At the Film Guild Awards, my girlfriend, the newly crowned Actress of the Year, announced her engagement. My heart hammering against my ribs, I started towards the stage, but she held up a hand, stopping me cold. “Could you please step aside? You’re blocking the shot of my fiancé.” I froze. In that moment of stunned silence, another actor, Aidan, slid past me, effortlessly taking my place at her side. Seven years. Seven years of devotion, of being the man in the shadows. I was done being invisible. As I watched them kiss for the cameras, a storm of applause erupting around them, I turned and walked out of the auditorium without a word. I went home, packed a bag, and sent her one last text. “Wishing you both a lifetime of happiness.” 1 It was two in the morning when Isla finally drifted through the door. She saw me packing and, without a word, picked up the glass of honey water I’d left on the table, downing it in one go. “Richard, what was that text supposed to mean? My engagement to Aidan is just a publicity stunt, the studio set it all up. He’s been drowning in scandals lately, and if we don’t clean up his image, it’s going to kill the box office for our new movie.” She sighed, a picture of weary frustration. “It’s all an act for the fans. You can’t seriously believe it, can you? God, can you just make my life a little easier for once?” As her former manager, I knew all about the dirty games of the entertainment industry. Of course I knew. Tonight was supposed to be the biggest night of her life. She’d won Best Actress for a blockbuster drama that had taken the world by storm. It was also our seventh anniversary. She had promised me. She promised that tonight, she would finally tell the world about us. That after seven long years of being the secret boyfriend, the “personal assistant,” I would finally get to stand by her side. Toward the end of the ceremony, she did it. Standing before a sea of reporters, Isla finally revealed the secret she’d kept for so long—that she was in a long-term relationship. The room exploded. I was the only one silent, my palms sweating with a nervous excitement. “All these years,” she began, her voice thick with emotion, tears welling in her eyes, “my boyfriend has been my silent rock. Without his support, his sacrifice… I wouldn’t be the woman I am today.” Clutching the bouquet of flowers I had prepared, I walked towards the stage, my whole body trembling. But when Isla took the flowers from me, she pushed me aside with a flash of impatience. “Richard, what are you still doing here?” Her voice was a sharp whisper. “Could you please step aside? You’re blocking the shot of my fiancé.” In a daze, I stumbled back. I watched as Aidan moved in, wrapping his arm around her waist, their fingers lacing together. He shot me a triumphant smirk as he deliberately shouldered me off the stage. Then, for the world to see, they shared a deep, passionate kiss. Seeing that, a switch flipped inside me. I turned and left. Seven years of waiting, all for a beautiful, hollow dream. And now, I was done waiting. As I zipped my suitcase shut, the displeasure on Isla’s face finally softened. She wrapped her arms around me from behind, her voice a husky, tired whisper. “Richard, I know you’re upset. But my hands are tied, you know that.” “I’ve already cleared my schedule for next week. You said you wanted to go to the Maldives, right? I bought the tickets. It’ll be just the two of us…” This was her way. A grand gesture to smooth over a deep wound. She’d done it a hundred times before. I gently broke free from her embrace, reached into my pocket, and pulled out a small, velvet box. I opened it and pressed the simple, elegant engagement ring into her palm. “If you’re getting engaged,” I said, my voice flat, “you’re going to need this, aren’t you?” 2 Isla just stood there, staring at the ring in her hand, speechless. She watched me pick up my suitcase and walk out the door. She didn't say a word to stop me. I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address to my small house tucked away in the hills. Isla had bought it on a whim after her first massive paycheck, saying it would be our future home. The deed was in my name. When we first graduated, Isla had no connections, no resources. She was just another struggling actress, taking bit parts and barely making rent. There were times when the two of us lived in a tiny, cramped apartment, and the best meal we could afford was instant ramen and stale bread. I did everything I could to get her a break. I hustled, I networked, I drank myself into a stomach ulcer schmoozing with producers and directors, all just to land her a supporting role with more than five lines. And she shone. Slowly, she started to gain a following. A low-budget web series she starred in went viral, and she won Best Newcomer. From a nameless face in the background, she skyrocketed into an A-list star with an eight-figure salary. I saw every struggle, every tear. A few years ago, a massively popular fantasy novel was being adapted into a series. The director wanted Isla for the lead. But she made a demand: the male lead had to be played by Aidan. A role that seasoned actors would have killed for was handed to a complete unknown. At the time, I thought she was just being kind, seeing a kindred spirit in another kid who came from nothing. Until the wrap party. I was outside the dressing room when I overheard them talking. “So, Isla,” Aidan’s voice was teasing. “You got a secret boyfriend tucked away somewhere? I’ve never seen you do one of those fake ‘showmance’ PR things with a co-star. Is someone at home getting jealous?” “Where did you hear that I was seeing someone?” Isla’s laugh was light, dismissive. “I just don’t need that kind of publicity.” She denied my existence. A familiar pang of hurt shot through me, but I told myself it was for the best. She had always said she didn’t want to go public too early, that it would disrupt my life. “Oh?” Aidan pressed, his tone feigning confusion. “So that guy who’s always on set, bringing you tea and water… he’s not your boyfriend?” “You mean Richard? He’s just my assistant. He’s been with me for a while,” she said. “Me, date a civilian? Please. If I were going to date someone, it would have to be someone like you…” That’s when I felt the rage. White-hot and blinding. I was about to storm in and demand an explanation. 