He Sabotaged My Career With a Weight Gain Lie

At my careers breaking point, my manager and boyfriend, Nolan, told me to gain twenty pounds in two weeks to land an Oscar-bait role.

I showed up hopeful, but the director sighed. Your acting is incredible, Avery, but the character is severely emaciated. Youre all wrong.

My stomach dropped. Before I could text Nolan, I saw him across the room, smiling triumphantly at my rival. She got the rolesimply because she was thinner.

When Nolan met my gaze, his smile vanished. He rubbed his nose, looking exhausted. Serena is in her prime for awards season. She needs this more than you. Your acting is too good; I had to trick you into gaining weight to let her win.

He delivered the final blow without pause. And youve begged me to marry you for years. Now that youre too heavy to book roles, we can finally settle down.

There was no romance, no vow. His eyes darted to Serena, his first love, standing nearby.

I realized I was just a placeholder, a warm body waiting for her return. I laughed bitterly, slid the silver ring off my finger, and said calmly, Forget the wedding. Were done.

The silver ring hit the floor and rolled under a leather casting couch.

Nolan's face darkened with immediate fury.

"Are you expecting me to beg you to stay in front of her? Is this your way of proving you matter?"

I opened my mouth. "No..."

He held up a hand, his eyes burning with impatience.

"Save the excuses. Do whatever you want. Just don't come crying to me tonight, drunk and begging to get back together."

I gripped the hem of my oversized sweater. My cheeks burned with a humiliating heat, worse than if he had slapped me across the face in front of a live audience.

Serena gently tugged at his sleeve.

"Nolan, I told you not to speak to women like that. Avery, he's just blunt, he doesn't mean any harm, please don't be mad at..."

Nolan grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the door.

"Don't waste your breath on her. Didn't you need to go to wardrobe for your fittings?"

They walked out without a single backward glance.

The chemistry between them was palpable. They moved in sync, looking exactly like the leaked paparazzi photos from their romance years ago. It was as if they had never broken up at all.

Someone in the casting room recorded the entire exchange. An hour later, it was posted online by an anonymous burner account.

Once again, my body became the internet's favorite punching bag.

[Good lord, her body has completely let itself go. Does she know she's an actress? Is she prepping for a role as a slaughtered pig?]

[Seriously, she just blew up overnight. Zero work ethic. Could she not put the fork down for five minutes? Look at how elegant Serena Blair is!]

I was born with a metabolism that punished me for breathing.

The first time I was ruthlessly fat-shamed by the internet years ago, I fell into a severe depression. I had to take steroid medications just to function, which only made my weight spiral further. Directors laughed me out of rooms. I was ready to quit acting entirely.

That was when Nolan pushed his way through a crowd of executives mocking me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me out of the building.

He looked at my tear-streaked makeup and told me, "The world is already looking down on you. Are you going to bully yourself, too?"

From that day on, he was my guiding light. I followed him, trusted him implicitly, and fell deeply in love with him.

He knew exactly how agonizing my journey had been. He knew how much faith I placed in him.

And today, he took that faith and crushed it under his heel.

My phone buzzed.

It wasn't a text from him.

It was a flood of direct messages from my top fan accounts, begging me to fire my manager.

They had been telling me to drop Nolan since the very beginning, ever since my styling and roles started tanking. I used to brush it off, blindly believing that as long as my acting was solid, I could elevate any terrible script he handed me.

But now, the label of "the ugly, toxic supporting character" had been permanently glued to my forehead, bleeding over into my real life.

I finally realized how pathetic my confidence was compared to the brutal reality he had orchestrated to elevate Serena.

My assistant, Jess, let out a heavy sigh from the passenger seat of my car.

"Stop reading the comments, Avery. Look, I already enrolled you in an elite weight-loss boot camp."

I took a deep breath, staring out the rain-streaked window.

"Cancel it. Didn't the agency want to pivot me to the international market? Tell Director Davis I accept his offer."

Jess whipped her head around, her jaw dropping.

"But that's a massive global franchise! You'll be shooting on a closed set overseas for two years. What about you and Nolan?"

"There is no me and Nolan," I cut her off smoothly. "From now on, my life has absolutely nothing to do with him."

The head executives at my agency were thrilled when I agreed to the international pivot.

To build up my underdog narrative, they intentionally left all the fat-shaming hashtags trending on Twitter.

Thankfully, my mental armor was infinitely stronger than it used to be. The insults barely registered.

I was sitting in the agency's conference room, filling out my international transfer and visa applications, when the door violently crashed open.

Nolan stormed in, his face red with fury.

"I told you guys when I signed on that we do not buy negative PR for Serena! The entire internet is calling her a manipulative homewrecker right now!"

His tirade choked off the second he realized I was sitting at the table. A flash of awkward guilt crossed his face.

