The End of Us

Willow Hawthorne, a faded actress, joined a divorce reality show with her business magnate husband.

I want a divorce.

Facing the camera, I spoke calmly. Off-camera, Alaric Hawthorne frowned, reviewing my performance.

You need to show more intense emotion when you say it. That's what sparks discussion, creates buzz, drives traffic.

"Otherwise, who will believe you actually want to divorce me? They'll just think you're acting again."

"Use your head more. I can't be guiding you every step of the way."

He was right, of course. To outsiders, I was merely a pretty face, vain and shallow, a talentless ornament. He, on the other hand, was a cultured businessman, possessing billions and renowned for his sharp intellect. No one believed I would willingly give up the title of Mrs. Hawthorne, including Alaric himself.

But he didn't know. This time, I was truly getting a divorce.

When my agent told me about the divorce reality show, I paused. "Mr. Hawthorne agreed?"

"Of course." She seemed to find my question amusing. "Your last few live shopping streams didn't do so well. Celebrity divorces are a hot topic right now, so Mr. Hawthorne specially carved out ten days to do this show with you. Perform well this time, try to ride this wave of publicity. Itll be worth Mr. Hawthorne's investment in you."

I remained silent. Investment. That word was interesting. It implied a superior-subordinate relationship, like a teacher and student, or business partners. But not like a husband and wife.

"Sign it," she said, tossing the contract onto the table in front of me. I didn't move, just stared at the thin pages. She glanced at me, a half-smile playing on her lips. "Don't worry, it's not a real divorce."

"I need to read the show's content first. I'll let you know once it's signed." I slowly picked up the contract, clutching it.

She frowned, reminding me with a touch of irritation, "Mr. Hawthorne has already reviewed it."

As she stood to leave, her dismissive voice drifted back to me. "Why make things so complicated? You'll sign it in the end anyway."

That evening, Alaric called. When his steady, magnetic voice came through, I felt a strange unfamiliarity. With his company launching new projects, we hadnt seen each other in two months. His phone was usually handled by his executive assistant, Andrea, so to reach him, Id first have to explain my business to her, and then shed decide if he needed to take the call. So, I generally didn't try.

"Willow." There was soft, elegant music playing in the background of his call. "I hear you were throwing a tantrum today?"

I paused. "You 'hear'? From whom?"

He sounded displeased. "I've been busy lately, no time or energy to teach you, but you need to mature. Work is work; you need professionalism, not to act like a child all the time."

I softly uttered, "Oh." "You mean about the reality show? Word got to you that fast? It seems my agent reported it to Andrea. And as for throwing a tantrum, was it because I said I wanted to read the contract before signing?"

The line was silent for two seconds, then his slightly weary voice came through. "You didn't even finish college. What contract could you possibly understand?"

"Everything has been prepared for you. You just need to sign it. Everyone is already very tired. Why can't you be considerate instead of creating obstacles for the staff?"

"Willow, when will you finally mature"

It was that tone again. All these years, whenever I didn't follow his demands, whenever I voiced even a small opinion, I was met with this attitude from him. A faint accusation, mixed with a hint of helplessness and disappointment. A familiar sense of suffocation rose from deep within me, lodging in my chest, catching in my throat. For a moment, I couldn't speak.

"Mr. Hawthorne!" A soft, pleasant female voice chimed in nearby. "I think I can guess what Mrs. Hawthorne might be concerned about."

It was Andrea. Alaric said nothing. His silence meant he wasn't objecting. Andrea let out two pleasant laughs, then spoke fluently. "This is a divorce reality show, after all. Mrs. Hawthorne has to announce a divorce in front of a national audience. Since she loves you so much, shed naturally worry that if things went wrong, it would be hard to recover. So, Mr. Hawthorne, this is actually your fault. You didnt consider Mrs. Hawthornes feelings, you were too blunt. Her sulking is understandable."

