It was the night Devon’s on-screen romance with his co-star, Anya Wells, went viral—again. I ripped open a bag of sea salt and vinegar chips with enthusiasm, clicked on the fan-made compilation video, and started weeping openly over their “sweet, destined love.” Devon sighed beside me. “It’s all just promotion, Jo. It’s not real. Don’t get upset.” I lifted my tear-drenched eyes. “I’m not upset. I genuinely think you guys have amazing chemistry.” The video’s soundtrack swelled as every on-screen kiss flashed by, each one looking utterly consuming and impossible to stop. They looked like two people who were truly meant to be, which only fueled the fandom’s favorite comment: The timing is everything. If only his girlfriend had never been in the picture. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Devon,” I said. “Let’s break up.” I watched his eyes widen in stunned disbelief. It hit me then—this was the seventh year of my relationship with Devon Shaw. He was finally a household name, the big star, and I was just the “plain, undeserving civilian girlfriend” the public—and his fans—loved to hate. When a female colleague was attacked by rumors, Devon would shield her, offering careful, public comfort and concern. But when I was the one being shredded by the online mob for dating him—labeled the “extra baggage” and the “stale older woman”—he just told me calmly: “Look, the audience is obsessed with me and Anya. They’re still invested in the characters. Try not to overreact.” But now that I was finally taking his advice and stepping away, why did he suddenly look so panicked? 1 Devon looked like he hadn't processed my words. After a long silence, he said flatly, “I need to hear the real reason, Josie.” I shrugged. “That is the reason.” He stared into my eyes, thinking he saw right through me. “It’s about the shoot, isn’t it, Jo? You’re getting paranoid and insecure again?” He emphasized the word again. It was true. My lack of security had always made me fret and spiral. Especially over the last two years, right as Devon’s career took off. He’d join a set and suddenly, texts wouldn’t be returned and calls wouldn’t be answered. Where he was shooting, who he was working with—he never told me anything. Most of the time, I learned about his life by refreshing Twitter and watching paparazzi leaks from the set. In those short videos, holding, hugging, and passionate kissing were just part of the job. I would often watch them, my mind uncontrollably conjuring up intimate scenarios of him with other women, and then I wouldn’t sleep. Maybe I was just too small-minded. A few times, when I couldn’t stand it, I called him, only to be met with Devon’s cold, immediate hang-up. When we finally saw each other, his first response was always to criticize me: “I’ve told you so many times. I have to commit to the role. I have to be completely immersed in the script, and I can’t be distracted by outside people or things. As a professional actor’s girlfriend, you have to understand me, you have to support me. You can’t just cause trouble. Get it?” 2 I had tried my best not to cause trouble. There was only one time I’d truly slipped. We hadn’t seen each other in over three months, and I missed Devon desperately. I checked his schedule in advance, making sure he had the day off to come visit the set. I waited in line for three hours to buy his favorite artisanal pastries. But then a sudden, torrential downpour hit New York. The production crew quickly moved a major rain-soaked scene to that day. Because of my unscheduled arrival, Devon couldn’t get into the headspace for his kiss scene, and the director called for multiple retakes. Devon was usually polite and charming to everyone, never losing his temper on set. He apologized profusely to the crew for the delays. But he saved all his rage for me. He even threw the box of pastries I’d bought. “Jocelyn, who told you to come here? Take your damn junk and get out!” Tears blurred my vision. “Devon Shaw, you’re an asshole! You only ever yell at me! I saw you were busy, and I immediately went to the break room to wait. How was I causing trouble? I’m done with this! We’re breaking up!” Hearing the word “break up,” Devon froze for two seconds. He clenched his fists, forcing down his anger. He shoved me into a chair and kissed me—a desperate, rough, hungry kiss that was half kiss and half savage bite. “We can fight, but don’t ever threaten to leave me again.” Today, Devon was trying the same move. I took a step back. He missed. Devon rubbed his temples, patiently explaining, “Anya is a newcomer. She’s young, it takes her a minute to snap out of character, okay? Is that wrong? She’s a colleague, and she was crying, so I offered comfort. Is that wrong? Can you please stop being so suspicious? You make me feel like a total jerk. I’m under so much pressure...” He rambled on and on. I didn’t hear a word. My mind was stuck on the live stream from earlier today. Devon and Anya had stared into each other’s eyes, and both had burst into tears. I didn't understand. In the show, the couple got their happy ending. The show was a massive hit, earning critical acclaim. So why were they both crying? Devon had instinctively raised his hand to wipe Anya's tears, paused mid-air, and then awkwardly switched to patting her on the head. That one tiny detail was enough for the CP fandom to churn out countless videos. The caption: Your tears are still wet on your face, but I no longer have the right to wipe them away. Before, I would have been consumed by jealousy and demanded that Devon grovel. But not now. It turns out that when a relationship truly reaches its end, it really is like stagnant water. There are no more waves to be made. “You’re right, Devon. You didn’t do anything wrong. But I still want to break up today.” 