The rumor was that after Nolan and Serena broke up years ago, our agency spent a fortune to poach him. They agreed to a massive list of unequal demands.

I just hadn't realized that one of those demands was a protective clause for Serena.

Looking back, it all made sickening sense. Whenever I needed good PR, he threw me to the wolves. He bought negative trending topics about my weight, my face, my personality, leaving them up for days.

When I was doxxed and stalkers showed up at my front door, he didn't show a single ounce of sympathy.

Just like now. We were both getting dragged online, but his eyes were only looking out for her.

A soft, mocking chuckle escaped my lips.

His face instantly hardened into a scowl.

"The executives promised me they wouldn't touch her. So this was your doing, wasn't it?"

"You're mad that I gave the role to her, so you rallied your toxic fanbase to call her a homewrecker? You're spinning a narrative that she's using me to sabotage your career?"

I furrowed my brow. Before I could even open my mouth to defend myself, his phone rang.

I caught a glimpse of the screen. Serena. He answered it on the first ring.

It was a courtesy he had never extended to me, not even the night I was being chased down a highway by deranged stalkerazzi and called him for help in tears.

"Nolan!" Serena's voice was frantic on the other end. "Someone leaked photos of you and Avery on a date! Everyone is saying I'm the other woman! They're calling me a mistress!"

"She won't stop crying," her assistant yelled into the background. "She's threatening to jump off the balcony to prove her innocence!"

In that split second, the color drained from Nolan's face. His knees physically buckled.

He glared at me, his eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred.

"You are a vicious, evil woman. You're so desperate to ruin her that you'd set your own career on fire!"

He didn't give me a chance to speak. He stumbled backward and sprinted out of the room.

The executive sitting across from me let out an uncomfortable sigh.

"We didn't buy those trends. Do you want me to..."

I forced a polite smile.

"No need. Let him think whatever he wants. I'm leaving anyway."

The executive nodded silently and collected my transfer paperwork.

Less than three minutes after I walked out of the conference room, my phone chimed with a notification from Twitter.

I opened the app. Nolan had just quote-tweeted the viral photo of us on a date.

[Avery and I have never been in a romantic relationship. We are strictly colleagues. Serena Blair and I never broke up. Any romantic marketing involving Avery Sinclair was purely a studio-mandated PR strategy. There is no infidelity involved.]

My chest seized. It felt like an invisible fist was crushing my lungs.

When Nolan first became my manager, Serena's rabid fanbase accused me of being the homewrecker who ruined their fairy-tale romance.

When paparazzi finally caught us kissing a year later, the hatred multiplied tenfold.

I endured a solid year of brutal cyberbullying. It got so bad the agency begged us to just go public and clear the air.

But Nolan always refused. He always used my career as an excuse, claiming a public relationship would ruin my marketability. He stood by and watched as millions of people called me a slut, a mistress, a home-wrecker.

And now, he freely handed the public declaration of love that I had bled for over to his ex.

He permanently branded me with the "mistress" label just to protect her.

In that moment, I finally understood that true love knows no obstacles.

The only obstacle was that he simply didn't love me.

The agency couldn't control him anymore. They immediately moved to assign me a new manager and drafted a statement to sever all ties with him.

But when it came time to hand over my portfolio, Nolan suddenly slammed the brakes.

"I've managed her for years! No one knows her career trajectory better than I do!"

The sudden 180-degree shift in his attitude was laughable.

It only cemented the fact that I was nothing but a tool he needed to keep in his back pocket.

I stared at him, my eyes empty, filled with nothing but profound numbness and exhaustion.

"No. I know my own trajectory."

He flinched. He clearly hadn't expected me to speak to him with such cold authority.

In the past, whenever the agency suggested switching managers, I was the one who fought against it. I wanted to stay close to him. I willingly kept myself chained to him.

But now that my spine was made of steel, he was completely powerless.

Sensing the tension, the executive slid my international transfer forms across the table.

"Look, the reality is, Avery is leaving the country..."

Nolan frowned deeply. He reached out to grab the papers.

My eyes narrowed. I stepped directly into his path, blocking his hand.

"I am in control of my own career from now on. If you refuse to hand over the files, I will build a new portfolio from scratch."

I grabbed the papers, folded them neatly, and handed them back to the executive. I shook my head slightly.

As I turned to walk away, Nolan raised his hand, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to grab my wrist. I side-stepped him effortlessly.

After the disastrous meeting, I went back to my apartment and started packing my life into boxes.

As I was folding clothes, my phone buzzed. A text from him.

[Her mental health is incredibly fragile. I was just calming her down. Don't overthink this.]

In a sea of green text bubbles, this was the first time in an entire month he had initiated a conversation that wasn't strictly about work schedules.

And yet, it was still revolving around Serena.