I was a bit stunned. Setting aside her presumption that I was just "sulking," she was actually saying Alaric was wrong. Saying that the always aloof, strategically brilliant Alaric was wrong. I couldn't help but be curious about his reaction.

On the phone, Alaric was quiet for a moment, then softly hummed, "Mm."

"Andrea makes a good point, Willow. I didn't think things through enough."

In that instant, I smiled soundlessly. It was deep autumn. The few remaining leaves on the sycamore trees outside the window, swept by an unseen autumn breeze, silently fell.

"However, besides being husband and wife, we are also business partners with cross-shareholdings in several companies. Divorce would have a hundred disadvantages and no benefits. Such a concern, if you just used your head, you'd know is superfluous. Willow, you've been with me for five years. I thought you had learned to analyze and scrutinize things. In this area, you need to settle down and truly learn from Andrea."

Andrea and I were the same age, both twenty-seven this year. We met Alaric in the same year. The difference was, she came from a scholarly family, graduated from Stanford University, was quick-witted, articulate, and a talented, beautiful woman with a graceful demeanor. I, on the other hand, came from a humble background, discovered through a reality TV talent show. I started acting before finishing college. These past few years, I'd gained some fame through my looks, and outsiders often commented, "Beautiful, yes, but soulless."

I actually thought Alaric would choose her back then

At this point, Alaric finished speaking and paused. He was waiting for me to admit my mistake and reflect, as I always did. He would pinpoint my shallow understanding and immature mindset, and I would earnestly reflect, making changes where necessary.

But this time, I said nothing. On the phone, only the tireless music continued to flow. After a moment, I asked, "You've had it on speakerphone this whole time?"

One of the few arguments Alaric and I had in our four years of marriage was when I called him once, wanting to flirt, and heard Andreas sudden laughter in the background. Later, finding out he'd had it on speaker, I was so mortified and angry that I cried for hours, making him promise it would never happen again. Back then, our relationship was still strong. He had promised.

"Willow." Alaric clearly remembered the incident. "Andrea just had a bit to drink at a dinner, and I was driving, using navigation, so"

"It's fine. Just a casual question." I chuckled indifferently, my gaze falling on the name at the bottom of the contract. Bold and expressive. Somewhat unfamiliar, yet also familiar. "The contract is signed. I'll give it to my agent tomorrow."

Alaric was satisfied. Satisfied that I hadn't lingered on the issue of Andrea. Satisfied that I had once again obediently accepted his arrangements. "Didn't you always want to go to the Altai Mountains? After this busy period, I'll make time to go with you."

"We'll see." I hung up the phone.

Alaric and I met again after two months at the filming location. My agent drove me, Andrea drove him. Two cars arrived from different directions, their doors opening simultaneously. He was on a conference call, wearing a sharp suit, standing sideways, outlining his perfect facial features. Andrea, dressed in a navy belted trench coat, her long hair flying in the wind, waited quietly beside him.

I tilted my head, observing. I had to admit, they looked very striking together, very well-matched. My agent left me, rushing over with a big smile. "Mr. Hawthorne!" "Ms. Hayes!"

Andrea merely gave a faint nod, indicating not to interrupt, her gaze not even straying towards me. Over there, three people stood together. Over here, I quietly took down my luggage. The two cars werent far apart, yet it felt like they were separated by a galaxy.

I wheeled my luggage into the house. The other two pairs of guests were already seated on the sofa. One pair of singers. One pair of ordinary people. I smiled and greeted them. Through the large floor-to-ceiling window, I clearly saw Andrea bending over, diligently buttoning Alarics suit jacket. Her face was near his lower body, her long hair tangled at her waist by the wind, the posture intimately suggestive.

The ordinary woman, straightforward and blunt, pursed her lips and asked, with a surprising lack of filter: "Are you divorcing because of her?"

I smiled. "No."

The four people in the room clearly didnt believe me, subtly pursing their lips. Alaric walked in, surrounded by staff. He saw me, came to sit beside me, slightly displeased. "Why didn't you wait for me?"

