Best Actress Wins The Divorce

Toby stared into his bourbon glass, his voice thick with a reverence I had rarely heard. Shes worth it. Daphne is worth it.

His friend pressed him. And what about Caitlin?

Silence hung in the air for a long, agonizing moment before Tobys voice returned, noticeably colder. Caitlin already has the world at her feet. But Daphne Daphne only has me.

I was standing just outside the door when I heard it.

There was a time, years ago, when I swore to myself that if the girl who had silently orchestrated my high school hell ever stepped foot into Hollywood, I would crush her. I would make sure she never booked a single commercial, let alone a film.

But reality has a funny way of making a mockery of our vows.

Somehow, she always managed to snatch roles right out from under me. They weren't blockbuster leads, but they were the kind of prestige indie darlings that let her shine. The kind that built a reputation.

It wasn't until much later that I realized who was playing god behind the curtain. It was Toby. My husband was the one building Daphnes pedestal, brick by agonizingly painful brick.

The after-party for the Academy Awards had barely wrapped up.

Toby poured me a glass of Cabernet.

"Congratulations, my love. Best Actress."

I slipped my silk shawl off my shoulders, tossing it carelessly over the back of an armchair. I raised my glass, letting the crystal clink sharply against his in the flickering candlelight.

"And congratulations to you," I said, my voice smooth as glass. "For using the scraps from my table to buy your untouchable muse a Best Newcomer award."

Toby froze. The proud smile on his face cracked, stiffening into something ugly.

A heavy silence stretched between us until he finally let out a long, exhausted exhale. "So, you know."

"Its not what you think," he started, the practiced lie rolling off his tongue. "We were all high school classmates. Shes been having a rough time in the industry lately, and I just pulled a few strings. A minor favor. Don't overthink it."

I stared at the face I had known for nearly twenty years. In the dim light, he looked like a stranger.

"A minor favor that lands her a golden statuette? You must be quite the Hollywood heavyweight now, darling."

He rubbed his temples, a gesture of profound fatigue. His patience for my sarcasm was visibly wearing thin. "Caitlin, please. Can we not do this tonight? Can we not fight? I am so incredibly tired."

Of course he was tired. He had just rushed from the ceremony where he personally escorted Daphneshowering her with orchids and borrowed diamonds, playing the white knight to make her smile. After playing his part in her victory lap, he had raced back to my agency's event, putting on a spectacular show as the devoted, doting husband for the paparazzi. And now, he was playing chef.

Candlelight. Red wine. Filet mignon.

The steak on my plate was practically bleeding. The candles cast dancing shadows across the sharp, handsome angles of his jaw.

A year ago, I would have thrown my arms around his neck. I would have spun around the kitchen, giddy with the intoxicating high of winning the biggest award of my life.

Tonight, all I felt was a rising tide of nausea. He was a fraud.

I hadn't actually planned on bringing this up tonight. It was my night, my victory, and I didn't want the stench of his infidelity ruining it. But he had served himself up on a silver platter, and to bite my tongue now would just make me look like a fool.

"Toby, let's just end it. Let's walk away before it gets uglier."

I reached into my clutch and pulled out the divorce papers I had meticulously prepared weeks ago. I slid them across the marble island.

"Sign them."

Toby stared at the thick stack of legal documents. The exhaustion on his face finally fractured into genuine shock. "What is this? What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?"

I actually laughed. A dry, hollow sound.

The thought of leaving him had been a parasite in my brain for years, slowly eating away at my sanity until I finally took the leap. And he thought this was a tantrum.

He forced his features into a mask of patronizing calm. "Caitlin, stop it. Like I said, I'm exhausted."

"And whose fault is that? Did I ask you to run yourself ragged?"

He flinched. A flicker of unease crossed his eyes. He genuinely thought his little disappearing act to pick up Daphne had gone unnoticed by the press. He had no idea that high-res photos of them looking intimately intertwined in the back of his Maybach had been sitting in my inbox for hours.

Price tag: a cool million.

Clearly wanting to drop the subject, he picked up his fork and knife. "Just eat your dinner."

Always this. Always the avoidance. Always retreating into cold silence when I was standing on the precipice of a breakdown.

I grabbed the edge of the table and shoved.

Plates shattered. The Cabernet splashed violently across his crisp white shirt, blooming like a bloodstain.

