I Gave Up My Career for Him, Until I Walked Away for Good

I picked up the keys.

I set his phone back on the counter, screen down, exactly where he'd left it. Then I turned off the kitchen lights and went upstairs.

The shower stopped. Adrian came out with a towel around his hips, still humming.

"You coming to bed?"

"In a minute."

I brushed my teeth for a long time. Long enough that when I finally slid under the covers, he was already asleep.

---

In the morning, he kissed my forehead on his way out the door.

"Don't wait up tonight," he said, patting his pockets. "It's gonna be a late one."

"Lots of promo?"

"Mm."

He was scrolling through something on his phone. He didn't look at me. Not once.

The door clicked shut behind him, and I stood in the hallway holding his coffee mug. He'd forgotten to take it.

---

After that, I started noticing things.

Small things at first. A late dinner at a sushi place in West Hollywood, posted by a fan account. Adrian and Sienna in the back booth, her leg tucked under her, his jacket over her shoulders.

Then a private party in the Hills. No press. No studio. Just the two of them, caught in the background of someone's Instagram story.

Then the interview.

I was folding towels in the living room when it came on. Some morning show with bright yellow couches.

"So, everyone wants to know," the host said, leaning in with a grin. "What's really going on between you two?"

Sienna giggled and hid her face against Adrian's arm.

He didn't laugh it off. He didn't say *I have a partner at home*. He just smiled that slow, crooked smile and said, "We have a lot of chemistry."

The audience screamed.

I turned off the TV. The towel in my hands was folded into a perfect square. I unfolded it and folded it again.

---

"You told them you have chemistry."

Adrian didn't stop untying his shoes. It was after one in the morning.

"Ivy, come on. It's late."

"On national television. You didn't even mention me."

"Because nobody cares about my personal life during a press tour." He kicked one shoe toward the closet. "They care about the movie."

"You went to a party with her on Saturday. You told me you were at a script meeting."

His jaw tightened. "Are you following fan accounts now?"

"They're everywhere, Adrian. I don't have to follow anything."

"Okay." He stood up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. When he dropped them, his face had gone hard. "We've talked about this. You know how this industry works. It's work."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true." His voice rose, then flattened. "I'm exhausted. I've been smiling at cameras for fourteen hours. I don't need to come home and get interrogated."

"I'm not interrogating you. I'm asking."

"It feels the same."

He walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the shoe he'd left in the middle of the floor.

*It's work. It's promo. It's chemistry.*

I'd been saying those words to myself for weeks. To his mother. To my sister on the phone. To the woman at the grocery store who held up a tabloid and asked if I was okay.

I'd become very good at making excuses for him.

Five years ago, I had my own trailer. My own call sheet. A director who said I had the best instincts he'd seen in a decade. I tore up a contract for this man. I turned down two pilots and a stage play. I let my agent stop calling.

He never once asked me if I regretted it.

Not once.

The shower turned on. I picked up his shoe and put it in the closet.

---

Thursday night, he had a private dinner at the Larkspur Hotel. Studio executives, a few investors. Sienna, of course.

"Partners aren't invited," he'd said that morning, knotting his tie in the mirror. "Super boring. You'd hate it."

I found the folder at seven-thirty, sitting on the kitchen island. A thick black one with the studio's logo on the cover.

I called him. It rang out.

I texted. *You left the investor packet at home. Do you need it?*

Nothing.

I called his assistant, Priya.

"Oh no," she groaned. "Yes. He needs it. He's presenting the budget breakdown at nine. I'm stuck in traffic on the 405. Is there any way—"

"I'll bring it."

"You're a lifesaver, Ivy. Suite 1204. They're doing drinks upstairs before dinner."

---

The elevator opened onto a quiet hallway with thick carpet that swallowed my footsteps.

Suite 1204 was at the end. The door wasn't fully closed. Someone had propped it with the security latch, the way people do when they're expecting room service.

I lifted my hand to knock.

Then I heard Sienna's voice.

"Are you seriously going to keep hiding this from her?"

My knuckles stopped an inch from the wood.

"Keep your voice down," Adrian said.

"Nobody's here yet. They're all still at the bar." Ice clinked in a glass. "I mean it, Adrian. How long? I'm tired of sneaking around like some side piece."

"You're not a side piece."

"Then what am I?"

A pause. I heard him exhale, the long, tired sigh he used when a director asked for one more take.

"I can't end things right now."

"Why not?"

"Because she's still useful to me."

The folder slipped against my ribs. I caught it before it fell.

"Useful," Sienna repeated. She sounded almost amused.

"My mom loves her. The press loves her. 'Hollywood's Perfect Partner,' remember?" His voice was low and easy. The voice he used to say *I love you*. "If I dump her in the middle of a press tour, I look like the bad guy. The studio would kill me. Just wait until *Northbound* opens. Then it's done."

"And she has no idea?"

He laughed softly. "Ivy believes anything I tell her."

My fingers had gone ice cold. I couldn't feel the edges of the folder anymore.

I didn't cry.

That was the strange part. I stood in that hallway, five years of my life collapsing a foot away from me, and my eyes stayed completely dry.

Inside, Sienna said something I didn't catch. Adrian laughed again.

I looked down at the folder in my hands. His budget breakdown. His presentation. His big night.

The elevator dinged at the end of the hall.

Footsteps. Voices. The investors were coming up.

And the door in front of me swung open.