1 Bobby clawed his way from indie scraps to Best Actor. Onstage, spotlight blazing, the host asked what fueled his grind. He locked onto the camera, eyes heavy with practiced melancholy. “I wanted the girl I grew up with to see me,” he whispered. “To finally remember her way home.” The live chat erupted. Millions swooned over the tragic romance between the new screen king and his mysterious childhood sweetheart. Backstage in the shadows, I stood frozen. My blood turned to ice. I wasn’t that girl. We hadn’t grown up together. Yet here he was, spinning a grand televised lie—while I, his real girlfriend, had starved in a damp basement so he could eat, split three-dollar fried rice when we were broke, and choked down cold instant noodles just to keep him going. Soon, his childhood ballerina princess would return in triumph under his protection. And I would walk away, wrapped in the arms of a rising young star, never looking back. But it would be him on his knees then, bloodshot eyes pleading for me to stay. … #BobbyColeConfession #BobbyAndBallerinaGiselleAtPalaisGarnier #ChildhoodSweetheartsFairyTale #EmilyFontaineGetOut #TheRealQueenHasArrivedEmilyCantClingToOurKingAnymore I stared at the trending topics climbing the social media charts, a quiet, stinging ache spreading through my chest. He and Giselle were a fairy tale, a match made in heaven. So what did that make me? Oh, right. To the internet, I was just Emily Fontaine, the desperate, clout-chasing parasite who wouldn’t stop clinging to Bobby. I was the laughable, pathetic villain in their beautiful love story. My chest tightened as a wave of sharp pain washed over me. For years, I had kept my mouth shut to protect Bobby’s image as the eligible, single heartthrob. I had willingly shouldered every ounce of hate, vitriol, and mockery the internet could throw. Even though I was his legal, long-term partner, the public branded me a manipulative social climber who wouldn’t leave him alone. There were times when the cyberbullying became too cruel to bear, and I would break down crying in our quiet apartment. Bobby had seen me like that, curled into a ball on the bathroom floor. But he had never offered a public word of defense. He hadn’t even offered a simple hug. He never protected me. He only told me to be strong, leaving me to drown in the toxic sea of online hatred. And now, because of his grand, public declaration, that other woman had become the nation’s beloved muse. She was praised as his perfect match, his ultimate destiny. I scrolled through the endless flood of comments telling me to quit the industry, to crawl into a hole and die, and demanding that Bobby and Giselle get married on the spot. With trembling fingers, I dialed Bobby’s number. The call connected, but before I could draw a breath to speak, the line went dead. In those brief, hollow seconds before he hung up, the distinct, booming echo of an opera performance played in the background. I closed my eyes. I remembered the trending photos of them together at the Palais Garnier in Paris, enjoying a private box. So, it was true. They really were together. No wonder he had vanished into thin air the second the award ceremony ended. He had been in a hurry to fly across the world to her. Something warm and wet slipped down my cheek. I touched my face, surprised to find myself crying. What was I still hoping for? The man simply did not love me. He never had. 2 I ended up in the hospital. I was driven there by a panic attack, courtesy of Bobby and Giselle’s extreme shippers. Ever since his grand confession, the online harassment had reached a fever pitch. Gossip accounts had spliced an unedited, bare-faced paparazzi photo of me together with a highly polished, ethereal modeling poster of Giselle. The captions mocked me mercilessly, calling me a common toad trying to swallow a swan. Now that the real swan had returned, they said, I needed to clear the path and disappear. Then, some unhinged fan sent a box of dead, rotting frogs to my agency. The shock sent my system into a tailspin, and I collapsed. I stayed in the hospital for five days. During that entire time, I didn’t receive a single text or call from Bobby. I did, however, receive a bouquet of calla lilies. They were my favorite flowers. On the day I was discharged, the entertainment news announced that Bobby had finally landed back in the country. I looked at the calla lilies sitting on the bedside table and decided to give him one last chance. The phone rang for a long time before he finally picked up. Trying to keep my voice light and steady, I said, “Bobby, I’m getting discharged today. Can you come pick me up?” A long, heavy silence stretched over the line. “Emily, I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice flat and distant. