The A-Lister's Dead Wife

"Wren, you're not sick. Right?" My superstar exhusband stood at the foot of the hospital bed. Bloodshot eyes locked onto mine.

A few hours ago, a photo of me fresh out of chemo leaked online. The internet trolls viciously captioned it: [ This is karma for a gold digger.

Looks like faking depression didn't work, so she switched to faking a terminal illness. ] He called me like a maniac. I ignored every single ring.

I stared at the flashing name on my screen and tossed my phone straight into the trash can. Now, he stared intensely at my pale face, desperately searching for a trace of a lie.

I tugged at the IV tube taped to the back of my hand.

A laugh spilled from my lips. "Stagefour cancer." I watched the exact moment his expression shattered. "I'm dying." Chapter 1 My husband is a Hollywood Alister superstar, Julian.

We kept our marriage a secret for eight years.

I stayed by his side, watching him climb from an extra to the center of the universe, evolving from a raw, awkward kid into a man who manipulated the media with flawless ease.

I used to ask him when we were going public. He always said to wait. Just wait until the studio executives couldn't control him anymore. I bought it.

But the public announcement never came. Instead, a parade of rumored girlfriends did. At first, he had the patience to explain.

Then, it morphed into pure irritation. "We just held hands and shared a look. Nothing actually happened." "It's PR, set up by the management.

How was I supposed to know why she called me in the middle of the night?" "I bought her a Valentine's gift, so what? Stop acting so crazy, okay?" I remember the year before last.

A male coworker gave me a ride home in the rain. Julian got so jealous he smashed my phone to pieces. Even though I didn't even ask for the ride, he wouldn't listen.

But now that it's his turn? Holding hands, heated glances—suddenly, it's all no big deal? Did he ever give a damn about my feelings? Who was it this time? Ah, right.

That sexy sweetheart who blew up from that trashy reality show—Chloe. The internet was flooded with promos for their new show.

Articles obsessed over their "sweet eye contact" and "insane chemistry." The comments section was a unified wall of obsession: [ Date already! Date! ] [ Ah!

They look so good together. ] [ They belong together! Meant to be! ] Was I supposed to just not care? Not get jealous? Last year, every time we were in the same room, we fought.

He dropped a cold "If you can't handle it, let's get a divorce," and walked out. We separated. He moved into a hotel.

But the second I held that medical report, the second I stared at the words StageFour Stomach Cancer, my first instinct was to call Julian. I just wanted to ask him what to do.

After all, twentytwo years together. From the foster homes in the dirty projects to now, we were the only survivors in each other's lives. The phone connected.

A girl's breathless voice came through the speaker. "Ah, not so rough." Then, a low, muffled chuckle. My phone slipped from my fingers and slammed onto the floor. I blinked.

That laugh. It was Julian. He actually cheated on me? I snapped. I drove straight to his hotel and pounded on his door like a lunatic. The door cracked open.

He stood there with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He saw me. His brows pulled together. "Why are you here?" "Who is it?" Chloe's voice drifted from the suite.

A second later, she stepped up right behind him, swathed in a fluffy white hotel robe. She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Julian, who's this?" Julian looked at me.

Pure disgust dripped from his eyes. "My exwife." "Hehe, your taste used to be garbage." "It was." He agreed without missing a beat, then looked down his nose at me. "Are we done here?" I slapped him across the face.

Hard. My entire body shook with sobs. He just pinched the bridge of his nose. Voice flat. "Stop throwing a tantrum. Let's get a divorce." The next day, Julian came home.

Fresh off some press junket, he was still wearing a tailored suit. He tossed a stack of papers right in front of me. "Wren. Let's just end this on a good note.

Don't make it ugly." Chapter 2 I didn't sleep a wink. I smashed the divorce papers right into his face. He tilted his head.

A dark, dangerous glint flashed in his narrow eyes. "Wren, don't push it." "Push it? Who's the one sleeping in another woman's bed, Julian?" I laughed.

The sound scraped painfully against my chest, immediately dissolving into a violent coughing fit. A thick, metallic taste flooded the back of my throat. "What?

