The Secret Relationship Ends TodayChapter 1

For ten years, I watched Ryan rise from a theater student to an award-winning actor. He once promised to announce our relationship when he made it big, but as his fame grew, he said he’d wait until he won an Oscar. Finally, at his film’s wrap party, he promised me a big surprise.

With joy in my heart, I stepped onto the stage. Red roses lined the carpet; it felt like a romantic declaration. But as cameras started livestreaming, Sienna Hayes, his co-star, approached me holding a tattoo gun. Ryan coldly signaled crew members to hold me down. The icy needle pierced my wrist, the machine buzzing. I struggled fiercely, but Ryan stepped forward, gripped my shoulders, and held me still. In that moment, all hope left me. I stopped fighting. Sienna tattooed “Whore” on my inner wrist, then lifted my arm for the cameras. “You moved,” she giggled. “The bunny I tried to draw is crooked now.”

The next day, I boarded a flight abroad, leaving that city behind for good. He searched everywhere for me, then complained, baffled: “Naomi Ryan, it was just a joke. Did you really have to disappear?”

* * *

The flesh on my wrist was still raw, blood dripping from my fingers onto the stage floor. I picked myself up. No one stopped me. The crowd parted automatically. Some were still laughing, their sounds dissolving into whispers as I passed. I heard Sienna’s voice from behind. “Oh dear, she’s not really mad, is she? Darling, go cheer her up.” Then Ryan’s voice, soft, with a laugh. “It’s fine. She won’t be.” The corridor was long, the dressing room at the end. Blood dripped all the way.

The dressing room had a first-aid kit, fully stocked. I always prepared one for Ryan whenever he started a new film. Even if he never used it, I’d replace everything with new supplies for the next project. I opened the antiseptic alcohol and poured it onto the wound. The pain made my whole body tremble. Once the wound was finally bandaged, I cleaned the blood from my hands with a wet wipe. My phone vibrated twice. I looked down. It was a message from Ryan.

[Sienna just loves to play. Don’t take it to heart. I’ll give you two days off once your wound is handled. Don’t forget, you have an appearance the day after tomorrow.]

I stared at the words, slowly scrolling up. Most of the messages were from me to him. Public appearances, event lists—almost all work-related. We rarely chatted anymore. The last time he texted me was before the New Year.

[Shooting a night scene tonight. Not coming home.]

Scrolling further up. Last September, he promised to be with me for a medical procedure, but canceled at the last minute.

[I can’t get away. I’ve arranged for a nurse to be with you.]

Scrolling even further, all the messages boiled down to a few repetitive phrases:

[Not coming home tonight.]

[Eat by yourself.]

[Don’t wait up for me.]

I put my phone face down on the table, accidentally knocking over my bag beside it. A silver ring rolled out from a hidden pocket. It was from our third year together, when we were on a trip. Ryan had made it himself at a artisan’s workshop. He’d meticulously followed the craftsman’s instructions, learning each step of silversmithing, never showing any impatience. Back then, he said: “I can’t afford a diamond ring now, but one day I’ll be famous across the country. Then, you’ll take this ring and exchange it with me…” He didn’t finish his sentence. I instinctively asked, “Exchange for what?” He just smiled, his ear tips turning red, as he finished the ring.