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. You’ll have to find your own way back.” I stared at the schedule his assistant had secretly forwarded to me earlier. He didn’t have a single event scheduled for today. Nothing at all. I plucked a petal from a calla lily, my voice dropping to a quiet whisper. “What are you so busy with, Bobby?” The pause this time was even longer. He was probably surprised. I had never been this demanding before. For five years, I had been the perfect, understanding partner, never wanting to make things difficult for him, always putting his career first. Finally, he let out an irritated sigh. “Don’t start acting up, Emily.” And with that, he cut the line. He couldn’t even spare me another second. 3 The truth is, when a person stops loving you, it becomes glaringly obvious. During our first year together, when we were both nobodies, I had practically lived at networking events, drinking myself to the point of stomach bleeding just to pitch him to directors and secure him decent auditions. When he heard I had been hospitalized for internal bleeding, Bobby had practically lost his mind. He ran into the ward, pale and shaking. Seeing my weak state, tears had poured down his face. I had teased him back then. “Why are you crying? I’m not dead.” He wiped his eyes, his voice cracking with anger and worry. “Do you not care about your own body? Why did you drink so much?” I had smiled weakly. “But it worked, didn’t it? The supporting role in Director Miller’s film is yours.” Hearing that, he had cried even harder, clutching my hand to his face. “Emily, I don’t want to be famous anymore. I don’t care about any roles. I just want you safe by my side.” We really did have beautiful moments back then. Once, his eyes held nothing but me. His concern was real. It was nothing like today. I had called to tell him I was leaving the hospital, and his only instinct was to keep his distance. He didn’t even care enough to ask why I was hospitalized in the first place. I squeezed the calla lily petal in my hand until it bruised, watching the green sap stain my skin like the slow, quiet death of my love for him. If he cared so little, why had he bother sending these flowers? Ding. My phone lit up with a text message. It was from Bobby’s assistant. [Hey Emily, did you get the flowers? I made sure they were calla lilies, your favorite!] [I haven’t seen much of Bobby either these past couple of days, but when we head to his shoot tomorrow, I’ll sneakily ask him about his speech. Don’t listen to the gossip blogs, I’m sure he still has you in his heart.] I let out a cold, hollow laugh. So even the flowers weren’t from him. Bobby, oh Bobby. What exactly did you take me for? I loved you, I respected you, and I was willing to sacrifice my own life to build yours. But that didn’t mean you had the right to trample over my heart and drag my dignity through the dirt. We are done. Truly, completely done. 4 Bobby and I started dating during our first year in the industry. We belonged to the same talent agency, Summit Media, and constantly crossed paths at auditions and low-budget promotional events. Back then, we were both struggling actors at the bottom of the food chain, finding solace in each other’s company. One night, after a grueling sixteen-hour shoot in the freezing rain, we were both shivering, huddled in a small, poorly heated dressing room. He took my freezing hands in his, rubbed them warm, and confessed his love. He promised we would climb to the top of the mountain together, hand-in-hand. He was incredibly handsome. When he focused his gaze on someone, his eyes burned with a quiet, intense fire. Looking into those eyes, I had lost my mind and said yes. We spent five years together. I stayed by his side through every step, moving from a damp basement to a high-end luxury apartment, watching him grow from an unnamed extra into a household name and, finally, a Best Actor winner. He had indeed conquered the world. But the woman he wanted to hold hands with at the peak was no longer me. I pulled up the entertainment news, watching the trending topics boast about his perfect chemistry with Giselle. A familiar, icy numbness settled over me. It was hilarious, really. In all our years together, I had never once heard him mention this childhood sweetheart. But my assistant, Daisy, had mentioned Giselle’s name a few times recently. Supposedly, Giselle had spent several years studying ballet in Paris and was now returning to the country to transition into acting. She had signed with our agency, Summit Media. When Daisy first brought it up, she had leaned in and whispered a secret. Giselle wasn’t just joining the agency; she was returning to inherit it. She was the only daughter of Arthur Sinclair, the billionaire founder and owner of Summit Media. When Daisy was sharing this gossip, Bobby had been sitting nearby, pretending to read his script. But I had caught the fleeting, calculative gleam in his eyes. I wondered if his sudden public romantic confession had anything to do with that piece of information. I had a feeling I would find out the answer very soon. 5 I didn’t expect to find Bobby at our apartment when I got back. He was lounging on the sofa, clutching his phone, a soft, unmistakable smile