You cheat on me, and I'm supposed to say thank you? Throw you a welcomehome party?" Julian frowned.

Raw impatience bled into his expression. "We haven't been in the same world for a long time. You know that. I'll write you a fat check.

You'll be set for life." I stared at him in pure disbelief.

Was the boy who survived the brokendown projects with me, the man who stood outside City Hall and swore he would never let me suffer, really the same man standing in front of me now?

The man looking at me like I was a piece of trash stuck to his shoe? How did he become unrecognizable in just two years?

Just last year, when I had a simple sore throat, he canceled a milliondollar gig.

He raced his car across three city blocks in the dead of night to get me prescription meds and hot soup, refusing to leave my bedside. Now?

I was coughing so hard I couldn't breathe, and all he saw was an inconvenience. I lowered my head and wiped my mouth.

I discreetly smeared the blood onto the dark fabric of my dress. "I'll make you regret this, Julian." He stared at me with chilling detachment. "My PR team is already on standby.

Making a scene won't do you any favors, Wren." I grabbed the ceramic vase off the console table and hurled it directly at his head.

It shattered against the wall inches from his face. A sharp shard sliced open his cheek. I pointed at the door. "Get out." He had never seen me act like this.

He pressed his lips into a hard line. "If you breathe a single word of this online, I cut off all funding to Shirley's shelter." I stared at his cold, ruthless face.

My voice scraped out of my ruined throat. "You're threatening me with that? Shirley gave you a home, Julian.

Do you even have a heart left?" He looked down. "I told you, I'm climbing to the very top. You know better than anyone what it took for me to get here." Slam.

He turned on his heel and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him. My knees buckled. I collapsed onto the floor, vomiting mouthfuls of dark blood.

My stomach cramped, a sudden sharp agony like a rusted knife twisting in my guts. Cold sweat drenched my clothes. Is this it? Am I dying right now? "Wren, be with me.

I want to wake up looking at you for the rest of my life." We had just graduated. Julian had finally clawed his way up from an uncredited extra to a minor supporting role.

He scraped together every penny to buy me a diamond ring. It was the first snow of the year. I knew exactly why he was rushing.

He was terrified about that rich frat boy who was trying to ask me out. It was so stupidly sweet. I held out my hand, letting him slide the freezing metal band onto my ring finger.

My chest had felt so unbelievably warm. … A harsh cough ripped me back to reality. My eyes fluttered open. Sunlight spilled across the room.

I was lying in the shadows of the kitchen, wearing that same black dress. The white marble floor was smeared with dried, crusted blood. Pathetic. Withered. Freezing to the bone.

Just trying to push myself up off the floor sent a blinding spike of agony through my body. So this is what dying feels like. I dragged myself upright. The room spun violently.

I swallowed two cheap painkillers dry. A second later, my stomach revolted.

I hadn't eaten a single thing, yet I found myself gripping the edge of the sink, dryheaving until my throat burned.

I kept retching until it felt like pure bile was scraping up my esophagus, flooding my mouth with a putrid, bitter taste. My ribs ached with every frantic gasp.

I slowly slid down the cabinets and sat on the floor. I looked up. The house was empty. There wasn't even a single knife left in the kitchen drawers.

I had been alone for a very long time. Chapter 3 I was the only one clinging to the past. Julian had already moved on, marching toward his socalled bright future. Revenge?

What was the point? How much time did I even have left? I sat there on the floor until the sun dipped low.

A sliver of late afternoon light finally slanted through the window and hit my skin. It offered a pathetic amount of warmth. I flexed my stiff fingers. I dragged myself up.

I dialed Julian's number. "I'll sign the divorce papers.

Give me ten million dollars, and double the monthly funding for the shelter." Silence hung heavy on the other end of the line. "Wren, aren't you asking for a little too much?" I let out a dry, hollow laugh.

My voice was colder than it had ever been. "You have twentyfour hours. The day after tomorrow, I want to see you outside City Hall with your checkbook.

Otherwise, you can forget about ever getting those divorce papers." I cut the call. Julian showed up. He wore a black baseball cap pulled low, a face mask, and a baggy hoodie.