Toby sprang up, his face livid. He lost his iron grip on his temper and roared, "Are you out of your mind?!"

"Yes! Yes, I am crazy!" I screamed, the years of suppressed rage finally clawing its way out of my throat. "I lost my mind a long time ago, comparing myself to her, playing this twisted game! So lets get a divorce. Do us both a favor. Ill give you to her, and you give me my life back."

I was hysterical. My chest heaved.

This was supposed to be the best day of my life.

After years of bleeding for this industry, I had finally won the only award that truly mattered. My team had ordered a cake taller than I was. I had been drinking champagne straight from the bottle with my best friends, surrounded by directors and producers who finally saw me as a titan.

And it all came crashing down the second Toby walked through the door.

Toby scowled, his lip curling in disgust. He grabbed his ruined jacket and headed for the stairs. "Youre hysterical. Im not talking to you when youre like this. Well deal with your little meltdown tomorrow."

I slumped back, staring at his retreating figure. I stepped over the ruined steak, my heels crunching on broken glass, and picked up the divorce papers.

Why was leaving the man who destroyed you always the hardest part?

I collapsed onto the living room sofa.

This massive, multi-million dollar mansion was as silent as a tomb. The graveyard of our marriage.

I pulled out my phone and wired the million dollars to the account the paparazzi had provided. I had a reputation to protect. I couldn't bear the thought of the internet dissecting my humiliation, mocking the oblivious A-lister whose husband was funding his high school crush.

But this was the last time. The absolute last time I was cleaning up his messes. Every cent I had spent keeping their dirty secret out of the tabloids, I was going to bleed out of them.

I tossed my phone aside. Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

Standing on my porch was Daphne.

She wore no makeup, and God, she didn't need it. The barefaced vulnerability only made her look more ethereally beautiful, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight, looking desperately fragile yet defiant. She was shivering in a thin, white silk slip dress.

She tilted her chin up, looking down her nose at me like a proud swan.

"Where is Toby?"

I leaned against the doorframe and jerked my thumb toward the second floor. "Taking a shower."

"Can I help you?"

Daphnes face twisted in disgust. "Are you two animals? Is sex all you think about?" She scoffed. "Oh, right. You won an award today. What, is letting him use your body his way of rewarding you? Youre exactly the same as you were in high school, Caitlin. Pathetic. You cant survive without a man validating you."

Looking at the raw, venomous jealousy burning in her eyes, I couldn't help it. I smiled.

"What's the matter, Daphne? Jealous? Jealous that I have a thriving, record-breaking career and a husband waiting in my bed?" I tilted my head. "That doesn't make sense. Does he only sleep with me and not you?"

"Shut your mouth, you psycho! Don't you dare ruin my reputation!" Daphne hissed, her face draining of color. "He and I are strictly professional. I didn't want him back then, and I don't want him now. Only a woman like you would treat a charity case from the gutter like he's a prize."

I couldn't argue with that. Back in high school, Daphne had made her disdain for Toby abundantly clear.

"Get to the point. Why are you here?"

Daphne practically threw a cell phone at my chest. I caught it clumsily.

"He left his phone at my place. Its been ringing off the hook, it's driving me insane," she snapped. "I couldn't put it on silent, so I was forced to bring it here."

Of course she couldn't put it on silent.

It was a custom-made phone. Toby had a tech guy disable the silent switch entirelyjust so he would never, ever miss a call from Daphne.

I had asked him once why he needed a phone that couldn't be muted. I was a notoriously light sleeper, and the late-night buzzing often triggered my insomnia.

His excuse? He said he was terrified of me not being able to reach him in an emergency.

It wasn't until a year later that I learned the truth. Daphne had been tricked by a sleazy producer into going to a "private audition" that was actually a predatory hotel room setup. She had called Toby in a panic, but he hadn't answered.

Because that night was our wedding anniversary. For once, Toby had put his phone on 'Do Not Disturb' to focus on me.

The next morning, Daphne had called him and screamed at him for abandoning her. The sheer terror of almost losing her had completely rewired him. He had the custom phone made the very next week. He even set her ringtone as a blaring emergency alert.

I closed the door, gripping the phone and the divorce papers, and walked upstairs.

Toby was just stepping out of the bathroom, dressed in fresh sweatpants.

I walked right up to him and slammed the divorce papers against his chest. "Sign."

