Elizabeth took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm.

She mentally listed all the people who could potentially help her.

Her fingers scrolled through her phone contacts, hovering over each name.

William Levine. Elise Scott. Samantha. Even Nathan and his circle of friends.

Forty thousand dollars was nothing to them—mere pocket change.

Yet she couldn't bring herself to dial any of their numbers.

She refused to let them see how far she had fallen, how desperate she had become.

Adding to their burdens was the last thing she wanted to do.

Her thumb paused over her manager's contact information.

Swallowing her pride, she finally made the call, humbly requesting the money.

Linda's response was immediate and firm—not out of unwillingness, but because she had been explicitly warned against assisting Elizabeth.

To make matters worse, Linda delivered more devastating news.

Every endorsement deal, every scheduled commercial shoot—all canceled indefinitely.

Even completed films and television series in post-production were being recast or having her face digitally replaced.

All existing projects featuring her were being pulled from distribution immediately.

She was being systematically erased from the entertainment industry.

Linda's tone held a hint of regret—after all, she had discovered Elizabeth and nurtured her career.

But sentimentality had no place in show business.

The industry was ruthlessly pragmatic, where stars could be destroyed overnight and audiences would quickly move on.

Elizabeth's career in entertainment was effectively over.

Linda could offer no assistance, nor was she willing to negotiate with any production companies on Elizabeth's behalf.

After a long moment of hesitation, Elizabeth dialed another number.

To her surprise, the call was answered.

"Elizabeth?"

"James," she greeted, her voice barely above a whisper.

They weren't particularly close, though they had exchanged numbers after the Stuarts visited the Levines.

Their conversations had always been superficial, never touching on personal matters—mere acquaintances at best.

Elizabeth's reasoning was simple: the Stuarts outranked the Levines.

James Stuart could help her without facing any real consequences.

Nancy wouldn't dare challenge the Stuarts directly—she would have to accept their intervention, however displeased she might be.

James' tone remained neutral, almost detached. "What do you need?"

Gritting her teeth, Elizabeth went straight to the point. "Could you lend me forty thousand dollars?"

"That's not a significant amount," James mused, his voice cool. "But I have no reason to lend it to you."

A cold wave of disappointment washed over Elizabeth.

James had always seemed like a kind, older brother figure—now he revealed his true, calculating nature.

"My sister informed me you're no longer considered a Levine," James stated bluntly.

"That's correct," Elizabeth whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

"I won't deny I had a favorable impression of you before. When my grandfather suggested we consider a match, I didn't object—I've been focusing on my career, delaying marriage plans."

He paused, his words cutting deeper. "But such arrangements require equal social standing. Since you're no longer a Levine, there's now an insurmountable gap between us."

"For me, relationships are built on mutual benefit. That foundation no longer exists between us. Moreover, helping you when the Levines clearly want you destroyed would create difficulties for my sister. I thought you were considerate of others, but this request has disappointed me greatly."

Elizabeth's fingers tightened around her phone, her knuckles turning white.

She couldn't form any words in response.

It seemed everyone assumed her motives were purely selfish—James hadn't even asked why she needed the money.

He probably thought she was begging after squandering her wealth.

Elizabeth saw no point in explaining herself.

"My apologies for disturbing you," she said flatly, ending the call.

Unsurprisingly, she had become an outcast to everyone.

Lowering her phone, she stared at the cracked ceiling above.

Perhaps she should simply surrender—let Denzel do what he wanted.

Death would be a release at this point.

So why continue fighting?