Even buried in layers, he couldn't hide that untouchable aura. People in the lobby kept turning to stare. Manhattan was currently plastered with his face.

He was on every billboard, every bus stop. It was suffocating. The wire transfer cleared. I signed the divorce papers.

The clerk needed to verify his identity, forcing him to pull down his mask for three seconds. A wave of frantic whispering instantly swept through the room.

I didn't know it then, but someone had snapped a photo. That single picture was about to detonate across the internet. We walked out of City Hall like two total strangers.

He didn't even glance my way. He strode straight toward a waiting black SUV. The tinted door slid open, revealing a pair of long, pale legs stretched out in the backseat.

Probably Chloe. The door slammed shut. The luxury car sped off, effortlessly pulling out of my life.

He had carved out almost my entire existence, yet he left without leaving a single trace behind. I watched the taillights disappear into the traffic. "Goodbye, Julian.

Never again." I looked down at my phone. I opened my drafts. Almost ten thousand words. Every single detail of us.

From the day I first stepped into the shelter at five years old, to the night he proposed under that flickering streetlight after graduation. 9,821 words.

That was all it took to summarize twentytwo years of a shared life. It was shorter than a college thesis. My thumb hovered over the Post button.

Just then, I caught sight of a plump mother holding her little girl's hand down the street. They were laughing at something, their faces glowing.

It made me think of Shirley, the director of the shelter. Shirley was built the same way—soft edges, a booming voice, and a smile that could melt ice.

She treated every single one of us strays like we were her own flesh and blood. She had lost her own baby when she was young. I remembered when I first arrived at the shelter.

I cried every single day until my eyes were swollen shut. Shirley stressed out so much she broke out in hives.

She spent hours rocking me, all while cooking three meals a day for a dozen kids, scrubbing laundry, and cleaning floors. She never stopped moving.

When I got older, I asked her if it was all worth it. She just waved her hand and said she didn't have time for useless thoughts.

Instead of drowning in the garbage, it was better to just hold on to the good stuff. I blinked. My thumb froze.

If I hit post, the media, the paparazzi, and his psychotic stalker fans would hunt me down to the ends of the earth. I had less than three months to live.

Did I really want to waste my final days suffocating in Julian's toxic orbit? I never wanted to see his face again. I deleted the draft.

Chapter 4 For my final days, I just wanted to be alone. I wanted to actually feel the world before I quietly slipped away. I wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

I just wanted to visit the shelter one last time. I needed to see Shirley and the kids, to hear her booming voice and the chaotic, happy screams of the little ones.

A small smile touched my lips. A wave of warmth slowly washed over the sharp, bleeding agony tied to Julian. It still throbbed, but it didn't feel like the end of the world anymore.

If only life could have frozen at the moment we first met. I took a deep breath and looked up. The sky was a piercing blue, scattered with white clouds.

It really was a beautiful day. I should bring them cupcakes. I hit delete. A phantom weight immediately lifted off my shoulders.

It was finally over. "Wren is here!" Rosie spotted me the second I walked through the gate and screamed at the top of her lungs.

She was five, all chubby cheeks and boundless energy. A second later, a stampede of little kids rushed out and swarmed me. I laughed and handed over the boxes of cupcakes.

They cheered, lugging the boxes to the dining table. They fought over their favorite flavors, their eyes sparkling with pure joy.

Shirley saw me and immediately swatted me on the back. Her voice was just as booming as ever. "Dieting again?! Look at you, you're practically a skeleton!

It doesn't look good!" I looked at her. She looked furious, but her eyes were full of heartbreak. Half her hair had turned gray. Was it that gray last week?

Or had I just been too blind to notice? In that exact moment, I wanted to throw myself into her arms and sob.

I wanted to spill every single ugly detail and curse Julian's name until my throat bled. But I swallowed the lump in my throat.

I hugged her arm and nudged her playfully. "Oh, come on. It's the trend right now." "Trend, my ass!" she grumbled. "I'm making pot roast.

You're eating two huge bowls today, you hear me?" "You got it." I sniffled and flashed her the brightest smile I could muster. "Weirdo," Shirley muttered, staring at my face.