"Are you still doing this?" He was vigorously towel-drying his hair, clearly treating me like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

I slammed the papers against the bathroom mirror. I hit it with so much force that a spiderweb of cracks splintered outward from beneath my palm.

"I am not stopping until you sign."

Toby narrowed his eyes, truly looking at me for the first time all night. He was calculating, trying to read if I was bluffing.

"Caitlin, is this really all over an award?"

"Yes. It's over an award."

He chuckled, a condescending sound of relief. "You're jealous." He said it with absolute certainty.

I laughed back, matching his tone. "You really think youre something special, don't you? Jealous of you? You're not worth the energy."

I stepped closer, dropping my voice to a lethal whisper. "You are going to sign this right now, and we are going to walk away clean. Because if you don't, I cannot promise what I'll do. But I will tell you this: I am the biggest actress in this town right now. Crushing a D-list nobody who survives on my leftovers would be as easy as stepping on an ant. Do we understand each other?"

At the mention of Daphne, the arrogant smirk melted off his face.

"Don't you dare touch her. She has nothing to do with this."

"Then sign the damn papers."

"Caitlin." He ground out my name, his eyes dark with warning.

I casually raised my hand, dangling the custom phone in front of his face.

"Oh, by the way. Daphne dropped by. She said you left this at her place." I gave him a mock-sympathetic pout. "You really are a busy man, Toby."

Panicraw and unadulteratedseized him. He bolted for the stairs. "Where is she?!"

"Gone."

I said it lightly, but he reacted like a bomb had gone off. He frantically grabbed the phone, dialing her number over and over.

Straight to voicemail.

His breathing turned ragged. He grabbed my shoulders, shaking me violently. "How long ago did she leave? Was she alone? How the hell could you let her walk away in the middle of the night? It's pitch black outside!"

He shoved past me, frantically pulling a sweater over his head.

I casually dragged a vanity chair over and sat right in the doorway, blocking his exit.

"Caitlin, move!"

"Sign."

He looked at me like I was a monster. "Are you insane? Do you have any idea what time it is? We live in the hills! The roads are completely unlit. What if something happens to her?!"

"I don't care. Let her get eaten by coyotes for all I care." I examined my manicure. "Oh, and you'll be thrilled to know she was wearing a very sheer, very white slip dress. Looked absolutely tragic and breathtaking. I can see why you've spent ten years obsessed with her. Did you buy it for her?"

Tobys fists clenched at his sides. The edges of his eyes rimmed with angry red.

"You know what, Caitlin? This right here," he spat, pointing a shaking finger at me. "This cold-blooded, heartless bitch routine. It's what I hate most about you."

I smiled, though it felt like swallowing glass. If I were truly cold-blooded, I never would have saved him.

Toby grew up next door to me. He was the golden boywealthy family, stunningly handsome, straight A's. The textbook definition of perfection.

Our families were casual acquaintances, mostly business rivals. We hated each other. From elementary school through junior high, we existed in a state of cold war, ignoring each other even when we were assigned seats at the same desk.

Everything shattered the summer we were fourteen.

His parents were driving him up the coast. A drunk driver crossed the median. His father died on impact. His mother, shielding Toby with her own body, bled out before the ambulance arrived.

Toby walked away with broken ribs and a shattered collarbone, but he lived.

After the funeral, the vultures descended. Aunts, uncles, cousins he had never met swarmed the estate, circling the massive inheritance. They dragged a traumatized, grieving fourteen-year-old into back rooms, screaming over trusts and assets.

It was my father who finally had his security team throw them all out.

I remember walking into his empty, echoing living room. I asked him, "Do you want to come home with me?"

Toby just looked at me with hollow, dead eyes. And then, he nodded.

My parents were deeply against it at first. Taking in a rival's teenage son was complicated, legally and socially.

But I went on a hunger strike. I refused to eat until I collapsed and was hospitalized with an IV in my arm. My parents finally caved.

Toby moved into the guest wing. He became my shadow. I pitied him. I fiercely protected him from anyone who dared whisper about him at school.

But boys grow up fast. Somewhere along the line, his shoulders broadened. He shot up past six feet. He didn't need me to fight his battles anymore. Instead of me walking him to school, he started driving me in his restored vintage Mustang.

A subtle, electric shift started happening between us.

And then, one day, he packed his bags and moved back into his empty mansion. No warning. No explanation.

Whenever he looked at me after that, there was a new guard in his eyes. A profound wariness.

