Chapter 2

The ceremony began, and the host finally called his name. "Best Actor goes to Edward Blake for South of the Snowline."

A wave of applause swept through the room. He stood up. Vivian beat everyone to it, throwing her arms around him with tearful eyes.

When the camera panned to them, the crowd went wild with hoots and cheers. Edward smiled and patted her back, making no move to pull away.

As he headed for the stage, he passed my row. Between us lay a dozen seats, five years of marriage, and a thousand times he'd told me to "just wait a little longer."

He didn't see me. Or perhaps he did, but he just assumed I'd be sitting there like always, clapping for him, swallowing every ounce of humiliation behind the scenes for him.

Edward stood under the spotlight, trophy in hand. "I want to thank the crew and the audience," he began.

He paused for a beat, his gaze shifting to Vivian in the front row. "And a special thanks to my muse. Without her, this film wouldn't exist."

Vivian covered her mouth as tears began to stream down her face. The applause got even louder.

My phone buzzed in my hand. It was Sophie: [The statement is viral. The digital papers are sent. The hard copies are coming via courier. They should hit his studio in two hours.]

I replied: [Okay.]

It wasn't until Edward stepped off the stage that he finally noticed me. His smile faltered a bit.

As if a memory had just surged back, he walked over, lowering his voice in that familiar, soothing tone he always used to keep me in line. "There were too many people on the red carpet earlier. Don't read too much into it."

In the past, that tiny shred of tenderness would have worked. He only had to frown and say, "Charlotte, just listen to me," and I'd start making excuses for him.

His career was taking off; he couldn't go public. Vivian wasn't well; we couldn't stress her out. The fans were too radical; it was too risky.

His mother needed a caregiver; his films needed my support. Every step he took was a "struggle." My struggles, however, were always expected to be folded up and tucked away.

I looked at the trophy in his hand. "Congratulations."

He blinked, caught off guard. "What's wrong with you?"

"Did you see my retirement statement?" I asked.

Edward frowned instantly. "What kind of stunt are you pulling now?"

I offered a small smile. So, even my departure was just a "stunt" to him.

His phone started blowing up, with three consecutive calls from his manager. Edward picked up, his expression darkening with every passing second.

"What divorce papers?" He snapped, his head whipping around to stare at me.

Vivian walked over, draped in his jacket and looking pale. "Edward, did I say something wrong earlier? I was only joking. If Ms. Reed is upset, I can post an explanation on Instagram." Her eyes were already brimming with tears.

Edward instinctively reached out to steady her.

I looked down at his hand. That was the same hand that had held mine outside the city hall five years ago, promising I'd never have to face anything alone again. Now, it was holding another woman.

I nodded. "No need to explain. She was right."

Edward's expression darkened. "Charlotte."

"I'm just the stand-in in your movies," I said, picking up my clutch from the seat. "So, Mr. Blake, my early exit won't ruin your celebration tonight."

He reached out to stop me, but the room was crawling with cameras, colleagues, and the lingering echoes of the applause that had just crowned him; he held back and only managed to lower his voice and say, "We'll talk at home."

"I'm not going back." I took the apartment key from my bag and pressed it into his hand. "Edward, we don't have a home anymore."