I arrived on set early.
Today’s scene involved the male lead’s tragic car crash—eerily similar to how Ismael had left me years ago. That was exactly why I’d taken this script. The moment I read it, I knew I wouldn’t be acting—I’d be reliving.
No matter how much I prepared, no matter how many times I reminded myself it was just a scene, when the director finally yelled “Cut,” I couldn’t stop myself. I collapsed in a corner, hugging my knees, sobbing so violently I couldn’t stand.
“I’m here, Shelley. It’s over now. It’s all over.”
Christopher appeared out of nowhere, gathering me into his arms and carrying me toward the dressing room.
“Director Shelley,” the stage manager chimed in with dramatic flair, “Your husband canceled his entire schedule today just to wait for you. He said you get too deep into roles and was worried you couldn’t pull yourself back out. So sweet. I’m jealous!”
When I left home this morning, I hadn’t seen Christopher. I assumed he was with Maurice again. I didn’t expect him to beat me to the set.
I wanted to thank him, but the words wouldn’t come. I could only cry harder, my throat tight with emotion.
“Don’t take what Maurice said to heart,” he murmured, wiping away my tears. “She’s still young. You know how it is—we grew up together. After her parents died, my mom raised her like her own. She’s spoiled, not malicious.”
Maurice. The adopted daughter of the Chandler family. Technically his “sister,” but their ambiguous relationship had always confused me.
If it were Ismael, I thought bitterly, I would’ve defied the entire world to be with him.
“The director says you’re done for the day,” Christopher continued gently. “Why don’t we go to the hospital later? Check on things. Are you… pregnant?”
His gaze drifted to my belly with tender hope.
So that’s what all this was about. The care, the concern—it was all for a child that didn’t exist.
I had been taking birth control religiously. And now, my heart was slowly beginning to belong to someone else: Cliff. There was no way I was pregnant.
I shook my head, about to explain, but his phone rang—Maurice’s custom ringtone.
He answered immediately, voice soft. “Maurice, don’t cry. I’ll be right there, okay?”
He hung up and gave me an apologetic look. “She’s throwing another tantrum. I’ll be back soon—wait for me, alright?”
I watched him leave, his figure retreating down the hallway. And I felt nothing but relief.
Just a few more weeks and this contract would end. I wouldn’t have to chase after his chaos anymore.
A knock echoed from the lounge door. I opened it on unsteady legs—no one was there.
Puzzled, I stepped out. Maurice was waiting by the stairs, smirking as she crooked a finger at me.
I ignored her and turned to shut the door.
“What?” she called out mockingly. “Don’t you want this?”
She dangled a ring between her fingers—Ismael’s ring. The one identical to mine.
My breath caught. I surged forward to grab it.
But just as I reached her, she flicked her wrist and sent the ring tumbling down the stairwell.
I lunged after it.
And in the next heartbeat, I felt her hands on my back—pushing.
I tumbled down the steps, hitting each one with a crack of pain, until I landed in a twisted heap at the bottom.
Maurice stood at the top, laughing coldly. “I’ve tolerated him marrying you, but this? You think you’re going to have his child? You? Keep dreaming, bitch.”
Warm blood trickled from my forehead, blurring my vision.
My body throbbed in agony, but I crawled across the cold floor, hands fumbling until I finally touched it—Ismael’s ring.
I clutched it to my chest, trembling.
And then everything went black.
