Fading Away From The Hollywood King

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Stop looking at me like a kicked puppy, Genevieve, it's pathetic.

Dominic stands at the foot of my hospital bed, checking his diamond Rolex. He thinks this is a stunt. A desperate, attention-seeking ploy to delay our divorce.

I'm not acting, I whisper, my voice raspy and thin.

Then why are you here? Panic attack? Broken heart? He sneers, his hand already on the door handle, ready to leave me for her.

I manage a weak, dry smile and slide the manila folder across the sheets.

"Stage four cancer, Dominic. You win. You're finally free."

Chapter 1

My husband is Hollywood's golden boy.

Dominic.

We've been married in secret for eight years. I stood in the shadows while he clawed his way from bit parts to blockbuster leads, watching him transform from a shy, awkward boy into a man who commanded every room he walked into.

I asked him once when we could stop hiding.

"Soon, Evie," he'd said, his voice low, persuasive. "Just wait until I have enough leverage. Until the studios can't own me."

I believed him.

But the big reveal never came. Instead, I got a parade of co-stars and "rumored romances."

At first, he would sit me down, hold my hands, and explain. Then the patience turned to irritation. Then, anger.

"It's just PR, Genevieve. Holding hands, a little eye contact... it's part of the job. It means nothing."

"The studio set it up. How should I know why she's calling me at 2 AM?"

"So I sent her flowers for Valentine's Day. It's promo. Stop being so dramatic."

...

Two years ago, a male colleague brought me a coffee. Just a coffee. I didn't even drink it.

Dominic froze me out for three days.

He wouldn't listen. Wouldn't look at me.

But now that the roles are reversed? Now that he's the one touching, lingering, whispering?

Suddenly, it's no big deal.

Does he ever stop to think about how it rips me apart?

Who is it this time?

Right. Blair. The "Pop Princess." The breakout star everyone is obsessed with.

The internet is drowning in promo for their new show. "Explosive Chemistry." "Undeniable Spark."

The comments section is a nightmare.

Ship them so hard!

They are literally perfect together.

Power couple energy. OMG.

...

Do they think I don't see it? Do they think I don't bleed?

Last year, the fighting became constant. He finally slammed a door in my face, shouting, "If you're so miserable, let's just divorce!"

He moved out. Checked into a hotel. We haven't lived together since.

But the moment the doctor handed me the fileStage IV Stomach Cancermy fingers dialed his number before I could even process the words.

I just wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to ask him what to do.

Twenty-two years. We've known each other since we were five. He isn't just my husband; he's my family. He is woven into my DNA.

The call connected.

But instead of his voice, I heard a woman's giggle. Breathless. High-pitched.

"Mmm... gentle, Dom."

Then, a low, guttural laugh.

Dominic.

My phone slipped from my fingers, clattering against the floor.

I stood there, blinking, my brain refusing to process the sound.

He was cheating on me.

Something in me snapped. I don't remember the drive. I just remember the steering wheel digging into my palms and the red haze of rage. I pounded on the door until my knuckles bruised.

It swung open.

Dominic stood there, a towel slung low on his hips, water dripping from his chest. He looked at me, his brow furrowing in annoyance.

"What are you doing here?"

"Who is it, babe?"

Blair's voice.

She sauntered into view, wrapped in a plush hotel robe that was two sizes too big. She slid her arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"Dom, who is this?"

Dominic looked at me. His eyes were cold. Empty.

"My ex-wife."

Blair smirked, looking me up and down. "Wow. You used to have terrible taste."

"Yeah," Dominic muttered. "I did."

He looked down at me, his expression bored. "Is there something you need?"

My hand snapped forward on instinct.

Smack.

The sound echoed in the hallway. My palm stung. My entire body was shaking with rage.

He didn't even flinch. He just pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing like a parent dealing with a tantrum.

"Stop making a scene, Genevieve. Let's just get the divorce papers signed."

Chapter 2

Dominic showed up the next day.

He was still in his suit, probably fresh from some red carpet or press junket. He looked polished, expensive, and utterly detached.

He tossed a manila envelope onto the table in front of me.

"Let's keep this clean, Genevieve. Don't make it ugly."

I hadn't slept. My eyes felt like they were full of sand. I grabbed the papers and threw them hard into his face.

The pages fluttered down between us.

He tilted his head, a dark, dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. "Don't push me, Genevieve."

"Push you? Who was the one in bed with someone else? Huh? Dominic?"