But she couldn't hide the relieved gleam in her eyes. She turned toward the kitchen, then paused. She looked back, hesitating. "Jude… wait, no.

Are you and Julian doing okay?" I froze. It took me a second to remember Julian's real name was Jude. "Julian" was the stage name his agency forced on him.

That happened about two years ago. Only now did I realize.

The day he changed his name was the day my Jude started slipping away forever. "We're doing great." I lowered my eyes, keeping the smile pinned to my lips.

She sighed, clearly frustrated, but tried to comfort me anyway. "Those tabloids just write whatever garbage gets clicks. He's a good, grounded kid.

He would never cheat on you." The image of him in that hotel towel flashed through my mind. Chloe's arms wrapped tight around his bare waist.

My nails dug into my palms until the skin nearly broke. I kept smiling and nodded. "Yeah.

He treats me really well." Shirley reached out and ruffled my hair. "If you ever get sick of it, just divorce him and come back here to help me run this place." "Haha, deal," I laughed.

She still looked a little worried, but she finally turned around and headed into the kitchen. I watched her broad back tied in that familiar apron.

I watched the kids stuffing their faces with cupcakes at the table. My gaze drifted on its own.

Past the rusted swingset, past the sandbox, until it landed on the massive old oak tree in the corner of the yard. The leaves were dead and falling now.

But I remembered what it looked like in the summer. Thick, green branches rustling loudly in the wind. A teenage Julian had stood right under that tree.

His eyes were so fiercely clear, entirely focused on me. "Wren, I swear I will never let you shed a single tear. You don't have to be so strong all the time.

Just rely on me." Chapter 5 By the time I snapped back to reality, tears had soaked my face.

I slammed my hands over my eyes, terrified Shirley or the kids would catch me, and bolted out the gate. But this was the absolute last time I would ever shed a tear for him.

For the bright, fiercely loyal boy he used to be. Of course, the real reason I ran was that my rotting stomach couldn't handle two bowls of pot roast anymore.

I couldn't even keep down half of one. It was a damn shame. I remembered the smell of that meat. Back when the shelter was strapped for cash, each kid only got a few chunks.

But Julian always scraped his portion directly into my bowl.

He would only take a bite if I practically forced it down his throat, then awkwardly claim he hated it and tell me to finish it all. God, why was I thinking about him again?

I was just trying to reminisce about my childhood, but my entire past was suffocated by him. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to tear his face out of my mind.

I stared out at the sprawling cemetery in front of me. Wasn't God rigging the game a little too hard? Normal people got two or three years to get over a brutal breakup. Me?

I was forcibly given less than three months. "That's just cruel," I muttered. At least the plots here were far enough from downtown.

The hills were green, the water was clear, and my future "neighbors" seemed quiet enough. It actually lifted my mood a bit. The thought made me laugh.

Julian used to say my brain was wired weirdly, always jumping to the craziest conclusions, but he would still look at me like I hung the moon. And I was thinking about him again.

Pathetic. I looked down and brushed the dried grass off my jeans. I turned to the cemetery rep standing next to me. "I'll take this one. It's nice." I signed the contract.

I paid for my own funeral. Then, I checked myself into the hospital. Out of nowhere, Julian called my number. "I'm sorry." The words made zero sense.

I didn't say a single word back. I hung up and permanently blocked his number. In my final days, I was going to surgically extract him from my life.

I would rip him out of my flesh and bone, leaving no trace behind. The private hospital room was quiet. The doctors and nurses were attentive.

Sometimes I joked around with the nurses on shift, swapping stupid stories. It was actually peaceful. Until today.

The nurse checking my IV started stuttering, her eyes constantly darting to my face. A cold prickle of intuition hit me. I unlocked my phone. Twitter had exploded.

The number one trending hashtag glared back at me: [ #JulianDivorce ] The rest of the trending list followed right behind it. [ #JulianWasMarried? ] [ #JulianExtorted ] [ #WhoIsJuliansWife ] [ #JulianUnstan ] [ #JulianOfficialStatement ] My thumb hovered over the screen.

I tapped on his official PR statement. The whole massive block of text boiled down to this: Julian and I met when we were nobodies, and we got married.