Whenever I texted him for comfort, whenever I needed a shoulder to cry on or just a shred of affection, his standard response was always the same three words.

[Toughen up, Avery.]

I didn't immediately call him back in tears. I didn't beg for his attention or try to explain my side of the story like I used to.

What was the point?

A few minutes later, the electronic lock on my front door beeped rapidly with several failed passcode attempts.

My heart skipped a beat. I pulled up the security camera feed on my phone and saw him standing in the hallway.

The tension in my chest evaporated.

All that was left was a hollow, empty void where my expectations used to be.

Our passcode was our anniversary date. He had been coming to this apartment for five years and still couldn't remember it.

Yet, when he needed to log into a social media account he hadn't touched in two years, he remembered Serena's birthday as the password in less than a minute.

I put my packing tape down and opened the front door.

His eyes were laced with genuine anxiety.

"Why didn't you open the door? I thought something happened to you."

I found the whole situation hilarious.

"What could possibly happen to me? You said it yourself, I'm tough."

He frowned, the fleeting guilt in his eyes vanishing instantly.

"Look, I found out Serena's PR team bought those trending hashtags. I didn't have all the facts, and I shouldn't have accused you. That's on me."

"But there is absolutely no need for you to be this petty and sarcastic. She only broke up with me back then because her management forced her to. There is nothing going on between us now."

"That statement on Twitter? She posted that using my phone. By the time I saw it, the damage was done. I already told you, we can get married right now. You really need to let this go."

I stared at the poorly concealed impatience swimming in his eyes.

I finally spoke.

"So, if you two had never broken up, is this how you would talk to her? Would you demand she marry you without a shred of romance or a proper proposal?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly irritated.

"That doesn't matter. You're in a critical phase of your career right now, you shouldn't..."

My chest contracted violently.

Before he could finish his sentence, I raised my hand and slapped him directly across the face.

My voice was terrifyingly calm.

"You knew I was in a critical phase of my career, and you still manipulated me into gaining twenty pounds!"

"You're right. None of it matters. Whether your pathetic excuses were meant to protect me or because you're still obsessed with her, it doesn't matter. Because we are broken up."

"Now get the hell out of my apartment. I never want to see your face again."

His eyes widened, rimmed with a furious, humiliated red. It was the first time in five years I had ever kicked him out.

He slammed the door behind him, spitting out one final, venomous threat.

"You're going to regret this!"

For five years, I had bent over backward to accommodate his every mood.

We had never been at each other's throats like this.

So, when he realized I was no longer his submissive, easy-to-control puppet, he resorted to the dirty tactics he usually reserved for his enemies.

My interim manager told me I had to attend a high-end charity gala that evening.

But when I arrived, I realized I had been tricked. It was a sleazy, low-tier corporate networking mixer. A yacht party where actresses were treated like eye candy.

Nolan and Serena were sitting on either side of the wealthy studio executives.

My new manager gently pushed me into the private room.

"Your resources are being downgraded, Avery. You aren't bringing in money right now. Nolan said if you can handle the drinking for Serena tonight, he'll secure a great script for you."

Back when I was a nobody clinging to Nolan's roster, I couldn't book any good roles. My lack of income meant his performance bonuses tanked.

To make sure I didn't drag his career down, I secretly agreed to attend one of these shady investor banquets.

It started with just drinking on behalf of the executives. But as the night dragged on, several men cornered me and started force-feeding me liquor.

I tried to run, but the VIP doors were deadbolted.

They pinned me down, their hands wandering all over my body. Right as I was about to give up all hope, Nolan kicked the heavy wooden doors off their hinges, grabbed a fire axe from the hallway, and smashed the mahogany dining table cleanly in half.

His eyes were bloodshot as he pulled me into his chest, shielding me from the room.

He drove me home, screaming at me the entire ride, calling me an idiot with no brain.

He told me that these drinking banquets almost always ended in hotel rooms.

He yelled until I stopped responding.

Bright red blood had started spilling past my lips like water.

That was the first time I ever saw genuine, unfiltered terror on his face.

From that day forward, I was banned from attending any event that required alcohol.

Seeing me frozen in the doorway, Serena smiled brightly and walked over.

"Oh, this is all my fault. I told the investors my alcohol tolerance is terribly low, but I didn't want to disrespect them. Nolan remembered you could hold your liquor, so he called you in."

"You don't mind, do you? Really, we're doing this to help you network for new roles."

I stared at the smug, provocative gleam in her eyes. Surprisingly, I felt entirely at peace.

It was fine. I would drink the poison tonight.

Because after tonight, every single debt, every ounce of history between Nolan and me, would be permanently erased.

I picked up a heavy crystal tumbler filled with dark amber liquor. I locked eyes with Nolan, watching the sudden, nervous tension ripple across his face.

