Chapter 4

The divorce papers were dog-eared from being handled so many times. Samantha's signature sat bold and sharp on the final page, the ink faded enough to show it had been signed months ago.

Every time she got angry, she would throw this document at me.

She knew I loved her too much to sign it.

She weaponized my love like an infinite safety net.

Looking down at the document I had once feared more than death, a profound wave of exhaustion washed over me.

Samantha and I had literally lived through each other's entire rise to fame.

We signed with the same boutique agency, caught our first big breaks at almost the exact same time, and were pushed into the limelight side by side.

Those early years were brutal.

We survived on dollar-slice pizza and cheap gas station coffee, working graveyard shifts, auditioning until our voices went hoarse, trapped in an endless loop of rejection.

Back then, Samantha had clasped my bruised hands, her eyes filled with reverent devotion:

"Ethan, I swear we won't live like this forever."

"When I win that Best Actress trophy, we’ll buy a huge house in the hills, adopt a golden retriever, and travel anywhere we want. Complete freedom. And I'll have you right by my side."

That sacred promise made in the trenches was tossed aside the second we tasted success.

Soon, I became the agency’s leading man, and she became the industry's golden girl.

The days of begging casting directors for scraps were gone forever.

For rising stars, relationship scandals were poison. I wanted to announce our relationship early, to let our fans grow with us honestly.

I didn't want to wait until the paparazzi forced our hand.

Samantha adamantly opposed it.

"Ethan, our careers are just taking off. We can share the rest of our lives later."

"I need to seize this momentum."

As a compromise, Samantha agreed to marry me. A courthouse wedding. The very next morning, we grabbed our IDs and secretly got our marriage license stamped at the municipal clerk's office.

No wedding. No rings. No family or friends.

Just an official rubber stamp, and on paper, we were husband and wife.

Looking back now, the truth hit me with blinding clarity:

She never took it seriously from the very beginning.

Why else would she have shown up to the courthouse in sweatpants and slides? Why else did she realize halfway there that she had forgotten her ID at home, forcing us to race back in a panic?

Why else did our marriage certificate end up tossed into random drawers, lost every other week?

Yet, because of those ten years of shared struggles, I convinced myself that her love for me couldn't be entirely fake.

...

Samantha's "career-building phase" lasted seven agonizing years. She swept every prestigious acting award in the country.

And our marriage remained a ghost, known only to the two of us.

She never showed any intention of going public.

Meanwhile, I had to stomach three different blind items a week detailing her flirty encounters with younger costars.

I chose to trust Samantha. I chose to trust our history. So I never questioned her.

And my blind loyalty was rewarded with her escalating betrayal.

I flipped through the divorce papers, page by agonizing page.

Half an hour ticked by.

Gripping the pen tightly, my hand hovering over the dotted line, my phone suddenly pinged with a voice note.

From Samantha.

"Have you reflected on your attitude yet?"

In the background of the audio clip, I distinctly heard the low, heavy panting of a strange man.

I chose not to listen to it a second time.

I didn't reply.

I signed my name on both copies of the divorce settlement, then immediately called my attorney to initiate the legal proceedings. Nearly two weeks passed after that voice note.

She never reached out.

I assumed Samantha had quietly accepted the divorce. No arguments, no demands.

A marriage that began in the shadows would finally end in silence.

What I didn't expect was that Samantha wouldn't even leave me with a shred of dignity.