3 My stubbornness finally depleted Devon’s patience. He was rushing to catch a flight and didn’t have time for this drama, so he threw out his usual parting shot: “Just go cool off for a while.” It was his most common solution to our problems. He’d just wash his hands of it. The next time we met, we’d kiss and make up, and we’d both pretend the argument never happened. To him, silence meant resolution. But with me, every incident was carefully cataloged. A few days later, I signed a lease transfer agreement for my flower shop. “Ms. Reid, your business is always doing so well. Why are you giving it up?” the new owner asked. I looked at my shop, feeling a deep, wrenching sadness. I had poured years of my life into this place. “Because I’m leaving New York soon.” Devon and I were both from Santa Monica. Years ago, he moved to New York to chase his dreams, and I quit my job and followed him. In the beginning, we were dirt poor, living in a ten-foot windowless box where the monthly rent was six hundred dollars and the windows barely peeked above ground level. Passersby were always peeking in. New York was so luxurious. And we were like rats living in the sewer. The winters here were bone-chilling. I bought a secondhand space heater, and one night it malfunctioned and started a fire. When Devon heard the news, he borrowed a friend’s car and drove seven hours overnight to get back. He’s a man who puts almost all of his emotion into his acting. He’s usually distant and cool in everyday life. But that night, he held me and cried so hard he was practically hyperventilating. “Josie, this is my fault. I’m making you suffer. I promise I’ll make it big. I’ll make so much money, and I’ll love you and cherish you forever!” Seven years later. Devon’s career had soared, and our problems had multiplied. It was unavoidable. I’m a person who is cripplingly anxious about intimacy and security. And Devon is an actor. His job required filming intensely intimate scenes, shoving his entire soul into another identity, and imagining himself falling in love with another person as his character. Once, he had a fiercely passionate kiss scene with an actress. It was a crucial, famous scene that marked the climax of the characters’ emotional entanglement. They kissed until they were both crying, spontaneously embracing and kissing for a long time, not even hearing the director yell “Cut!” They ended up falling onto the bed, bodies pressing close, tearing at each other’s clothes. The things that happened after were not in the script. It was a subconscious reaction born of genuine, raw emotion. The director applauded wildly. “That’s fantastic! We’re keeping that—they really committed to the feeling!” As fate would have it, that day was Devon’s birthday, and I had come to surprise him with a gift. Honestly, seeing that scene was agonizing. But what could I do? It was his job. Even getting mad or being jealous made me look like a hysterical idiot. That lack of security made me anxious, sensitive, and obsessively controlling. I checked his phone while he was showering. He caught me. He was furious. “Jocelyn, what is wrong with you? Don’t you have anything better to do? Don’t you have a life?” A brutal trio of questions. He was the one who had convinced me to quit my job and move to New York, claiming he loved how attached I was and that he’d support me forever. After that fight, I took all my savings and opened this flower shop. I came every single day, rain or shine. I made myself busy. That way, I wouldn’t have time to obsess over who Devon was kissing today, how intense the sex scenes were, whether he was getting a physical reaction, or if he’d fall out of character and genuinely fall for someone else. 4 Rush hour was over. The subway car on the way home was empty. Two girls sat next to me, staring at a phone with goofy, lovesick smiles. “Wanna bet? Devon and Anya have definitely caught real feelings off-camera. Those subconscious touches don’t lie.” “Doesn’t Devon have a girlfriend?” “Come on. Think about it: on one side, a girlfriend he’s been with for seven years, who’s stale and old news. On the other, a gorgeous, vibrant new actress. If you were Devon, who would you choose?” I subtly pulled out my compact mirror and checked my face. I was once the homecoming queen, damn it. I couldn’t be that stale, could I? Actually, Devon only went public with our relationship because I forced him to. Initially, he said he didn’t want his personal life discussed in the media. So no one in the industry knew he had a girlfriend. Women pursued him, people tried to set him up, and there were even offers for favors. I finally lost it. “Is it that you don’t think it’s necessary, or is it that you’re ashamed of me and don’t want to give up your single status?” Devon called me irrational. But he still posted a statement on Instagram announcing my existence: Happy 7th Anniversary to my girl @JosieReid Late that night, both #DevonShawAnnouncesRelationship and #DevonAnya were trending simultaneously. Because their CP fandom had immediately published a viral post— You are my frenzy, existing outside the order of the mundane world. The post summarized every ambiguous moment between them since they started working together. In the thread, they were positioned as star-crossed lovers, and I was the villain, the bully standing in the way of their destined union. The fans claimed Devon was only with me out of a sense of obligation, not wanting to break up with a “boring, mediocre girlfriend.” Anya logged onto Instagram late that night. She liked the post, then quickly unliked it, and