3 But I didn’t. My hand was on the knob, but I pulled it back. I was a coward. I was afraid that if I confronted her, if I blew everything up, she would just let it all burn. And I would be left with nothing. She was an idol, worshipped by millions. And me? I was just her nameless assistant, her ghost of a manager. What right did I have to question her? Ding! The buzz of a text message jolted me from a half-sleep. I glanced down. It was just a notification from my phone carrier about an overdue bill. Sprawled on the dusty couch of the empty house, my eyes were dry and sore. There were no tears left to cry. I remembered I’d left some important documents and personal items back at her place. The next morning, I went back. The moment I walked in, I was hit by the smell of freshly cooked food. “You’re back,” Isla said with a soft smile, as if nothing had happened. “Go wash your hands. We were just waiting for you.” I looked at the spread of hot dishes on the table, and for a moment, my resolve wavered. I was about to sit down, to try and have a calm, rational conversation about us ending things. But then my eyes caught a figure slouched on the corner of the sofa. Aidan. His shirt was unbuttoned, and a faint, red mark was visible on his neck. A hickey. He saw me and didn't even flinch. He just stood up slowly, a look of utter disdain on his face, and deliberately bumped my shoulder as he passed. He tossed a set of car keys at me. “The building management called. Your car’s blocking someone. You’re here now, so go move it.” He clearly had no idea who I was to her. He really thought I was just some servant he could order around. “Well? What are you waiting for?” I looked at Isla, my face a blank mask. She said nothing. She just gave me a look, a silent command in her eyes, telling me to do as Aidan said. After a long moment, I let the keys drop to the floor. “Get your own gopher to run your errands,” I said to Aidan, my voice cold. “I have no obligation to serve you.” The atmosphere in the room instantly turned to ice. Aidan’s face darkened. He clearly didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Isla, so he just let out a long, put-upon sigh. “Oh, right. I forgot you’re Isla’s assistant. My bad, I was out of line. Sorry about that.” Before I could respond, Isla’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Aidan is my fiancé. His business is my business. What’s your problem?” 4 In that instant, my patience, stretched thin over seven long years, finally snapped. I bent down, picked up the keys, and walked to the door. Isla rushed after me, whispering urgently in my ear. “He’s just a kid, he doesn’t know how to watch his mouth. Don’t stoop to his level.” “The press is coming by later for a photoshoot,” she added quickly. “We’re just getting into character. Don’t get the wrong idea.” I turned and looked at her, studying the subtle twitches of her perfectly composed face. But it was no use. Isla was a professional actress. Even when she was lying through her teeth, I couldn’t tell. As if on cue, Aidan, emboldened by his small victory, decided to twist the knife. He let out a low, mocking laugh. “Wow. I guess assistants these days pick and choose who they work for. Are we paying for help, or are we supposed to be worshipping them?” He sighed dramatically. “Since you’re so unwilling, I guess I’ll just go myself.” That single sentence ripped open a fresh wound. Six months ago, after their fantasy drama became a massive hit, the cast and crew had a celebration at a five-star restaurant. I was at home, burning up with a 102-degree fever. Then I got a text from Isla: Get here in twenty minutes. It’s important. I thought, it’s her victory party. She wants me there to share her happiness. So I dragged myself out of bed and rushed over. But when I got there, it wasn’t to celebrate. It was because Aidan and a few of the directors had gotten drunk and thrown up all over the private dining room. Isla, the glamorous star, couldn’t handle the mess, so she called me to clean it up. Sick and dizzy, I spent the next hour on my hands and knees, scrubbing vomit off the expensive carpet. Then I had to call cabs, book hotel rooms, and make sure everyone got back safely. I didn’t finish until three in the morning. Isla never said a word of thanks. She just complained that I was “off my game” and that I was working too slowly. For seven years, 365 days a year, I had no time for myself. My phone was on 24/7, always on standby. All for a few thousand dollars a month in spending money. What A-list celebrity’s assistant lived like that? Seeing her still siding with him, I finally understood. Everything became crystal clear. I took a deep breath. “Ms. Vance,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m afraid I can no longer continue as your assistant. I suggest you find someone else.” A flicker of shock crossed her face. Her fists clenched at her sides, and I could see the red veins in her eyes. “Richard, don’t be ridiculous. This isn’t a game. You can’t just quit whenever you feel like it.” Her words made me laugh out loud. A hollow, bitter sound. For all these years, I was just her “assistant.” We never even signed a contract. I didn’t need her permission to leave. “Then sue me,” I said. “If you think it’ll do you any good.” With that, I grabbed my documents, my few remaining belongings, and walked out the door. “Quitting” was just a euphemism. She knew exactly what I really meant.
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