It took me ten years to single-handedly transform a broke, struggling actor into the new golden boy of Hollywood. Everyone assumed I was on the verge of becoming the glamorous wife of an A-list star. What they didn't know was that just as I finished paving his path to the stars, he was already taking someone else’s hand. At his birthday dinner, in front of everyone, I broke up with him. He thought I was just throwing a tantrum. But he had no idea. I didn't just want to break up with him. I wanted to ruin him. Jeffrey Cabrera, if I could build you a throne, I can certainly bring you crashing down from Olympus. Your reign as Hollywood's king is over. 1 "Let's break up." Across the candlelit table, I looked at the handsome man opposite me and spoke with a calm I didn't feel. Jeffrey froze, then a weary, almost patronizing smile touched his lips. "What is it now, Kathryn?" "Is it because I didn't wear the dress you picked out for me?" He sighed, his voice laced with the exhaustion of someone trying to placate a difficult child. "Kathryn, don't do this. I'm exhausted from the shoot." "I'm not doing anything." I bit the inside of my cheek, a sharp little sting of pain. He saw me wince and trailed off. Leaning back in his chair, he grabbed a napkin and took a deep breath. "Didn't you bring this up just two weeks ago?" he said, his voice turning cold. "I haven't cheated on you. I haven't been ignoring you. What, exactly, have I done wrong?" He let out a short, bitter laugh. "Fine. Just don't come crying back to me." "I'm done." I had no energy left for this pointless dance. I stood, the legs of my chair screeching against the polished floor. As I turned, I spotted a furtive figure lurking nearby. It was Sarah—Jeffrey's new assistant, a girl we knew from our old acting school. She glanced at me, gave a bland, barely-there nod as if I were a stranger, then immediately turned to Jeffrey, her expression melting into a mask of fragile distress. "Jeffrey," she began, her voice a delicate whisper, "Catherine sent another script, and I just don't know what to do. Could you possibly take a look for me…?" But Jeffrey's eyes were locked on me, blazing past her. The old me would have erupted. What script was so damn important it couldn't wait for us to finish one dinner? But I was just so tired. I started to walk away, but Sarah's hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. "Oh, Kathryn, don't go!" she cried, as if just realizing her timing was terrible. "I didn't mean to interrupt! I'm just so new to all this, I'm always asking Jeffrey for help. Please don't be mad at him because of me, he's had such a long day on set…" That was it. I snapped. I ripped my arm from her grasp. "Are you new to being an assistant, or new to being a person? I booked this dinner three days ago. You're telling me you didn't know?" "You're so new to the job that when you felt sick at one in the morning, you didn't call 911, you called him?" "You're so new that you don't understand you have no place in his private life?" "Sarah," I spat, my voice low and shaking, "are you pathologically helpless, bored out of your mind, or are you just shamelessly using the fact that we went to the same school to be this goddamn pathetic?" Sarah stood there, mouth agape, her eyes instantly welling up with tears that shimmered in the dim light. She cast a wounded look at Jeffrey and lowered her head. "Kathryn, that's enough!" Jeffrey strode over, pulling Sarah behind him as if shielding her from an attack. He glared at me, his brow furrowed. "You went too far. She'll know for next time, won't she?" Next time? There would be no next time. Sarah's tears began to fall, silent but for the choked little sobs that were somehow louder than a scream. A born actress. A laugh escaped my lips. Such a classic damsel-in-distress act, and Jeffrey, the award-winning actor, couldn't see through it. Or maybe… maybe he just didn't want to. I shook my head and walked out the door. 2 When I slapped my resignation letter on Catherine’s desk, she blinked in surprise. Catherine was the agency's star-maker, our boss. "Setting aside your relationship with Jeffrey for a moment, I genuinely admire your talent," she said, her pen hovering over the paper. "You know you have offers from other agencies, right? If this is just about him, I can move you to another client's team." A flicker of something warm stirred in my chest. All these years, my passion hadn't just been love; it had become a profession others respected. "I'm not signing this yet," Catherine said, noticing my hesitation. "Take a month off. Paid. Come back and give me your answer then." I went home and collapsed into bed, sleeping until the following evening. When I woke, I mindlessly scrolled through Instagram. The first post was from Sarah. "First time at a big gala and I had no idea what to wear! So lucky to have you pick everything out for me. The view from up here is dazzling. I hope I can keep up with you." The photo was a solo shot of her in a stunning gown. But in the background, artfully blurred, stood a familiar, impeccably dressed figure. The black tuxedo I had personally tailored for Jeffrey yesterday was now serving as the backdrop for her moment in the spotlight. My phone buzzed. A message from Jeffrey. "I wore it. Happy now?" Attached was a selfie of him in the tux. It had been nearly twenty-four hours, and he still thought my anger was about a goddamn suit. I opened the folders on my laptop, the digital archive of his entire career that I had built from scratch. Every retouched photo, every witty caption, every strategically timed post—all born from countless sleepless nights of my own. For years, his public persona had never strayed an inch from the script I wrote. But his life… his life had long since gone off-script. I deleted his contact, then wiped every backup, every file, every trace of