"Belle, if you choose to resign, then according to the confidentiality agreement, you’ll never be allowed to see Miguel again. Are you certain about this?"
"Yes."
The boss at Neville Entertainment hesitated. "You’ve been together for six years, worked as his assistant for three. The person Miguel relies on most is you..."
The person he relies on most was it really me?
A bitter smile tugged at my lips just as my phone lit up with the top headline of the day.
[Movie King Miguel’s romance exposed, seen entering a hotel with a mystery woman. How sweet.]
In the photo, Miguel Atkinson gently tucked a strand of Saoirse Pearson’s hair behind her ear, his movements tender, as if handling a fragile treasure.
Later, the paparazzi revealed he had bought ten extra-large condoms that same day.
And that very day, while trying to intercept the leaked bed photos of him and Saoirse, I was stabbed three times by crazed paparazzi. Each stab was nearly fatal.
My hand instinctively pressed to my chest, trying to soothe the dull ache beneath.
"Hmm. This is what Miguel wants, too."
Six years of secrecy turned into a cruel joke from that moment on.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t go public. He simply didn’t love me enough to want to.
After I was discharged, I didn’t seek him out.
I went straight to the company and handed in my resignation.
Seven days later, on the anniversary of our six-year relationship, I prepared my final gift to him: To disappear from his life for good.
…
The next morning, Miguel returned, the chill of the wind still clinging to his coat.
“Baby, I’m back. I even brought your favorite chocolate cake.”
He wrapped me gently in his arms, but something tightened in my throat.
That unfamiliar perfume lingering on his clothes filled the room, reminding me that he’d once held Saoirse the same way.
While I lay cold and unconscious in a hospital bed, he had spent the night wrapped in warmth with my stepsister.
The phone on the table lit up with a headline I knew too well.
His expression faltered, and then he rushed to explain.
“That post is fake. Nothing happened between me and Saoirse. She was drugged. I was just helping her out.”
The trending post was fake. The bed photos were fake. Then what, exactly, was real?
I smiled bitterly, pressing against the dull ache from my stab wound.
“Then, shall we go public?”
“No!” Miguel instinctively snapped.
Realizing how harsh it sounded, he softened his tone.
“I’m at a crucial point in my career. If we go public now, it could ruin future deals, mess with my schedule…”
“Just wait a little longer, okay?”
For six whole years, I had heard that line again and again.
When he debuted, when he filmed his first movie, when he received his very first award, I waited through every moment, day and night.
I sat there on the couch, dazed, like a wooden puppet with no life left.
The pain in my wound slowly faded, replaced by a sting in my nose and a rising urge to cry.
Trying to ease the silence, Miguel picked up a beautifully wrapped bag.
“This chocolate cake’s from your favorite shop. I even got their VIP membership. From now on, they’ll deliver it to you every day.”
He scooped up a small piece and brought it to my lips.
“Ah—”
I was just about to turn away when his phone rang.
It was his agent, Lori Watson.
In a rush, Miguel pushed the spoon toward me. The metal edge scraped my lip, and a drop of blood fell onto the pure white tablecloth.
But he didn’t even glance at it. He simply stood and walked into the study.
Still, I could faintly hear his low voice behind the door, “Going public with Saoirse was my idea. She’s innocent. Those photos were leaked. If I don’t protect her, she might do something reckless.”
“…And Belle? She’s always been sensible. She can’t live without me. She won’t make a fuss.”
Tears finally slid down as I forced down the cold cake.
Suddenly, hives bloomed along my exposed arm, and that’s when I realized I was having an allergic reaction.
There were nuts in the cake. The one thing I never ate.
Ten minutes later, Miguel finished his call, tossed on his coat, and got ready to leave.
“Belle, Lori has a job for me. I need to head out. Eat well tonight, okay? Or I’ll feel bad.”
Too bad the man who claimed to love me most forgot my nut allergy.
He didn’t even notice the tear tracks on my cheeks or the blood at the corner of my mouth.
I stepped in front of him and handed over a folder.
“There’s a document I need you to sign.”
His phone buzzed a custom tone.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the name on the screen: “Baby Saoirse.”
His face didn’t change as he flipped to the last page and signed.
He leaned in and kissed my forehead.
“Good girl. I trust you. If there’s anything else, just take care of it. No need to ask me again.”
I stood by the window, quietly watching his figure disappear into the distance.
Then, a message lit up on my phone as if trying to soothe the sting in my chest.
[Saoirse and I are just for show. The one I love is you.]
[Be good. For our sixth anniversary, let’s go to Love Island, the place you’ve always dreamed of.]
I still remember that afternoon.
My stepmother, Giselle Lewis, moved into the room that once belonged to my mother, bringing Saoirse along with her.
I cried and threw a tantrum, only to be silenced by a harsh slap from my father.
After that, Saoirse would steal my toys, tear my textbooks, and turn the entire school against me.
But Armani always favored her.
So, I was the one who got punished.
The one left with bruises on my arms and knees, time and time again.
When Miguel found out, he pulled me into his arms, eyes filled with anguish.
“I’ll always be on your side, Belle. Even if the whole world turns its back on you, you’ll still have me.”
I had cried then, touched to the core.
I never imagined that six years later, he’d be in bed with the very girl who once made my life hell.
After a long pause, I scrolled through my contacts and found a number I hadn’t touched in years.
“Marcus, I’m leaving the capital in a week. Can you come pick me up?”