playing on his lips as he messaged someone. How long had it been since I last saw him smile like that? Probably since he started filming the movie that won him his award. After that, his gaze and his smiles rarely landed on me. I stood silently at the entrance, watching him. He was so deeply engrossed in his screen that he didn’t even notice the door open. “Bobby.” I finally spoke, breaking the silence. He jerked, his head snapping toward me. The warmth on his face instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, guarded mask. Sensing my gaze on his phone, he quickly locked the screen and tossed it onto the sofa. “You’re back? That was fast.” He frowned, then tried to smooth his expression with a dry smile. “See? I told you you didn’t need me to pick you up. You’ve always been great at taking care of yourself, Emily.” Even though my heart had already gone numb, hearing those words still sent a sharp, physical ache through my chest. Yes, I was great at taking care of myself. Because I knew that no matter what happened to me, he wouldn’t show up. I only had myself to rely on. Over the past few years, especially after he gained a bit of fame, he had become obsessed with protecting his own reputation. He refused to let any potential scandal touch him, which meant constantly asking me to step back, to hide, to sacrifice my career for his. Peeling back the rose-colored glasses of love, I looked at the man before me with cold clarity. He was terrifyingly, incredibly selfish. But fortunately, I was leaving. This selfish, calculating man was no longer my problem. 6 “Let’s break up,” I said quietly, stating my decision as if discussing the weather. An adult breakup doesn’t require screaming, crying, or throwing dishes. It is merely a calculated exit, a mutual understanding of shifted interests. The moment the words left my mouth, I caught a fleeting glimpse of profound relief on Bobby’s face. He toyed with his phone, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “I know I’ve let you down, Emily. You can keep this apartment. Consider it my compensation to you.” I stayed silent. I deserved this apartment. The amount of sweat, tears, and industry connections I had poured into his career over the past five years was worth far more than this piece of real estate. He moved quickly, packing his bags as if he had been waiting for this moment for a long time. As I watched him roll his suitcase out of the bedroom, I couldn’t help but ask one last question. “Bobby, did your heart change because Giselle is the heiress of Summit Media, or did you genuinely spend all these years pining for your childhood sweetheart?” Bobby paused at the entryway, his back to me. A long silence filled the hallway. I stared at his profile. The youthful, passionate face I had once loved so deeply had gradually been replaced by the calculating, weary lines of a seasoned social climber. The man who had once held my hand and promised to take me to the top had vanished long ago. Finally, Bobby let out a quiet sigh. “Emily, nobody knows better than you how brutal it is to struggle at the bottom of this industry. I’m just tired of struggling. I’m sorry.” A laugh bubbled up from my chest, entirely stripping away the last trace of bitterness. I looked at him and said with absolute sincerity, “I wish you a prosperous career, Bobby. May you fly as high as you want.” He turned to look at me, a brief, faint flicker of melancholy and regret crossing his eyes, only to be instantly replaced by cold resolve. “Emily, I hope you’ll keep our past relationship strictly to yourself. I don’t want Giselle to misunderstand.” With that, he opened the door and walked out without looking back. As the door clicked shut, the very last fragment of regret in my heart evaporated. This was good. This was exactly how it should be. 7 Once the breakup was finalized, Bobby acted as though a heavy shackle had been lifted from his ankles. That very evening, he officially announced his relationship with Giselle on his social media accounts, using the buzz to build massive hype for her return to the country. The internet went wild, congratulating the perfect couple, while taking the opportunity to throw a few more insults my way, telling the “clout-chasing leech” to finally crawl away and die. Daisy was furious on my behalf, pacing around my dressing room. I kept my head down, making notes on my script. “It’s fine. The higher they build their pedestal, the harder they fall. You know how this industry works.” Daisy looked at me, her eyes filled with sympathy. “But it’s so unfair! You were his actual partner all those years, and now everyone thinks you’re some psycho stalker. I can’t stand it.” “Is being an actor’s secret girlfriend really that prestigious?” I asked, not looking up. “I’d rather be an award-winning actress myself.” Hearing this, Daisy’s face lit up. “Emily, I knew you wouldn’t let this beat you! Yes! Let’s study the script. Once you land the lead role in Director Bennett’s The Divide, we’ll show them