Chapter 1

The day of the awards, the first thing Crystal Fox did after winning Best Actress was announce her retirement from the industry.

The internet exploded onto the trending topics, but inside the studio group chat, the party was just getting started.

"Can't wait to see how Cuckold Pierce cleans this one up."

"Didn't he pour his whole heart into making Crystal a Best Actress? And now she's quit the industry outright for Finn Cox. Bet that devotion feels great right about now."

A new intern typed a timid line.

"But if Crystal's retiring, doesn't that mean we're all out of a job?"

Crystal's assistant, her friend of many years, dropped a grinning emoji.

"You're new, so you wouldn't know. Cuckold Pierce has been orbiting Crystal for over ten years, licking her boots like a dog. No matter what stunt Crystal pulls, he always smooths it over. It's nothing but a couple extra drinks with the backers to say sorry, that's all."

"This time Finn Cox threw a fit, said he didn't like Crystal wearing so little at the ceremony. She put out that statement just to keep her little boyfriend happy."

"What I really want to see is the look on that old man Pierce's face right now. He's probably about to blow a gasket, hahaha."

Among the blinking messages, a voice clip suddenly popped up.

It was Crystal's voice, sweet and coaxing, with a lazy heat to it.

"Keep it down, Finn doesn't like being disturbed."

That only whipped the group up further, and they started demanding Finn Cox get an official title.

"A six-foot college hunk with a rock-hard six-pack, you can't just be sleeping with him for free with no name to it, Crystal."

"Just hurry up and break it off with Cuckold Pierce, bring Finn Cox along, and come do the Colorado road trip with us out in the open."

"While that old man's busy running damage control for you, bring up the breakup now and he probably won't even have the energy to argue. He'll nod along without catching a word."

"Won't catch a word? More like he's old and going deaf."

The group howled with laughter.

I opened the app, drafted a separate statement from the studio account, and hit send.

01

"Fox Studio is dissolving effective today. Its signed artist, Crystal Fox, will no longer take part in any performance activities from this day forward."

"To compensate for all financial losses to fans, this studio is opening a refund channel. We will fully refund and reimburse every ticket and piece of merchandise our fans have purchased within the past three years, at no cost to them."

I pinned Crystal's personal bank account number in the top comment under the post.

She wanted to retire, break up, and be with someone else. Fine. I'd give her all of it.

Once it was sent, I closed the page and booked myself a flight to the Maldives for the next day.

In the fifteen years I'd been with Crystal, I'd given everything I had, poured myself dry for her career, and never taken a single day off.

I lifted Crystal into the industry, got her into films, made her a Best Actress, and along the way pulled every one of her friends into the studio with jobs paying over ten grand a month.

What I got in return wasn't gratitude. It was being called a doormat who threw himself at her.

I drank until my stomach bled to land Crystal better projects, ground through drinking parties and card games back to back, on the clock for a solid month until my whole brain went numb.

In their mouths it was nothing more than a breezy "a couple of drinks."

They were the ones tripping over themselves to go on a girls' road trip with the college kid Crystal was cheating with.

And in all the years I'd been with Crystal, I'd bought them countless meals, driven them to and from countless nail appointments, and never earned a single word of respect.

I'd told them so many times I didn't like the name they'd given me, "Cuckold Pierce," and not one of them cared. If anything, they said it more.

I'd told Crystal about it countless times, and all she ever did was hug my arm, unbothered, and make excuses for her friends.

She said they only called me that because I looked mature, that there was no malice in it, and I shouldn't be so petty.

While I was packing, my phone rang.

It was the ringtone she'd set herself, back the year we first got together, a soft a cappella goodnight song she'd recorded.

Gentle, quiet guitar and a clear, sweet girl's voice.

"Nathan Pierce, I wrote this myself. I'm not releasing it. It's just for you."

"Use it as my ringtone, so whenever you hear it, you'll think of me."

The girl she was that year had a smile that crinkled her eyes, the clearest, purest thing.

I answered, and the voice on the other end clicked her tongue, impatient and cold.

I thought she'd found out about the refund post and was calling to confront me.

Or maybe she'd finally realized the chat where she'd been gossiping with her friends wasn't their little group but the big group with me in it, and she was calling to explain.

But what she said was,

"Why'd it take you so long to pick up? Go buy a bottle of champagne and bring it to the Starlight Hotel. Get the best one."

"Finn's just a young guy, he wants the whole mood. Says sex is better with the right drink."