleted nearly everyone.

Only Aurora and her mother remained in contact. Her manager was there too, though he mostly contacted her about schedules rather than personal matters.

A bitter smile touched her lips.

’How ironic,’ she thought. ’Before, I had so many friends but no achievements. Now I have an achievement but no friends to share it with.’

As for her mother, she was battling her illness, her days filled with hospital visits and medication schedules.

How could Dorothy burden her with celebratory calls when she was already fighting her own war?

She sighed softly.

Then Aurora’s name flashed in her mind like a beam of warm light.

It had been Aurora who supported her, who invested effort into launching her career when no one else believed in her.

’I should tell her,’ Dorothy decided firmly. ’She deserves to know. And one day, when I earn more, I will repay her properly.’

With that resolve, she slipped her phone back into her bag and headed to her shooting location.

The entire day passed in a blur of camera clicks and shouted instructions.

By the time she returned home, exhaustion weighed heavily on her shoulders.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The lights she distinctly remembered leaving on were off.

Her heartbeat quickened.

’Did I forget?’ she wondered, unease prickling her skin.

Just as she took another cautious step forward, the lights flicked on suddenly.

Her eyes widened in shock, breath catching in her throat. Before fear could fully settle, a chorus of voices erupted around her.

"Congratulations!"

The word echoed warmly across the room.

Dorothy blinked rapidly, her vision clearing to reveal familiar faces.

There was Aurora, standing at the center with a teasing smile.

Theodore stood nearby, clapping softly. Several company members she recognized grinned at her.

Even her usually busy manager was there, applauding enthusiastically.

Tears rushed to her eyes without warning.

Aurora stepped forward, holding out a cake decorated with delicate frosting roses. "If you cry now, the photos will look terrible," she teased lightly.

"And I will absolutely post them so everyone knows that the recently famous Dorothy cries ugly in real life."

Dorothy sniffed, half laughing through her tears. "Can’t you give me one moment to feel moved?"

Aurora rolled her eyes playfully. "Moved? We are your friends. Of course we’re supposed to do this."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Dorothy pressed her lips together, overwhelmed. She watched as Aurora placed the cake on the table and lit the candles. The flickering flames reflected in her watery eyes.

Closing them briefly, she made a silent wish.

’Please let these friends stay with me through everything, through success and failure, through light and darkness.’