what a real star looks like.” She paused, sighing. “To be honest, you sacrificed way too much for Bobby. You handed him all the best scripts and opportunities, even though your acting skills are ten times better than his. It was such a waste.” It was indeed a waste. But at least I was awake now. The online hate was temporary. Now that I had cut off the dead weight of a useless relationship, I was returning to my true passion. I would use my own talent to wash away every drop of mud they had thrown at me. 8 I didn’t expect Giselle to set her sights on the lead role of The Divide as well. The moment I stepped into the agency office the next day, the corridors were buzzing with the news. The ballet princess, fresh off her high-profile return under Bobby’s wing, was auditioning for The Divide. She wanted to use this blockbuster project as her grand debut into the film industry. My manager, Valerie, walked into my dressing room with a grim expression. “Emily, you had a real fighting chance for this role. But now that the owner’s daughter is throwing her hat in the ring, how are we supposed to compete?” She sighed, sitting down across from me. “And with your current reputation… you refuse to release a statement clarifying your past with Bobby, so you’re just taking all the blame. Director Bennett might love your acting, but he has to consider the public backlash of casting you.” “What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?” I looked at her calmly. “I still want to fight for it. I’ve read this script front to back five times. I understand this character better than anyone else.” Valerie shook her head helplessly. “You’re an acting purist, Emily. But this industry isn’t just about talent. Do you really think Bobby got the lead in Crescent just because of his audition? He and Giselle were already making deals behind the scenes. That role was handed to him on a silver platter because of her family’s backing.” “You were the only naive one, kept in the dark while you practically built his career for him.” Valerie’s words rang in my ears, sounding utterly ridiculous. So, they all believed Bobby had landed Crescent because of Giselle’s influence. I wondered if Bobby believed that lie too. A cold, mocking smile touched my lips. How pathetic. Valerie gave me a few more warnings about not causing trouble before leaving the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. 9 I was surprised when Bobby initiated contact and knocked on my dressing room door. I looked up as he strode in, my brow furrowing in irritation. Not tearing his face off in public was the absolute limit of my generosity. I saw no reason for us to have any private conversations. Until he opened his mouth. He looked down at me, his deep eyes heavy with what he clearly thought was concern. “Emily, I expected you to break your contract and leave the agency by now.” His tone was insufferably patronizing, as if he were doing me a favor. “You know Giselle is back. She’s going to be the priority here. She knows about our past, and as long as you stay, the agency won’t throw a single scrap of resource your way.” He glanced at the script in my hand, his lips twisting into a dismissive smirk. “Take The Divide, for instance. You’ve been preparing for months, but that role is already hers. If you stay, you’ll just rot in the background.” “If I were you, I’d pack my bags and preserve whatever dignity I have left.” I stared at him, fully understanding his game. He was entirely convinced I stood no chance against Giselle, and he was trying to pressure me into leaving quietly so I wouldn’t be a thorn in their side. I could tolerate his betrayal. People change, and relationships fade. But I could not tolerate his sheer, unadulterated shamelessness. I looked at him as if looking at a complete stranger. “Bobby,” I said, a cold laugh escaping my lips, “you really are a piece of work.” The conversation ended in a tense, freezing silence. 10 My first face-to-face encounter with Giselle took place at the audition venue for The Divide. Before my car even came to a halt outside the studio, I saw her. She was stepping out of a luxury van, surrounded by a small army of assistants, with Bobby walking close by her side. Giselle wore an exquisite, high-end designer outfit, her beautiful face animated as she chatted happily with Bobby. Bobby kept his eyes fixed entirely on her, a tender, doting smile on his face. Suddenly, Giselle’s heel caught on a crack in the pavement. Almost instantly, Bobby moved with absolute urgency, wrapping his arms around her waist to steady her in a highly protective stance. This version of Bobby was both familiar and entirely foreign. It seemed that after freeing himself from me, he was living a very happy life. Beside me, Daisy let out a disgusted hiss. “Emily, the way that prick flaunts his new relationship makes me want to throw up.” I pulled my gaze back. “It has nothing to do with us. Grab the materials. It’s time to get out.”
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