My Sharp-Tongued Agent

My fingertips clenched the talent show contract, turning white, knuckles trembling slightly from the strain; the contract's edges became damp and frayed from the sweat in my palm—just like my heart, hanging in suspense. The final ceremony of debut night was the selection of a personal agent. The spotlight swept across the stage, landing on a row of suited figures, the warm yellow light wrapped in anticipation. Calvin Jones stood not far away, giving me a side glance with the shallow dimples by his eyes just like before; but today, there was not a hint of warmth in that smile. He was my boyfriend of two years and also the company's newly promoted agent. I had always hoped that we could firmly establish ourselves in the industry together, rising from obscurity to the center of everyone's attention. I had already planned to run to him with a smile, my dress clenched in my hand, just waiting for the host to say 'Start.' Then a pale blue live chat comment struck my eyes: "Jenny, don't be foolish! Calvin has already been with Luna!" The mocking emojis that followed froze me instantly. My steps felt like lead; the legs that were supposed to move forward refused to lift. More live chat comments flooded in: "Calvin will expose your dirty secrets on the live stream to help Luna rise by stepping on you!" "Luna's just waiting to see you fall, pretending to be your dear little sister!" Dear little sister—my half-sister Luna Lincoln—was standing right beside me at that moment. Her fingertips were icy; when she touched my arm, I instinctively pulled away. Mom used to always tell me to give in to her, saying she had no mother's love. Now I realize that I was the one who was too naive. "Jenny, what are you waiting for? Choose Calvin Jones." Her tone was affectionate, with a coquettish lilt at the end, but the urgency in her eyes was impossible to hide. I looked up at Calvin Jones. His smile remained unchanged, but beneath it was a layer of indifference I had never seen before. Suddenly, I recalled the messages on his phone from a few days ago. Back then, he said they were just ordinary colleagues. I actually believed him. All those details I deliberately ignored had long been warnings: his increasingly frequent 'overtime,' encrypted photo albums on his phone, and Luna Lincoln always appearing by his side. My gaze shifted to the corner, where Yale Jones was standing. He is Calvin Jones's older brother, but his demeanor is completely different—enveloped in a coldness that tells strangers to stay away. Everyone in the industry knows him as the sharp-tongued agent; the artists he manages either become wildly famous or get driven out by his harsh words—no one dares to sign with him. But watching the interaction between Calvin and Luna Lincoln, I suddenly changed my mind. Calvin's gentleness is a trap, so maybe Yale's ‘badness' is actually my choice? Rather than choosing a betrayer, it's better to pick an open ‘enemy'—at least his cruelty is straightforward, so I won't end up losing too much. Taking a deep breath, I bypassed Calvin Jones and walked straight towards Yale Jones. The tap of my high heels on the stage floor felt like each step was stabbing into my heart. Yale Jones lifted his eyes, raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. His gaze was deep, as if hiding an ocean—I couldn't read his thoughts. I handed over the information sheet, my fingertips trembling. The edges of the paper were wrinkled from my grip, and sweat from my palm soaked the corners until they softened. "Yale Jones, I choose you as my agent." As the words left my mouth, a sharp intake of breath rippled through the audience below. Luna Lincoln's voice instantly sharpened, carrying through the microphone across the venue: "Jenny, are you crazy? Yale Jones... he's always talked behind your back!" She reached out to pull me, feigning concern. Calvin Jones walked over as well, his face so dark it seemed wet with tension, his brows tightly furrowed, all the gentleness in his eyes vanished, leaving only dissatisfaction: "Jenny Lincoln, what do you mean?" His tone was full of entitlement, as if it were only natural that I chose him. I looked at him and suddenly felt he was a stranger — the man before me, my boyfriend of two years, seemed like someone I had never truly known. The live chat comments flooded in again: "Calvin is getting anxious! Afraid that Jenny won't fall into the trap!" "Luna is still pretending! She obviously wants Yale Jones to be her agent!" I ignored them and stared straight into Yale Jones's eyes, looking for any sign of refusal, but he simply looked back quietly. "Will you be willing to be my agent?" My voice trembled, and my breaths grew cautious. Yale Jones lowered his head to glance at the profile sheet bearing my name, paused for two seconds, lingered on the words "Jenny Lincoln," then looked up and said, "Sure." His voice was low and devoid of emotion, yet it made me breathe a sigh of relief. Luna Lincoln's face went pale in an instant. Calvin Jones clenched his fists, knuckles whitening, eyes blazing with anger: "Jenny Lincoln, you will regret this." He left the words hanging in the air, grabbed Luna Lincoln, and stormed off with heavy steps, as if venting his frustration. I watched their backs without a flicker of emotion. Regret? All I knew was that choosing Calvin Jones would lead me to irreversible ruin. Yale Jones suddenly spoke, his voice drawing closer: "Why choose me?" His eyes held a probing look, as if he was desperate to know the answer. I froze for a moment, then lowered my gaze and smiled. "Putting that aside, I want to ask you," I raised my eyes, my tone serious, "were you the one who posted those articles slandering me before?" My heart pounded wildly, terrified of hearing a yes. Yale Jones frowned, "What articles?" His expression was genuinely surprised, not faked, and my heart sank.