Chapter 4
1579words
The Walton empire had dominated the entertainment industry for thirty years—from production to distribution, from theater chains to streaming platforms—with our influence touching every aspect of the business. Though Father opposed my decision to work behind the scenes, he reluctantly agreed to help make Daniel a star.
"Since you've chosen this path," he grumbled, "don't come crying to me when you realize this man isn't worth a damn."
I shot him a glare so fierce he threw up his hands in mock surrender.
The first step was investment.
Daniel had landed the lead in a modern urban drama—modest budget but solid script. I convinced Father to inject 30 million, buying forty percent of the production. In exchange, the director would ensure Daniel got ample screen time and promotional focus.
The production team eagerly agreed.
During filming, I visited the set almost daily—not to supervise, but to support Daniel. He was drowning in pressure, this being his first leading role, and terrified of screwing up.
To be honest, his acting was mediocre at best. From behind the monitor, I watched him fumble through take after take of scenes I could have nailed in one go.
"You're doing great."
I lied through my teeth.
I was genuinely happy during that period, convinced I was doing the right thing. I was helping the man I loved achieve his dream—what could possibly be wrong with that?
When the series aired, the response exceeded expectations. Daniel gained instant recognition. His Twitter followers exploded from 300,000 to 2 million, and brands started lining up with endorsement offers.
He wasn't quite A-list yet, but he was definitely somebody now.
I was thrilled for him.
But trouble wasn't far behind.
Tabloids dug up Daniel's past indiscretions—photos of drunken college brawls, intimate pictures with an ex-girlfriend, videos of him picking fights in nightclubs.
The media pounced like vultures, declaring his private life a disaster and his public image in ruins.
His agent called me, his voice cracking with panic.
"Ms. Alice, please, you have to help. If this continues, Daniel's career is over..."
"I understand," I said simply, and ended the call.
I immediately dialed my father.
"Dad, I need a favor."
"What kind of favor?"
"I need you to bury some stories about Daniel."
The line went silent for several seconds.
"Are you sure about this? Have you seen what he did? None of it's pretty."
"I'm sure, Dad. The past is the past."
"Fine."
Father pulled his strings. Media outlets retracted their stories overnight. Smaller websites that refused were simply shut down. The major outlets received stern warnings and didn't dare publish another word.
Within three days, Daniel's scandals vanished from the internet as if they'd never existed.
He called me, his voice dripping with gratitude.
"Baby, thank you so much. I don't know how I'll ever repay you..."
"No need. We're family."
He responded with a soft "Mm," we are family.
I didn't catch the hollowness in his voice when he said those words.
Over the next few months, I continued clearing his path. To secure him a supporting role in a major production, I leveraged Father's connections and wined and dined the director three times before he finally relented.
When Daniel found out he was only offered a supporting role, he pouted like a child. I patiently explained the strategy, and he grudgingly agreed.
Within a year, Daniel's market value increased tenfold.
He transformed from a mediocre actor into the industry's hottest rising star. His fee skyrocketed to five million per film, his Twitter followers surpassed ten million, and screaming fans stalked his every move.
He had made it.
And I was completely drained.
During that period, I averaged less than five hours of sleep. Days were spent managing his affairs, nights accompanying him to industry events. Sometimes at 3 AM, I'd get calls about him causing drunken scenes at nightclubs, and I'd drag myself out of bed to rescue him.
I never complained because I loved him.
But I never expected how drastically he would change.
One night, I waited for him at home.
We had planned a dinner to celebrate his new endorsement deal. I'd reserved his favorite restaurant, pre-ordered all his favorite dishes, and wrapped a special gift.
He was an hour late.
I called to check on him. "Stuck in traffic," he claimed.
"It's okay," I said. "I'll wait."
Another half hour crawled by before he finally showed up.
When he pushed open the door, the stench of alcohol hit me before he did. His eyes couldn't quite focus on mine.
"Sorry baby, work's been crazy," he mumbled, slumping into the chair across from me and grabbing the menu.