then posted an explanation claiming her “thumb slipped.” A textbook move. Then she specifically tagged me: @JosieReid Hey, sis! Don’t worry about it. Let’s grab brunch soon! As if we were close friends. I’d never even met her. Devon told me not to overthink it. “Anya’s just a sweet, simple kid. She was probably just trying to smooth things over so you wouldn't feel awkward.” I asked subconsciously, “She’s simple. And what about me?” “You?” Devon curled his lip into a slight smile. “Come on, Jo. Why are you comparing yourself to a young girl?” His tone was gentle, almost affectionate. Anya was only two years younger than me. 5 The girl next to me unplugged her headphones. I heard a familiar voice. Then I realized: today was the press conference for Devon’s new movie in Los Angeles. It was streaming live. I clicked into the live feed. Recently, Anya had been facing major public backlash. Rumors were swirling about her past—high school bullying, trading favors for roles, and flirting with her male co-stars. At the conference, Anya addressed the rumors for the first time. Within moments, she was sobbing, unable to speak. Devon was there the entire time, shielding her. For every invasive question from the media, for every malicious comment in the live chat, Devon was right there to fire back. He spoke with serious gravity: “Online bullying is a terrible thing. It causes irreparable harm to people...” I started to laugh. I laughed until the tears started welling up and my nose began to sting. I buried my face in my hands. The tears streamed down through my fingers. “Are you okay?” the girl next to me offered a tissue. “Thank you...” Crying on the subway was embarrassing. I got off early. It was all Devon’s fault. Ever since he went public, his and Anya’s fans had relentlessly attacked my comment section. Stop hoarding him, give the King to someone who is actually worthy. The unloved one is the third wheel. You’re really just extra, sis. If you, the little bitch, hadn’t been in the way, our OTP would be together! Break up now, or we’ll keep bullying you until you do. More extreme fans had doxed me, sent me gruesome messages, and even staked out my apartment building. I used to read about people who committed suicide because of online bullying. I felt sad, but I also didn’t quite understand it. Couldn’t they just unplug, ignore the anonymous hate, and focus on their own lives? When it happened to me, I finally understood the terror. It was truly horrifying. Devon was on location at the time. Calls went unanswered, and messages vanished into the void. By the time he wrapped and came home, I had been struggling with insomnia for two weeks. I had even visited a doctor to get medication for my nerve issues. Devon just held me and offered a shallow comfort: “It’s okay, Jo. Don’t worry. They’re just still invested in the show.” That night, he left for his next scheduled trip. I always thought his behavior was just his personality. He was a little insensitive to other people’s feelings, not great at comforting, but it wasn’t a huge deal. It wasn't like he stopped loving me. But watching the screen right now, seeing Devon vehemently defending Anya, saying online hate kills people... Watching him sitting in the corner, constantly handing Anya tissues and speaking softly to comfort her, making her laugh through her tears... I felt like the biggest joke in the world. 6 I booked a flight back to Santa Monica. The day before I was scheduled to leave, I followed my doctor’s advice and went for one last follow-up appointment. Psychiatry was on the top floor. A long hallway was roped off, surrounded by a crowd of people. I walked over to look. They were shooting a movie. I wasn’t interested and turned to leave, just as my eyes met Devon’s across the crowd. I also saw Anya standing right beside him. I remembered—Devon had mentioned a while ago that his next role was a doctor. He hadn’t mentioned it was a reunion with Anya. But it didn’t matter. I no longer cared. The moment our eyes locked, Devon frowned and subconsciously took two steps toward me. I walked away without looking back. Anya glanced over, catching the sight of my long-haired back. She asked Devon, “Who was that? Your girlfriend?” “Yeah.” “Checking up on you?” Devon gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “I guess so.” Anya pouted, muttering, “Dating a civilian is such a hassle. She’s checking up on you even at the hospital. This is the first time anyone has ever treated me like a mistress. What’s her deal?” “That’s not what she’s doing.” Devon kept looking in the direction I’d walked. “She’s just a little jealous, a little insecure. She’s not targeting anyone.” During the break. Devon opened his text messages and saw that his last exchange with me was over two weeks ago— When do you wrap? I need to talk to you. He’d read it but hadn’t replied. He must have forgotten. It was normal for him not to contact me when he was filming. But it was very abnormal for me not to contact him. I used to send him constant, useless updates. Like I found a great steak place, or that New York was windy, or I saw a cute dog. He never seemed to mind. This sudden shift in my attitude must mean she was still mad from our last fight. Why was she so angry this time? Remembering the look in my eyes, Devon worried I’d misunderstand, so he decided to explain himself. ... I sat waiting for my number to be called. My phone started ringing incessantly. So annoying. I realized I’d forgotten something important. I hung up, went into my contacts, and blocked the number. Then I opened my messages, found Devon Shaw, and hit Delete Contact. Much better.
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