To my Guardian...

I got an interesting idea last week, and tried to work on this alternative story.
In this story, Cindy is a rising star, and the story is like a noir detective style.

THE DETECTIVE AND THE BROKEN DOLL 

Chapter 1 : To my Guardian

The country club was buzzing with energy. Celebrities mingled, paparazzi lined the red carpet, and flashes of cameras lit up the night. Among the arrivals, young actress Cindy stepped out onto the red carpet. In addition to an elegant black backless dress, she wore a pair of white short arm casts and a soft neck brace. She struck a few practiced poses for the cameras, her expression poised and confident, before making her way inside.

Onlookers murmured as she passed. Cindy had risen to fame only recently, and not just for her acting skills—people had started to notice a peculiar pattern. She always appeared in public wearing some form of medical cast or brace. Whether they were real injuries or an elaborate publicity stunt, no one knew for sure. But one thing was certain: seeing Cindy in casts had become a spectacle in itself.

Inside the grand ballroom, Cindy stood near the bar, gazing at a glass of champagne that had just been placed before her. She reached for it instinctively, only to remember—her hands were useless in their casts. With a small sigh, she gave up, letting the drink sit untouched.

"Need some help with that?" a voice asked.

She turned to see a man offering to hold the glass to her lips. He was tall, sharply dressed, and had an air of quiet confidence. Cindy accepted, taking a sip before flashing him a small smile.

"Thanks," she said.

"Patrick," he introduced himself. "Private investigator."

Cindy raised an eyebrow, suddenly wary. "And why is a detective interested in me?"

Patrick hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Because I’m concerned about you."

She scoffed, stepping away. "I don’t need anyone’s concern."

"I know a secret about your casts" His words stopped her in her tracks. "They’re not real. Not just these. Every cast you've ever worn in public—it's all been for show, hasn't it?"

Cindy didn’t react. She simply turned back to him, her expression unreadable. "And what if they are?"

Patrick sighed. "People with real injuries think you’re mocking them. They’re angry, Cindy. Angry enough to hire someone to go after you."

For the first time, a flicker of unease crossed her face. "Let me guess," she said coolly. "You’re the one they sent?"

"No," Patrick replied firmly. "I came to protect you." He showed his ID.

There was a long silence between them before Cindy exhaled, her body relaxing. Without a word, she moved to a nearby chair, sat down, and kicked off one of her heels. Then, to Patrick’s surprise, she lifted her leg, grasped the champagne glass between her toes, and raised it effortlessly in a toast.

"To my guardian," she said with a smirk, before taking a sip.

Patrick watched Cindy with a mix of amusement and curiosity as she effortlessly sipped her champagne using her foot. She held her balance with surprising grace, as if she had done this countless times before.

“That’s impressive,” he admitted, leaning against the bar. “Did you practice that for the cameras too?”

Cindy smirked, lowering her leg and placing the glass back onto the table with her toes. “I’ve had plenty of practice,” she said, slipping her foot back into her heel. “Not everything I do is for show.”

Patrick studied her carefully. “Then why do it? The fake casts, the braces… What’s the point?”

She sighed, tilting her head slightly. “Who says they’re fake? Celebrities do all kind of new stuffs. Attention, image, mystique—people eat that stuff up.”

“So, it’s just a gimmick?”

“Does it matter?” Cindy leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. “You’re the detective, Patrick. You tell me—what’s the real story here?”

Patrick folded his arms, choosing his words carefully. “I think you’re hiding something. I think the casts are more than just a publicity stunt. Maybe you started wearing them for attention, but now… you can’t stop.”

Cindy chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “And what makes you think that?”

“Because if it was just about fame, you would’ve dropped it after the first few headlines. But you didn’t.” He leaned in slightly. “You keep showing up in them, even when the media’s not paying as much attention anymore. That tells me there’s more to this.”

Cindy’s smirk wavered for just a second before she picked up her wine glass again—this time letting Patrick help her drink. She swallowed the sip slowly, eyes fixed on him. “You’re very observant.”

“It’s my job.”

She exhaled, tapping her fingers against the table. “Maybe I like the feeling of being injured, not the pain, but the discomfort” she admitted, her voice softer now. “Maybe I like the way people look at me when I’m in a cast. The sympathy. The curiosity.” She turned her gaze back to Patrick.

Patrick didn’t respond right away. He could tell she was testing him, seeing how he’d react to her confession. Finally, he said, “And now someone out there thinks you deserve real injuries for it.”

Cindy rolled her eyes. “People are dramatic.”

“You should take this seriously, Cindy.” Patrick’s voice hardened. “Whoever they are, they don’t see this as just some game. They want to hurt you.”

Cindy tilted her head, watching him with curiosity. “And you? What do you want, Patrick?”

He hesitated. “I want to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

Cindy chuckled, draining the last of her wine. “You’re interesting, Patrick. Maybe I should keep you around.”

He shook his head, exasperated. “I’m not here for your entertainment. I’m here to protect you”

“Oh, but you are entertaining,” she teased, setting the glass down. Then she leaned in just slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. “So, tell me, detective—what’s your next move?” Cindy kicked her right heel again, but this time, her foot went for Patrick’s thigh.

Patrick barely flinched as Cindy’s foot nudged against his thigh. He glanced down at her exposed leg, her toes curling slightly in amusement, before looking back up to meet her gaze.

“You really don’t take anything seriously, do you?” he muttered.

Cindy smirked. “Why should I? You’re the one running around, acting like my knight in shining armor.”

Before he could say something back, Patrick felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something was off. He had spent years trusting his instincts, and right now, they were screaming at him.

Cindy, on the other hand, was still smirking, twirling the toe of her high heel against the floor. “You’re tense, detective,” she teased. “Afraid someone’s gonna break my fragile little bones for real?”

to be continued...