"It's okay. I know you've been swamped."
"Yeah," he flipped through the menu without looking up. "You have no idea. Everyone wants a piece of me now. My schedule's completely packed."
"That's great."
"Mm-hmm."
After ordering, we ate in near silence.
Throughout the entire meal, his eyes never left his phone. I tried making conversation, asking if he was tired, suggesting he might need a break.
He barely glanced up.
"It's fine."
Two dismissive words. Then back to his phone.
The stranger sitting across from me bore little resemblance to the man I'd fallen in love with.
Was this really the Daniel I loved?
He wasn't always like this. Before, he would hang on my every word, ask about my day, massage my shoulders when I was tired.
Now, the world revolved around him alone.
Before we finished eating, his phone rang.
"Hmm, okay, I'll be right there." He hung up and stood. "Baby, gotta run. Important dinner meeting."
I froze.
"But... today is my birthday."
He paused briefly, as if this information was news to him.
"Oh, right. Happy birthday, baby. But this dinner's with Spielberg's assistant. Can't miss it. Birthdays happen every year, but chances like this are once in a lifetime."
He tossed some cash on the table and turned to leave.
I sat alone in the restaurant, staring at his empty chair.
The waiter approached, asking if I wanted a box for the leftovers.
I shook my head.
I didn't cry. I just felt hollow, as if something vital had been carved out of me.
That night, I went home alone and sat on the sofa, staring at the untouched birthday cake on the coffee table.
The candles remained unlit.
I'd declined Father's offer of a lavish birthday celebration for this—sitting alone in the dark. What was the point of lighting candles now?
I sat there until 2 AM when Daniel finally stumbled in.
When he pushed the door open, the stench of expensive whiskey and women's perfume wafted in with him. His steps wobbled.
"Baby, still up?" He lurched toward me, arms outstretched.
I stepped back.
"You're drunk."
"Yeah, that director can really hold his liquor. Had to keep up." He collapsed onto the sofa, finally noticing the cake. "Oh, you didn't eat your cake."
"Do you want some?"
"Nah, too late. Sugar makes you fat."
I stared at him, then asked quietly:
"Daniel, do you remember how we first got together?"
He hesitated, then flashed that practiced smile.
"Sure I do. I watched you act and told you how much better you were than me." A flash of something dark crossed his eyes—resentment, perhaps?
"What did you promise me back then?"
He thought for a moment. "I said I'd always be good to you."
"And now?"
"What do you mean 'now'?" His eyes narrowed defensively.
"Are you still good to me now?"
He was silent for a beat too long before answering: "Of course I am. Why would you even ask that?"
"Because you've changed."
"How have I changed?"
"The old Daniel remembered my birthday. He made time for me. He asked how I was feeling. Now all you care about is your work, your career, your precious networking dinners."
He frowned. "I'm busting my ass out there! I'm trying to be successful, to give us a better life..."
"I don't need a better life. I just need you to be present."
"Present?" His tone sharpened. "Jesus, Alice, can't you cut me some slack? I'm at a critical point in my career. How the hell am I supposed to babysit you every day?"
"I'm not asking for every day. I just hoped you'd remember my birthday..."
"I did remember!" he snapped. "I just had more important things to do! Why are you always so damn sensitive? I miss one birthday and you're making a federal case out of it?"
I felt like I'd been slapped.
Making a scene.
Did he really just say that?
"I'm not making a scene." My voice quivered. "I just feel like I don't know you anymore."
"I've changed?" He jumped to his feet. "You're the one who's changed! You used to be sweet and supportive. Now you're constantly checking up on me like some nagging housewife."
Nagging housewife.
Those words stabbed deep.
He glared at me, then seemed to catch himself and sighed dramatically.
"Whatever. I need some air."
The door slammed behind him.
The echo reverberated through the empty apartment.
That night I cried until I had nothing left, then began questioning everything about myself.
Was it me? Was I too sensitive? Was I not understanding enough?
I wrestled with these questions all night, finding no answers.
The crack in our relationship had become a chasm.