I wasn't heartbroken then. I just assumed the universe was righting itself. We were back to being strangers.

Back in the present, Tobys face was flushed dark crimson with rage.

He snatched a pen off my vanity, viciously scrawled his name on the divorce papers, and threw them directly at my face.

I didn't flinch. I just let out a long, shuddering breath, stood up, and moved out of the doorway.

The next morning, the sun barely up, I had the locks changed.

I hired a premium moving company to come in and strip the house of everything that had his touch. Every piece of furniture we picked out together, every rug, every painting. Thrown out.

By noon, the massive house was a cavernous, echoing shell.

The only thing left was the cat.

We had adopted Bandit together. He was a temperamental, standoffish rescue who adored Toby but hissed and swatted at me if I even breathed too loudly near him.

When Toby finally came back, Bandit sensed him before I did. The cat trotted to the front door, meowing frantically.

Outside, the electronic keypad beeped loudly. Passcode denied. Fingerprint unrecognized.

The beeping turned into aggressive, violent pounding on the heavy oak door. Bandit, terrified by the noise, scattered.

When I finally swung the door open, Toby practically fell inside. He stumbled past me, ready to yell, and then froze.

"Where is everything?" His voice dropped to a stunned whisper. "Where is our stuff?"

His expression morphed from blank shock to boiling fury.

I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. "Dumped."

"Dumped? What the hell gives you the right to throw my things away?"

"Because I paid for every single piece of it. Thats what gives me the right."

Toby choked on his words, running his hands frantically through his hair. "What is wrong with you?! What are you trying to prove?!"

Before I could answer, a slender figure slipped through the open door, shivering in an oversized men's blazer. Daphne.

She immediately crouched down, her face lighting up. "Oh my god, kitty!"

I fully expected Bandit to bolthe hated strangers. But to my absolute shock, the cat practically purred, rubbing his head aggressively against Daphnes calves before rolling onto his back, exposing his belly like a desperate sycophant.

Daphne looked up at Toby, a rare, genuine smile softening her features. "You actually kept him? Why didn't you tell me? I was worried sick about him back then."

The sheer aggression in Tobys posture melted instantly. He looked down at Daphne, his eyes impossibly soft. He opened his mouth to reply, then caught me staring.

He shut his mouth, suddenly looking incredibly trapped.

"Go ahead," I prodded, my voice dripping with venom. "Tell her. Tell her how you literally begged me on your knees to adopt this stray."

I turned my gaze to Daphne. "So, this is a little piece of your shared history, huh? God, I am so incredibly stupid. No wonder this feral little beast never let me touch him. He was already spoken for."

Tobys face drained of color.

A month before our wedding, Toby had taken me back to our old high school campus for a nostalgic walk. In a quiet corner by the old bleachers, a scrawny stray kitten had darted out of the bushes.

Toby had scooped it up, his eyes entirely too frantic. He begged me to let us keep it.

I was severely allergic to cats. I was terrified of them. I tried to say no, but looking at his desperate face, my heart broke. I gave in.

I suffered for it. I broke out in agonizing hives. The rashes were so severe I spent weeks scratching until I bled, suffering through countless sleepless nights.

He used to stand in the doorway of our bedroom, holding the kitten, looking at me with such profound, tortured guilt.

Eventually, my body built up a tolerance, aided by heavy antihistamines and a small army of housekeepers who vacuumed twice a day so not a single hair was left on the rugs.

I thought our marriage was solid. I thought we were building a life.

And then, Daphne made her grand debut in Hollywood.

She had this icy, untouchable aura that instantly set her apart from the cookie-cutter starlets. To seem more "relatable" to her new fans, she went on a late-night talk show and told a touching story about feeding a scrawny stray kitten behind the bleachers in high school.

She described the cat perfectly. The torn left ear. The white patch over the eye.

It was the exact feral beast that was currently shedding all over my Prada sofa.

In that moment watching the broadcast, the world completely tilted on its axis.

The memory of Toby finding the cat replayed in my mind like a horror movie. His desperation wasn't about saving an animal. It was about rescuing the last living piece of Daphne he could find.

I was the punchline to a sick joke. I had spent years of my life, compromising my own health, carefully preserving the shrine to his first love.

Pathetic. Tragic. Disgusting.

Toby lurched forward, instinctively reaching for my arm. "Caitlin, what are you talking about"