"Thank you all for this wonderful opportunity."

The cheap, high-proof alcohol burned down my esophagus like battery acid.

I wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye and poured myself a second glass.

"But for this next round..."

Before I could finish, Nolan practically lunged out of his chair, snatching the glass from my hand. His brow was furrowed in deep, angry lines.

His voice dropped to a harsh whisper.

"If you can't drink, then don't! Do you always have to be this stubborn? Would it kill you to just admit you need me?"

I smiled. I opened my mouth to speak, but a violent, metallic clattering erupted from the ceiling above us.

Before any of us could look up, the entire room lurched into a violent, terrifying sway.

The floor dropped out from under my heels, sending my head spinning.

With a heavy thud, I crashed onto the marble floor.

Piercing screams erupted from the hallway outside the VIP suite.

"Earthquake! It's an earthquake! Run!"

Nolan grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. He threw his arm around my waist, preparing to drag me toward the exit.

But from behind us, Serena's voice pierced the chaos.

"Nolan! My legs... my legs won't move! I'm so scared!"

In that split second, without a single micro-expression of hesitation, he let go of my hand.

"She was in a severe earthquake as a child. She has crippling claustrophobia, I can't just leave her here."

"You need to get out on your own. If you can't make it to the stairs, find cover! I promise I'll come back for you!"

Without waiting for a response, he scooped Serena up into his arms and sprinted past me, vanishing into the panicked crowd.

I struggled to push myself up off the floor.

But with a deafening crack, the massive crystal chandelier detached from the ceiling and slammed directly into my shoulder.

Nolan had glanced over his shoulder right as it happened. The momentary hesitation in his eyes vanished as quickly as it appeared.

He disappeared into the dust and the screaming, taking my consciousness with him.

...

When I finally woke up, the sterile smell of a hospital room filled my lungs.

Jess was sitting by my bed, her eyes red and puffy.

The earthquake hadn't been catastrophic. The hotel suffered minimal structural damage, and there were barely any casualties.

The most severely injured person in the entire building was me, knocked unconscious by a cheap light fixture.

The emergency rescue teams were the ones who pulled me out of the rubble.

Jess looked at me, her mouth opening and closing.

I knew exactly what she wanted to say. Nolan never came back.

He was busy comforting Serena.

On Instagram, I saw the photo they posted. Their hands tightly intertwined.

The caption read:

[No matter how much time passes, my heart will always choose you first.]

I didn't feel the soul-crushing grief or the fiery rage I expected.

I only felt a profound sense of relief. My heart, which had spent five years sprinting to keep up with his, could finally beat for itself.

I looked at the nightstand. Sitting next to my water cup was a first-class ticket for an overseas flight.

"Let's go," I whispered.

Jess helped me out of the hospital bed. We took a private car straight to the international terminal.

Right before I stepped into the security checkpoint, a text from Nolan popped up on my screen.

[Why aren't you in your hospital room? Stop running around. I hired a private specialist to give you a full-body scan.]

Staring at the message, I felt absolutely none of the pathetic, desperate joy I used to feel whenever he showed me a breadcrumb of attention.

I smiled, hit block, and permanently deleted his contact.

I popped the SIM card out of my phone and tossed it into a trash can. I had already set up a new international number.

Nolan Cross.

I am so incredibly tired of playing your twisted game of cat and mouse.

From this moment on, I will never haunt your world again.

Nolan gripped his phone, pacing the hallway outside Avery's hospital room. He had been waiting for twenty minutes, but she hadn't replied.

In the past, the moment he sent a text checking up on her, she would immediately call him back, her voice thick with happy tears. Even when she was buried in script readings, she made her assistant reply instantly.

But ever since that disastrous casting call, the dynamic had subtly shifted.

It planted a dark, unsettling seed of panic in the pit of his stomach.

Someone gently tapped his shoulder.

He spun around, assuming it was Avery.

"Where the hell did you go? Stop running..."

The spark of relief in his chest instantly flatlined when he saw Serena standing there. A heavy, unexplainable wave of disappointment washed over him.

"What are you doing here? I told you to stay in your suite and rest. The lobby is swarming with paparazzi and stalkers, what if they get a photo of you?"

Serena's eyes grew glassy with tears.

"It's fine. I wasn't really hurt anyway. I just felt so alone in that big room... and I wanted to check on Avery. I need to apologize to her. If I hadn't cried out for you, she wouldn't have been crushed by that chandelier."

Nolan's immediate instinct was to say Avery was fine.

She was built tough. During action sequences, she refused to use stunt doubles to save the studio money. She took hits, cuts, and bruises without ever complaining. To the rest of the world, she was made of iron.

But whenever she was alone with him, she would pout and show him her bruises. Even when he gave her the cold shoulder, she would whine until he was forced to pat her head and comfort her.