I started to laugh. A hollow, scraping sound that tore at my chest. It quickly turned into a hacking cough, the taste of copper flooding my mouth.

"What? You cheat on me, and I'm supposed to thank you? Welcome you home with a warm smile?"

Dominic frowned, his impatience radiating off him in waves. "We haven't been in the same world for a long time. You know that. I'm offering you a settlement. You'll be set for life."

I stared at him, unable to bridge the gap between memory and reality.

The boy who held my hand through every nightmare of my childhood. The young man who stood outside the courthouse, swearing to love me until his last breath.

And this guy. This stranger in a designer suit, looking at me like I was dirt.

Are they really the same person?

How did two years rot him from the inside out?

Last year, I had a sore throat. Just a scratch. He acted like it was a national emergency. No ice water. Constant tea deliveries. He practically dragged me to urgent care.

He used to look at me like I was the only person in the room.

Now, I'm coughing my lungs out, and all I see in his eyes is annoyance.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, smearing the bright red blood onto my skirt, hiding it.

"I will destroy you, Dominic."

He looked at me with cold, pitying eyes. "My PR team is ready for anything, Genevieve. Making a scene will only hurt you."

I grabbed a heavy ceramic vase from the side table and hurled it at him.

It shattered against the wall, inches from his head. A shard grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Get out!"

He froze, shocked. He'd never seen me lose it like this.

My breath hitched. "You're threatening the kids? Dominic, Nancy raised you! Do you have no heart left at all?"

He looked down, adjusting his cuffs. "I told you. I'm going to the top. You know what I've sacrificed to get here."

Slam.

He walked out. The door rattled in its frame.

I collapsed to the floor.

Pain exploded in my stomach, a hot, twisting knife. I doubled over, retching blood onto the cold tile. Cold sweat drenched my skin.

Is this it? Am I dying now?

Genevieve, be with me. I want to spend the rest of my life looking at you.

The memory hit me. Just after graduation. Dominic had finally landed a speaking rolebarely a few lines. He'd saved every penny to buy me a ring.

The first snow of the year was falling.

He stood under the flickering yellow streetlamp in his oversized black puffer coat, his curly hair dusted with white flakes. He looked terrified.

He knew Benedict, the rich senior from my lit class, was planning to ask me out.

He was so cute. So scared of losing me.

I had reached out my hand, letting him slide the cold metal band onto my finger. It froze my skin, but my heart? My heart was on fire.

...

"Cough..."

My eyes fluttered open. Sunlight was slicing across the floorboards.

I was lying on the kitchen tiles, still in my black dress. The white marble near my head was stained with dried, dark blood.

I felt withered. Cold. Getting up felt like lifting a mountain.

So this is what dying feels like.

Chapter 3

I dragged myself up. The room spun.

I shoved two caramels into my mouth, desperate for sugar, for energy.

Mistake.

Nausea rolled over me like a tsunami. I dry-heaved over the sink, nothing coming up but bile. Acid burned my throat.

God, it hurt.

I slid down the cabinets to the floor. The house was vast. Empty.

There wasn't even a knife in the block.

I realized then: I've been alone for a long time.

I was the only one still holding onto us.

Dominic was already gone, sprinting down his golden road to glory.

Should I destroy him?

Whats the point? Im on a countdown clock.

I sat there until the sun began to dip, a slant of orange light finally hitting my skin. It felt like a small mercy.

My fingers twitched. I pulled my phone out and dialed.

"I'll sign. Fifty million. And you double the monthly check to the orphanage."

Silence stretched on the line. Then: "Genevieve, are you out of your mind? That's excessive."

"Hah."

A short, bitter laugh escaped me. Tears were streaming down my face, hot and fast, but my voice was ice cold.

"You have twenty-four hours. Meet me at the courthouse in forty-eight hours. Or you stay married to me forever."

I hung up.

Dominic showed up. Hat pulled low, mask up, oversized hoodie.

But you can't hide that kind of charisma. People were staring.

His face is plastered on every billboard and bus stop in the city. You literally can't escape him. Its exhausting.

I checked my bank account. The money was there.

I signed the papers.

He had to lower his mask for the clerk. The whispers started immediately.

I didn't know it then, but that momentthe two of us, rigid and coldwould be all over the internet by nightfall.

...

We walked out of the courthouse like strangers.

He didn't look back. He just marched toward the waiting black SUV. The door slid open, revealing a pair of long, bare legs.

Blair, I assumed.

The door slammed shut. The car peeled away.

Just like that. He drove out of my life without a backward glance.

