Chapter 4 The End of of a Decade
When I returned to the studio, I still felt a tightness in my chest. The studio walls felt like they were closing in on me.
I picked up my phone,, thumb hovering over contacts–only to realize there was no one to call. Years of chasing deadlines with Mason had left me with a glittering career and exactly zero real friends outside the industry.
In the end, apart from Mason and a few colleagues, I realized I didn’t have a single friend I could truly confide in.
So, what is the cost of growing up?
What does success really mean?
Suddenly, a message popped up: “I’m getting married! You and Mason are definitely coming to the wedding!”
It was from a mutual friend of Mason and me from back in the day.
“Congratulations!”
“Soooo when are you and Mr. Movie Star tying the knot? Ten years is long enough!”
My fingers froze over the keyboard. I hesitated, then typed, “We broke up.”
The moment I sent it, I realized how true it was.
In the past, when Mason and I fought or considered breaking up, we always kept it between us. We never wanted to burn bridges. There was always the hope of turning things around.
Like that time he invited me to watch an indie movie I had always wanted to see, and then dragged me to an empty street corner. He held my hand tightly, reminding me that he hadn’t forgotten what I loved.
Or when he planned an entire week–long trip to Europe for just the two of us, making sure nothing, not even work, could get in the way.
As long as he wanted to fix things, I always forgave him.
The typing bubbles appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.
“Don’t believe me?”
The reply came almost instantly.
“It’s hard to believe, Cece, you two were so sweet.”
“Is there a scandal?”
“Don’t believe tabloids!. Whatever TMZ says is all fake! They’re making stuff up all the time.”
I chuckled softly.
As if I didn’t know how the gossip machine worked–I’d built Mason’s entire PR strategy around controlling it.
The phone screen dimmed, but that comment-“You two were so sweet“-felt like a tiny thorn, pricking my fingertips.
It wasn’t fatal, but the dull ache persisted.
Yeah, we were once that sweet.
Sweet enough that anyone, including me, thought it would last forever.
I still remember that bone–chilling winter when I was eighteen.
I had on a thick down jacket, stomping my feet in cheap boots to release a puff of steam from my breath.
Beside me stood a thin guy in a light jacket, his lips pale, his fingers red from the cold. But he was still repeating his lines under his breath, his eyes shining with focus.
Chapter 4 The End of of a Decade
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“Hey, do you want some hot coffee?”
I offered him my coffee, just because I couldn’t stand to watch him shiver.
He paused for a second before taking the cup, his cold fingers brushing against my hand.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice clear but carrying an almost imperceptible hint of nervousness.
That was Mason.
And perhaps that was where it all began–at that moment when I handed him a cup of hot coffee, his cold fingers brushing against mine.
We ended up attending the same college, the same theater program.
He was a natural talent, the “born to be actor” everyone talked about, but his family wasn’t well off. They struggled.
As for me, I was more inclined toward the behind–the–scenes work.
Our first connection came in the rehearsal room, where the lights burned late into the night.
When his emotions weren’t quite there, I’d sit beside him, helping him with his character backstory, analyzing subtext, running lines with him.
م
He picked things up quickly, his intuition sharp.
Then, when he finally exploded onto the stage, drenched in sweat and glowing with energy, his eyes were so bright that they almost blinded me.
He ran offstage, and in the empty hallway, he threw his arms around me.
That hug, sweaty and pure, burned my skin.
Mason was like an uncut diamond back then.
He needed me–needed my eyes to see the character, my analysis to help him break through, and my presence as his first and most loyal audience.
He said, “Cecilia, if I ever become a successful actor, half of that credit is yours.”
And I just smiled to myself, quietly storing it in my heart.
I knew this was just the beginning.
Graduation was followed by unemployment–something most theater majors face
Mason was no exception.
We rented a tiny apartment barely bigger than a closet with only a mattress on the floor. In the summer, it was suffocating, like a sauna, and in the winter, the cold seeped through the walls.
Like many with no connections, Mason took any role he could get: background extras, corpses in the CSI, characters with no lines, or someone who just had a single line-“Yes, sir!“–before being written off.
The frustration was overwhelming, drowning him over and over.
I, on the other hand, clumsily edited his resume, making his rare photos look a bit more polished. I scoured every film forum and casting group, like a hunter searching for even the smallest opportunity for him. After each rejection, I’d drag him to the riverbank, telling him, “Don’t worry, Your time’s coming. I believe in you.”
We were inseparable, leaning on each other.
And eventually, his time did come indeed.
We moved out of that dreary little apartment and into the studio that would later hold so many of our memories.
Chapter 4 The End of of a Decade
End of of a Decade
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But once the excitement wore off, our lives became even busier.
I became his shadow–his agent, personal assistant, image consultant, and sometimes, even his therapist.
I chose his scripts, helped analyze the characters, handled his social media, fielded media interviews, and when his emotions crashed, I was the only one he could turn to.
Eventually, Mason found success.
He was recognized by the mainstream, winning awards, and standing on that stage with the spotlight shining on his handsome face. He thanked the director, the crew, the fans, and then his gaze locked on me across the crowd, full of warmth and reliance.
He didn’t speak, but that look made my eyes fill with tears.
That moment, a massive wave of satisfaction and exhaustion hit me at once.
I felt like an artist who had exhausted every bit of energy, finally presenting the creation to the world. All the hard work was worth it.
But I never sought credit for Mason’s success.
Because I thought we were on the same page.
He filled my youth as much as I filled his, carrying both my efforts and my ambitions.
We were teammates, lovers, and family.
Which is why, when he tried to justify what he had done–unaware of his own biases–I saw it as a betrayal.
The phone screen flickered again.
It was a long voice message from that bride–to–be friend.
I pressed play, and her urgent voice echoed in the quiet room:
“Cece, I just texted Mason. He’s acting totally normal? Are you sure this isn’t some kind of misunderstanding?”
A pause.
“That new assistant Suzanne?”
“Oh, come on. That assistant girl’s nothing! You built his career. Everyone knows that. We’ve all seen how good Mason has been to you! Is it really a misunderstanding? Don’t do anything rash…”
Misunderstanding?
Was it really a misunderstanding?
Perhaps this “misunderstanding” was the slow erosion of time. The gradual collapse after boundaries were tested over and over again.
Perhaps Mason, the man who once held me tightly in the dark, had simply grown too used to the spotlight–too comfortable with the presence of someone new who looked up to him.
Ten years–like a long film reel–spooled quickly in my mind.
A decade of sweet, difficult, and hard–fought memories scrolled past, and ultimately, they froze in the scene at the police station- Mason standing in front of Suzanne, frowning as he said, “This studio is under my name.”
I took a deep breath and typed on the screen.
“No misunderstanding. Ten years is a long time. Long enough to see a man for who he is… and who I’m not.”
Chapter 4 The End of of a Decade