him from my digital life. The next day, I drove to my grandmother's house. "Good heavens, you're skin and bones!" she exclaimed, her warm, wrinkled hand cupping my face. "Aren't you supposed to be making a fortune? Why does it look like they've stopped feeding you?" "And where's Jeffrey? How come that boy didn't come with you? He's looking all slick and well-fed on TV while you waste away?" she grumbled, gesturing at the television where his new drama was playing. I didn't have the energy to explain that the camera adds ten pounds, or that he had a whole new person to dote on him now. I just buried my face in her familiar, comforting embrace. "Grandma," I mumbled into her shoulder, "I'm starving. Can you make me your famous tomato soup and grilled cheese?" After I'd scraped the bowl clean, I finally found the courage. "Grandma, I quit my job. You're going to have to support me." She was clearing the table. "I'd be thrilled, but I'm afraid you'll get restless," she said without turning around. "Besides, how long can you stay away from that boy? You're just like your mother, a hopeless case." I wrapped my arms around her from behind. "I'm not like her, Grandma. I know the difference between what's important for Jeffrey, and what's important for me." "I want to get away for a while. Want to come with me?" Her body tensed for a moment, then she nudged me away. "Go on, get out of here. Wipe your mouth." She didn't say yes, but I knew from the slight curve of her lips that she was smiling. Just then, my phone buzzed with an alert from my apartment's video doorbell. On the screen was Sarah's cloyingly sweet face. "What is it? Work again?" Grandma waved a dismissive hand, used to my chaotic schedule. "Go on, then. Just call before you come next time so I can get groceries… oh, never mind. With your job, you can never plan ahead." It hit me then how often I'd rushed in and out, always for Jeffrey, never making enough time for her. I walked a few steps toward the door, then glanced back. Just as I suspected, she was still standing in the kitchen doorway, watching me. When our eyes met, she quickly pretended to be tidying up. The people who truly love you, I realized, are the ones whose care is so quiet you might almost miss it. 3 I drove back to the studio I shared with Jeffrey. I didn't see Sarah, so I called the police. At the station, Sarah was a mess of tears. "Kathryn, I didn't mean any harm! Jeffrey said you had a backup of the file he needed, and you weren't answering my texts…" "So your solution was to try and pry the door open?" "I… I was just in a panic…" "If I hadn't changed the locks last week, you would have just let yourself in and made yourself at home, wouldn't you?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm. Her wails were about to escalate when the door to the mediation room flew open. Jeffrey had arrived. "Jeffrey!" Sarah shot to her feet as if a savior had appeared. "It wasn't—I was afraid Kathryn would be mad, so I took matters into my own hands… I was really just trying to get the file for you!" Jeffrey was breathless, his chest heaving. That studio… we rented it when we were broke, sleeping on the floor some nights. After he made it big, he bought a mansion and I got my own apartment, but I always preferred working there. It held all our memories, the evidence of every sacrifice I'd ever made. "What the hell is going on? Why are the police involved?" Jeffrey demanded, his sharp tone directed at me. Sarah bit her lip, holding back a fresh wave of tears, the very picture of martyrdom. "It's all my fault. It has nothing to do with Kathryn." Jeffrey's personal assistant, who had come with him, was already smoothing things over with the officer. "It's all a misunderstanding, officer. They all know each other. Sorry to have wasted your time." The policewoman ignored him, her gaze fixed on me, waiting for my decision. Jeffrey dragged me out into the hallway. "Nothing was stolen," he hissed, his voice low and furious. "Take your anger out on me if you have to, but why drag her into it? Do you have any idea what kind of story this will make if it gets out?" "Did you give her the code?" I asked. His face tightened. "She asked me for it…" "So you told her to go?" "Enough!" he snapped. "She's my assistant. What's the big deal about her grabbing a file? Are you actually going to press charges? How would you explain that to Catherine? The media would have a field day, and you'd be the one cleaning it up!" He still didn't know. He had no idea I'd already quit. "Jeffrey, do you honestly see yourself as some kind of noble hero here? You think I'm doing this to get back at you?" I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "She trespassed in my workspace without my permission. And I'm the one in the wrong for calling the police?" "Jeffrey, it's my fault…" Sarah sobbed from the doorway. "Kathryn, I'm so sorry. I'll pay for any damages, whatever you want. Please, can we just handle this privately? I'm begging you." Her performance only fueled my rage. Jeffrey, however, had reached his limit. "Kathryn, don't push it!" he shot back impatiently. "This studio is registered under my name!" With that, he went back inside and, with a few smooth words, resolved the entire situation. Of course. I had almost forgotten. The studio was his. I had just been a guest who had overstayed her welcome, deluding herself into thinking she belonged. "Let's go. The car's outside," Jeffrey said, brushing past me. "No, thanks. It's a little too crowded for me." I walked away without a backward glance. Behind me, I could hear the whispers of onlookers. "Isn't that Jeffrey Cabrera, the movie star?" "Which one is his girlfriend? I heard they've been together for years." "Probably the one crying inside. The one walking away looks like she could kill someone."
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