Chapter 2: Divorce Papers and Dirty Games

When the awards ceremony ends, the crowd outside is packed wall to wall.

As my van pulls out of the parking lot, a row of fans crowds up against the car.

Harrison’s fans spot me and start yelling through the windshield, “Still trying to ride his coattails even though you’re not famous? Shameless bitch!”

Even with the windows up, the filth still gets through.

I put on my headphones, turn my head, and just catch Harrison coming out under the lights, his figure blurred in the glow.

The crowd goes wild.

Riley comes out behind him, naturally taking his coat. She’s saying something, and he bends down to listen, looking close—way too close.

In the camera flashes, the moment he leans in, our eyes meet for the first time tonight.

But then the car moves on.

The city grows quiet as we drive away.

“Hey, you’re trending again.”

My assistant nudges me.

I check my phone. The #SavannahHarrisonKane# tag is blowing up.

Because just now, before Harrison and Riley got in the car, a reporter asked, “Savannah said you’re her ideal type. What do you think?”

Normally, Harrison would never answer a question like that.

But this time, he actually stopped.

His cold eyes flicked over: “Savannah?”

My heart skipped a beat.

The last time he called my name like that was on a night when it was just us—his voice thick with passion and need.

But now, in front of the cameras, he says, “Who’s that? Has she done anything worth mentioning?”

Just one simple sentence.

Nailed me to the wall.

Humiliating. Not good enough.

At the same time, Riley posts on her Instagram story:

“If it’s meant to be yours, it’ll be yours. If it’s not, you can’t force it. Fame is like that. People are like that.”

“I don’t want to manage her anymore.”

Halfway up the hill, in the house I share with Harrison.

I’ve barely opened the door when I hear Riley’s voice from the stairs.

“No acting skills, just wants to piggyback off others—milking a fake ship for clout.

“I really don’t get why you married her in the first place. She’s just not good enough for you.”

I start up the stairs, and her voice gets even clearer—soft, but digging in.

“If your family hadn’t objected back then, we…”

I push open the door.

Her voice cuts off.

“If you don’t want to manage me, just say so. You could’ve come to me directly instead of ignoring my calls.”

She gets caught red-handed but still tries to play the victim.

“Did I say anything wrong?” she hides behind Harrison. “You wouldn’t join the cast when I asked. Who’s to blame for that?”

“First, I didn’t join because the script wasn’t right for me. I’ve played too many ditzy sweethearts—it’s become formulaic. I’ve told you a hundred times I want to take a break and reset.” I keep my voice steady. “But you went ahead and accepted the role for me without asking. Now I have to pay a penalty for breaking the contract.

“Second, all that fake-ship promo was arranged by you and the other agent. You asked me to play along. How is it suddenly all my fault?”

“Savannah!” Her face goes pale, her voice turning pitiful. “Are you mad because Harrison only thanked me today?”

I’m just stating facts, but she keeps trying to spin it.

“If I did something wrong, you can tell me, but don’t use Harrison’s career as a bargaining chip!” Her eyes go red as she keeps at it. “You said those things on the red carpet just to force him to go public, didn’t you?”

“We’re legally married. What’s wrong with going public?” I hit her sore spot, locking eyes with Harrison. “You’re the one who said relationships should be public.”

“Yes, they can be public.” He finally speaks. “But you can’t use our relationship for publicity just because you want to be famous.”

“Yeah! Can’t you stop being so selfish?” Riley clings to his sleeve. “I’ve been with him through everything. Only I really understand how hard it’s been.”

“Oh, I want to be famous? I’m just acting?” I let out a laugh, half disbelief, half anger. “Harrison, be real. If I only cared about fame, I wouldn’t have given up my stage career to come back for you!”

But my feelings are like sand tossed into a deep well—never making a ripple in him.

All I get is a flicker of impatience in his eyes.

“Savannah, do you know why you’re not famous?” he says, looking down from his pedestal. “Because you always blame others for your own failures.”

He’s right, I guess.

Blame the world, blame everyone else, but in the end, I can only blame myself for being so lovesick.

But you can only be a fool once.

“Let’s get divorced.”

Ten years. Never thought I’d be the one to say it. But here I am.

Riley’s eyes flash with barely contained glee.

Harrison, though, just lifts his eyes and looks at me head-on, stone-faced.

“Still not tired of this game?” he says. “Is this all you know how to do?”

I turn and walk into his study, pull out that divorce agreement I’ve seen a million times but never dared to touch, and sign it without hesitating.

When I hand him the papers, I tell Riley, “Our contract’s up, too. I won’t be renewing. I’ll have someone else handle the rest with you.”

I do all this quickly, never looking back at Harrison.

And somehow, this gets under his usually icy skin.

“Are you done making a scene?”

His grip is cold. He grabs my wrist.

“Let go.”

“Riley,” he says, eyes locked on me, “leave us.”

She clings to his sleeve, not wanting to go, but when she sees the divorce papers on the floor, she finally lets go.

She’s waited this long—what’s a little longer?

But she still has to put on a show: “Don’t fight, okay? Talk it out.”

When the door closes, I shake his hand off, but he lifts me up and pins me on the desk.

“Savannah, my patience has limits.”

“So what?”

I shove him away.

He sneers, “Leave me alone, leave Riley alone—with your current reputation, you probably won’t even get a role.”

“That’s none of your business.”

Classic. He always needs the last word. He lets go, folds his arms, leans against the wall.

“You’re almost thirty and still have no notable work. How are you going to get popular again? Ship marketing? With who? That guy… what’s his name…”

He mocks, “Jesse Cole?”

“Yeah. So what? Is that a problem?”

Actually, it is.

Jesse Cole.

He was already famous before I even entered the industry.

No one stays on top forever. Except Jesse Cole, apparently.

I’ve only met him once.

Seven years ago, at an international music awards show.

He was the only American idol to get an opening solo.

I was just starting to rise then.

But even then, I could only squeeze into the corner of the group photo, separated from him by a crowd.

Now, with my reputation trashed by Riley, I’m even further away.