As if he hadn't been the center of my gravity for twenty-two years.

I watched the taillights fade. "Goodbye, Dominic."

I looked down at my phone. The draft was open.

Ten thousand words. The story of us. From the day I arrived at the orphanage, terrified and five years old, to the snowy night under the streetlamp.

9,821 words. Twenty-two years of life, compressed into a ten-minute read.

My thumb hovered over 'Post'.

Then I saw them.

A chubby mother walking past, holding her childs hand. They were laughing.

Nancy.

My heart squeezed. The orphanage director. Big, loud, warm Nancy. She loved us like we were her own flesh and blood.

...

I remembered my first week at the orphanage. I cried until my eyes were swollen shut.

Nancy was frantic. She had sores on her lip from stress, juggling thirty kids, cooking, cleaning, and still finding time to rock me to sleep.

Years later, I asked her if it was worth it.

She just shrugged. "I don't have time to dwell on the bad stuff, Evie. Why waste energy on hate when you can hold onto the good memories?"

Chapter 4

I blinked, my finger hovering over the screen.

If I post this, it's war. The media, the interviews, the stalker fansthey'll hunt me down.

I have three months. Maybe less.

Do I really want to spend my dying days fighting Dominic?

I don't even want to see him.

I just want peace. I want to feel the sun on my face. I want to leave this world quietly. I want to see Nancy. I want to hear the chaotic, happy screams of the kids.

...

The corner of my mouth quirked up.

A warmth spread through my chest, soothing the sharp edges of the pain. It still hurt, a dull ache, but it felt manageable now.

If only time could stop at the moment we met.

I inhaled deeply, looking up.

The sky was a piercing, brilliant blue. Cloudless.

Perfect day.

I should bring cake for the kids.

I hit 'Delete'.

The weight vanished from my shoulders.

It's over. Truly over.

"Evie's here!"

Dotty spotted me first. She's five, round as a button, and dangerously cute.

A swarm of little bodies surrounded me. I handed over the boxes of cupcakes.

They scrambled to the table, eyes wide, fighting over the frosting colors. Pure joy.

Nancy marched over and slapped me on the backa solid, affectionate thud.

"Are you dieting again?!" Her voice boomed. "You're skin and bones! It looks terrible!"

I looked at her. She was angry, but her eyes were terrified.

Her hair... half of it was white. Was it like that last week?

Or had I just not been looking?

I wanted to collapse into her arms. I wanted to scream, to cry, to tell her everything. I wanted to curse Dominic's name until my throat bled.

But I swallowed it down.

I grabbed her arm, forcing a bright, fake smile. "It's the trend, Nance. Thin is in."

"Bullshit trend!"

She grumbled, already turning toward the kitchen.

"I'm making pot roast. You're eating two bowls. Minimum."

"You got it."

I sniffled, grinning at her.

"Weirdo," she muttered, but her eyes crinkled with relief.

She paused, looking back over her shoulder. "How is... Dominic? How are you guys?"

She almost said his real name.

Dominic. The name the studio gave him two years ago.

...

I realized then: the moment he changed his name, he stopped being mine.

"We're good," I lied. I kept my eyes down, keeping the smile plastered on my face.

She sighed, clearly not buying it but trying to be supportive. "Don't listen to the tabloids. That boy is steady. He's a good kid. He wouldn't cheat."

The image of him in that towel, Blair's arms wrapped around his waist, flashed in my mind.

I dug my fingernails into my palms until it hurt.

"Yeah. He's great to me."

Nancy patted my head, her hand rough and warm. "If it gets too hard, just divorce him. Come home. We need help around here."

"Haha, okay."

She finally turned back to the stove.

I watched her tie her apron. I watched the kids shoving cake into their mouths.

My gaze drifted. The sandbox. The rusted swing set. The massive oak tree.

The leaves were brown and dead now, littering the ground.

But I remembered it in summer. Lush. Green. The wind rustling through the branches.

Teenage Dominic standing under it, his eyes so clear, so focused on me.

Genevieve, I promise you'll never cry again. You don't have to be strong anymore. Just lean on me.

...

When I snapped back to reality, my face was wet.

I covered my mouth, stifling a sob. I couldn't let them see.

I turned and ran.

This is the last time. The last time I cry for him. The last time I mourn the boy who died so the star could live.

And honestly? I ran because I knew I couldn't eat two bowls of pot roast.

I couldn't even keep down a single bite.

Chapter 5

Such a shame.

I could almost taste it. The rich, savory aroma of Nancy's roast. The tender meat melting on my tongue, exploding with flavor.