I picked up an orange from the table and began peeling it. "I came in to understand the process first, so the production team wouldn't have to wait."

He turned his head to look at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. After all, when I was around him, I would always find ways to assert my claim. "For the first two choices, you must firmly choose divorce. The turning point will come in the final choice, when you give up." He instructed me in a low voice. I nodded, putting a segment of orange into my mouth. It was incredibly sweet.

My agents script was this: I want a divorce; he doesnt. To understand my thoughts and salvage the marriage, hes on this show. After arguments, reconciliation, and honest communication, I finally reveal that his focus on career has led to too little companionship over the years. He sincerely apologizes and promises to prioritize family. Finally, I tearfully admit I still love him, giving up the idea of divorce. In the end, we reconcile, and everyone lives happily ever after.

It was, frankly, quite fake. Seeing me frown, my agent countered with a mocking tone, "Unless you want to make it real?"

I had once suggested to Alaric that I wanted to change agents. Andrea opposed it, citing the agent's extensive resources and professionalism. Alaric supported her opposition, telling me to prioritize work and not be childish. She naturally disliked me. And of course, I didn't like her either.

...

The first day had no filming content, only pre-show interviews. In the interview room, couples made their first choice.

"I want a divorce." I calmly spoke these words to the camera. Alaric, beside me, frowned.

"You need to show more intense emotion when you say it. That's what sparks discussion, creates buzz, drives traffic."

"Otherwise, who will believe you actually want to divorce me? They'll just think you're acting again."

"Use your head more. I can't be guiding you every step of the way."

I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, but was overwhelmed by a deep sense of powerlessness. I didn't want to utter a single word. These past two years, I had often been engulfed by this emotion, as if a snare firmly held me. I knew intimately that I had to break free, but I always lacked the strength. When inner energy is depleted, one needs external force.

The director was a very young man, still possessing a purity untouched by the mundane world. He reviewed the footage. "The feeling comes across well, actually. After all, she's an experienced actress, the emotion is conveyed."

When Alaric went for his solo interview, I didn't want to listen and waited outside. My phone rang. It was Andrea, surprisingly. I was about to hang up, but then I thought about it and answered.

"His interview is almost over. You can call him directly later."

"Mrs. Hawthorne, I'm not looking for him, I'm looking for you."

"Me?"

"It's like this, Mr. Hawthorne has never been away from me for several days straight. There are two things I need to remind you about." Andrea's tone was gentle and polite.

I watched Alaric push open the door and walk out, then put my phone on speaker. "Assistant Hayes, please go ahead." Andreas elegant voice echoed in the hallway.

"First, Mr. Hawthorne has been suffering from pharyngitis recently. His medication is in the inner pocket of his black bag. You absolutely must not let him have anything cold or spicy, or it will irritate his throat. Second, he sometimes gets migraines at night. Remember to massage his temples for ten minutes; that's the only way it's effective. If you're unsure of the technique, you can call me anytime."

"Mrs. Hawthorne, did you remember all that I said?"

Before I could answer, Alaric snatched the phone from my hand, speaking coldly, "Andrea, who told you to call Willow?"

The silence on the other end was abrupt. I suddenly found it somewhat amusing, and thinking that, I actually laughed. Alaric looked at me, his scrutinizing gaze tinged with confusion. Usually, in such situations, I would have caused quite a fuss, angrily accusing Andrea and tearfully complaining to him. Andrea, on the other hand, would always remain composed, elegantly explaining in a soft voice, making me look like a lunatic.

"She meant well. Your tone probably scared her." I took the phone back from him, hung up directly, and walked straight towards the interview room. There was a joint couple's interview next. As I pushed the door, Alaric, still standing by the window in the hallway, suddenly spoke to me.

"You don't mind?"

I looked at him. "Mind what?"

A flicker of irritation crossed his composed brow. "Nothing. Let's go in."