Chapter 2A Seven-Year Illusion

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.