Back then, money was tight. We'd get maybe five or six cubes of beef each.

But Dominic always slid his share onto my plate. He'd refuse to eat until I forced him, and even then, he'd take one small bite, claim he hated it, and make me finish the rest.

Dammit. Why am I thinking about him again?

It's impossible. I try to look back, and he's standing in every memory.

I squeezed my eyes shut, mentally shoving him out of the frame. I looked out at the cemetery plots stretching before me.

God, the universe has a sick sense of humor. People get years to get over a breakup. Me? I get a ninety-day deadline.

"So unfair," I murmured.

At least the plot was nice. Far from the city noise. Green grass. Quiet neighbors.

A giggle bubbled up in my throat.

Evie, your brain works in mysterious ways. Dominic used to say that, looking at me with that soft, indulgent smile.

Stop it. Pathetic.

I stood up, brushing the grass from my skirt. "I'll take it," I told the sales rep. "It's perfect."

Papers signed. Funeral paid for. I checked myself back into the hospital.

My phone buzzed. Dominic.

"I'm sorry."

That was it. Just I'm sorry.

Weird.

I didn't reply. I hung up and blocked the number.

I am surgically removing him from my life. Tearing him out of my veins, cell by cell. No scar tissue. Nothing.

The private room was quiet. The nurses were kind.

We'd chat about gossip, TV shows. It was almost nice.

Until today.

The nurse wouldn't meet my eyes. She kept glancing at me, then looking away, fidgeting.

Confused, I grabbed my phone.

The internet was melting down.

Trending #1: Dominic Divorce

The hashtags were an avalanche:

#DominicMarried??

#DominicBlackmailed

#WhoIsDominicWife

#GenevieveTheGoldDigger

#FreeDominic

#DominicStatement

...

My finger hovered over the screen. I tapped his official statement.

Its trending. #1 everywhere.

Me: "I want fifty million."

Dominic: "Genevieve, are you out of your mind? That's excessive."

Me: "Hah. You have twenty-four hours. Fifty million. Or you stay married to me forever."

...

"Cough... cough, cough..."

The laugh caught in my throat, turning into a violent fit.

It was so absurd my brain short-circuited.

We fought. He cheated. But this? This calculated, cold-blooded assassination of my character?

I never thought he was capable of this.

What happened in the last two years?

Is fame really worth this much? Worth drowning me to keep himself afloat?

The boy who used to give me his dinner... when did he become this monster?

Did I ever really know him at all?

Chapter 6

"Ugh..."

The memoriessweet, warm, safecrashed into the cold, jagged reality. It felt fake. A simulation glitching out.

I clutched my chest. The coughs tore through me, violent and wet.

Red splatters bloomed on the crisp white sheets. Like petals.

I couldn't stop.

The red stain spread, soaking the fabric, and I started to laugh.

Its true what they say. When the pain gets too big for your body, all you can do is laugh.

It was hilarious. Hysterical.

My stomach seized, twisting into knots. More blood. My head felt like it was splitting open.

So this is what it feels like when your world ends. When everything you believe in turns to dust.

I collapsed back. The darkness swallowed me whole.

Three days later, I woke up.

Back from the ICU. Silence wrapped around me like a shroud.

The doctor was using his "gentle" voice. Talking about rest. About recovery.

I looked at him and smiled. "Just tell me. How long?"

He sighed, taking off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "Maybe... one or two months. Try to stay calm. Stress makes it worse. But with proper care, maybe longer..."

"It's okay. I know."

I gave him another smileit felt pasted onand let the nurse help me into the wheelchair.

Back in my room, I lay there. Exhausted. Breathing felt like lifting weights.

So this is what shutting down feels like.

Outside, the branches were bare. Winter.

My phone rang. Unknown number. Again.

I hadn't checked it in a week. Three hundred missed calls. I knew exactly who it was.

A week ago, my heart would have raced. Now? Just annoyance. And then... nothing.

I declined the call.

My body felt heavy, nauseous. Every inhale was a battle.

Funny. When you're dying, you don't have the energy for drama. You don't want revenge. You don't want answers. Every hair on your head is tired.

You just want to live.

I should have gone for hot pot after I left the orphanage. Spicy broth. Beef rolls. Fried rice cakes...

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, he was there.

Dominic.

His eyes were bloodshot, wild. He was staring at me with a terrifying intensity.

"Genevieve. You aren't sick. Right?"

I looked at him. The panic in his gaze was almost funny