Everyone knew A-list actor Liam and rising star Scarlett were smitten with each other. He spent her birthdays with her, showered her with gifts, and protected her career in Hollywood. Their romance was an open secret, just waiting for them to make it official. Until my private blog was dug up, filled with my sweet daily life with Liam. In an instant, the internet exploded with insults: “Where did this wild hen come from? Not famous, just chasing clout.” “Delusional fangirl, back off! Get lost!” But then Liam commented on my post: “Willow, please come back. Can we start over?” I can’t go back, Liam. I’m already dead. [June 24, 2024, Sunny. Liam, I don’t like the gift you gave me for our tenth wedding anniversary. I’m still mad. It’ll take ten kisses to make it up to me.] It was a necklace, from one of my favorite niche designers. I loved her philosophy. She said things weren’t meaningful unless they were one-of-a-kind. So she only ever made one of each piece, just one, absolutely irreplaceable. I’d always wanted a piece of her work. I once showed Liam a bracelet, telling him how much I loved it. He rested his chin in his hand, gazing at me tenderly. “Your husband will buy it for you. Whatever my Willow desires, I’ll get it for her.” The memory was still so vivid, yet today, he’d given me a necklace. Not the bracelet I’d been dreaming of. Disappointment gnawed at my already upset stomach, and the pain made me irritable. I put down the necklace, looked into his eyes, and asked, “Why isn’t it the bracelet?” His expression faltered for a second, but he quickly covered it. “I’m sorry, Willow,” he said with a regretful tone. “I got there too late. That bracelet was already sold.” “This necklace is beautiful too. You’ll look especially stunning wearing it.” I stared into his feigned calm eyes, and a bitter smile touched my lips. Liam. Liam. I never wear necklaces. Had he forgotten? After everything that happened, how could I ever dare to wear a necklace? That night, Liam held me in bed. He softly kissed the back of my neck, as if showering me with endless affection. “Willow, happy tenth wedding anniversary.” In the darkness, I gave a mocking smirk. Liam, today isn’t our tenth wedding anniversary. Yesterday was.
I knew where that bracelet went. A photo of its owner wearing it was sitting quietly in my phone. The sender had no name, but I knew exactly who she was. Scarlett, the popular rising star, my husband’s on-screen ‘ship’. They’d played a couple in a TV drama that went viral, making them incredibly famous. Now they were filming a movie together again. She’d added me on SnapChat a year ago and had been sending me messages ever since. Showing me just how good my husband was to her. He’d patiently explain every line to her when she struggled, staying up late to rehearse scenes. At networking events, he’d always step in, ensuring she was never pressured to drink. He connected her with acclaimed directors, helping her climb from an unknown indie actress to the trending starlet she is today. She never missed an opportunity to share every sweet detail between them, sending me everything, no matter how small. Until yesterday. Yesterday was my and Liam’s tenth wedding anniversary, and also Scarlett’s birthday. Liam didn’t come home. He went to celebrate with her. That night, I received another message from her. It was a photo. A bracelet with an antique, distinctive design hung on her slender wrist, unforgettable. It was the very bracelet Liam had promised to get for me. [Sister, don’t you think this bracelet is beautiful?] [Liam gave it to me.] [I just mentioned it casually, and he gave it to me without a second thought.] [I don’t know what to do with him, he’s going to spoil me rotten if he keeps spoiling me like this.] I didn’t reply. I never replied to her messages, but she kept sending them religiously for a year. Maybe she was certain I’d see them. And I always did. I watched my own husband grow closer to another woman, showering her with care and pouring his heart into her. I used to brush off Scarlett’s messages. Did she know what Liam and I had been through? We’d been married for ten years, our lives intertwined, shaping each other’s existence. He pulled me out of a bleak childhood, promising to love me forever. I thought Liam and I would stay strong, no matter what. After all, in this vast world, we had only each other. I never imagined that after only ten years, his affections would begin to drift. He started noticing other paths, other companions.
[August 19, 2024, Cloudy. Liam sent me a dress – a super dramatic, backless style. He said he wanted me to wear it for him. He’s such a tease.] Liam had his assistant send me the dress. It was very sexy, showing a huge expanse of my back, completely impractical for everyday wear. Though the characters I played were often the “brawny but brainless,” seductive vixen types, that wasn’t my personal style. Liam called me, patiently coaxing, “Come on, Willow, sweetie, I miss you. Please wear it and come see me, okay?” He pestered me for ages, and I still couldn’t bring myself to refuse. I agreed. He said he’d be finished with filming late, so I should meet him at Hotel Room 1407 at midnight. His excited instructions reminded me of when we were eighteen. We’d just started college, and we’d only been dating for a year. He was always hugging and kissing me, rambling about when we’d turn legal, how he was about to explode from holding back. I could feel it – his words, his actions, his gaze, even his very soul, yearned for me. I thrived on that yearning. It made me feel like my existence had meaning. It was my reason for living. Liam was Willow’s reason for living, from eighteen to thirty-two. Always. At midnight, I wore the dress and knocked on the door of 1407. Instead of Liam, the door was opened by Director Miller, a strange, older man. We stared at each other for a beat. Then, his gaze turned overtly lecherous, scanning me up and down. Liam appeared from behind me, pulling me to his side as he spoke to Director Miller. “My apologies, Director, my assistant must have gotten the room number wrong.” Back in Liam’s room, he held me through the night, our embrace intimate and desperate. Half-asleep, I heard his faint whisper: “I’m sorry, Willow.” Soon, I understood where that apology came from. The older man in 1407 was the director of their movie. The night before, he’d called Scarlett to his room under the pretense of “discussing scenes,” attempting to take advantage of her. But an unknown paparazzo had secretly snapped photos of her entering the room.
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