I hadn’t expected the divorce to go so smoothly. I thought there would be at least a conversation about splitting assets. After all, most of the money Christopher and I made over the past three years was in my name. But he didn’t even let me speak—he was too eager to rush to Maurice.
I used to ignore Maurice’s constant provocations. Christopher, for all his emotional distance, had been a decent partner—polite, generous with work opportunities, even financially supportive. At one point, I even considered using our arrangement to have a child. Someone who would truly be mine.
Then, half a month ago, everything changed.
I was filming in Evanston. One night, by the river, I heard a voice—familiar, soul-stirring. It was his voice. Ismael’s voice.
A boy was singing barefoot on the beach, wearing faded jeans and pandering to tips from passing tourists. Even from a distance, his silhouette resembled Ismael’s.
My heart, silent and numb for three years, clenched so hard it hurt. Tears spilled beneath my sunglasses before I could stop them.
I couldn’t let that voice beg for spare change. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being unhappy.
I called my best friend the next day, bought her a plane ticket, and asked her to find out who he was.
Soon, I had a name—Cliff.
My friend told me he loved singing but lacked both money and a platform. That was fine. I had money, and I had connections. If he was willing, I could help him debut. I could give him everything.
I just needed him to choose me.
Of course, my public relationship with Christopher complicated things. I worried Cliff would reject me. While he was still deciding, I impulsively bought the biggest bar in Evanston and gave it to him as a gift. I also swore I’d handle everything with Christopher and make a clean break.
Eventually, he agreed.
I had the divorce agreement drafted the day I met Cliff.
The cooling-off period was one month. I was determined to wrap all my remaining scenes before then. Every second now felt like a delay. I couldn’t wait to be with him.
I never thought I’d get to hear Ismael’s voice say “I love you” again in this life.
Yesterday, I compressed two days of shooting into one. When I opened the nanny car’s door, the tears on my face were still wet, clinging to the emotions of the role I’d just played.
But I didn’t even get a chance to step in before a pillow hit me square in the face.
Christopher reached out and yanked me into the car.
“You’re crying again? No wonder everything’s going wrong! Such bad luck!” Maurice sneered from where she sat—on my rest bed—tossing the stuffed toys I’d placed there one by one onto the floor.
“She came to the set to find me,” Christopher explained quickly, glancing nervously at her. “I was worried the reporters would spot us and start rumors, so I let her wait here and told people she’s your cousin.”
He tried to sound lighthearted, but Maurice leaped onto his back, pressing her chest against him and shooting me a smug look.
“What’s the point of hiding it?” she said with a pout. “If she hadn’t been clinging to you for her career, how could she afford this broken car?”
“Maurice, don’t say that,” Christopher whispered, flustered. “Let me take you back to the hotel.”
“I don’t want to go to a hotel!” she whined, gripping the window switch. “I want to go home with you! Or I’m jumping out right now!”
She pushed down the car window dramatically, and Christopher immediately wrapped his arms around her, coaxing her like a fragile child.
I watched their shameless display unfold like a low-budget drama, wishing I could dig my eyes out.
Christopher looked at me pleadingly. “Can I take her home? Shelley, please don’t be mad. She’s been so anxious lately… she can’t sleep whenever it thunders.”
I turned my head, voice cold. “Why would I be angry? The house will be hers in a month anyway.”
We bought that place together using the income from our collaborations, a temporary home for filming convenience.
But in the divorce agreement, I left all the property to him. I didn’t want any part of it. I just wanted peace.
“One month?” Christopher asked, confused.
Before I could respond, Maurice clung to him tighter and laughed.
“Good that you know! Everything that belongs to Chris was always mine to begin with. You were just playing house with him under contract!”