But then, I became insanely vain and blew through his money like water.

They were already filing for divorce, but the second he hit the Hollywood Alist, I latched onto him like a leech. I supposedly faked clinical depression. I staged suicide attempts.

Finally, pushed past his breaking point by my relentless harassment, Julian asked me what it would take to leave.

I demanded ten million dollars in exchange for my signature on the divorce papers.

Attached at the bottom was an audio clip barely a minute long. [ Wren: "Give me ten million dollars." ] [ Julian: "Wren, aren't you asking for a little too much?" ] [ Wren: "Heh.

You have twentyfour hours. Ten million dollars.

Otherwise, you can forget about ever getting those divorce papers." ] Chapter 6 "Cough… cough…" The edited audio clip was so absurd a sharp ringing filled my ears, wiping my mind blank.

Even after two years of screaming matches, even after I caught him sleeping with another woman, I never thought he would do something this ruthless.

What the hell happened over these past two years? Did Hollywood sink its claws so deep into him that he was willing to destroy me just to keep his fame?

When did that fiercely loyal boy I knew turn into this greedy, selfish monster? Did I ever really know him at all? "Gag…" I clutched my chest.

Violent spasms ripped through my stomach. Dark blood spewed from my lips, splattering across the sterile white hospital sheets. I couldn't stop throwing up.

The blood soaked through the fabric, turning it a sickening crimson. And yet, my lips stretched into a wide, broken smile. So this is what happens when a person breaks.

You just laugh. Hahaha. Why was this so damn funny? Hahaha! My stomach cramped, stealing the breath from my lungs. My skull throbbed like it was going to split open.

This was what it felt like when your entire world collapsed into ash. I collapsed onto the mattress. Everything went black. When I woke up, three days had passed.

I was out of the ICU. The doctor stood at the foot of my bed.

He clutched a painfully long medical bill, heavily hinting that I needed to contact my insurance company to cover continued treatments, claiming I would get better.

I looked at him and forced a weak smile. "Just tell me how much time I have left." He sighed and took off his glasses. "Maybe… one to two months. Avoid extreme stress.

But if you take care of yourself, anything is possible. Keep a positive mindset…" "It's fine. I know my own body." I gave him a hollow smile.

A nurse helped me into a wheelchair and rolled me back to my private room. I felt heavy. Every single breath felt like inhaling shards of glass.

So this is what it feels like when your organs shut down. I stared out the window at the dead, bare branches. Winter was here. My phone started ringing again.

An unknown number flashed on the screen. I hadn't checked my phone all week. There were over three hundred missed calls. I didn't even have to guess who it was.

A few days ago, seeing his calls would have made my pulse spike. Now? I just felt exhausted. Pure, suffocating apathy. I hit ignore and lay perfectly still. My limbs felt like lead.

Nausea clawed at my throat. In the face of death, there was no energy left for anger. Every strand of hair on my head felt exhausted. I just wanted to live.

I wish I had grabbed a massive double cheeseburger after leaving the shelter.

Dripping with grease, loaded with bacon, paired with a bucket of spicy chili cheese fries and a ridiculously thick strawberry milkshake… I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, Julian was standing right next to my bed. His eyes were bloodshot. He stared at me, his gaze manic, pinning me to the bed. "Wren, you're not sick.

Right?" I looked at his tightly coiled expression. A laugh slipped past my lips. "Stagefour cancer. I'm dying." "Fuck! Fuck! Why the fuck didn't you tell me?!

Fuck!" That carefully crafted, untouchable Hollywood Alister persona shattered into a million pieces. He tore apart the room. He smashed the ceramic vase.

He shattered the dinner plates. He hurled the electric kettle against the flatscreen TV. He was like a cornered animal, tearing his surroundings apart. Was it regret? Guilt? Love?

I lay against the pillows, my heart beating at a steady, unchanging rhythm.

I watched him destroy the room with absolute deadeyed detachment. "You're too loud." Chapter 7 My voice was barely a whisper, but he froze as if a bullet had just ripped through him.

His knees slammed into the cold tile floor. He clutched his hair with both hands, a raw, animalistic howl of despair tearing from his throat