The Year of the Frosted Moon

After my divorce, I disappeared. I changed my appearance and identity, remarried, had a child, and built a quiet, ordinary life. Everyone, including him, likely thought I’d eventually come back defeated.
Seven years later, I returned to Sebastian Murray’s city, expecting him to have married Sophie Reed—the woman he’d promoted at my expense.
But at a gala, I saw him. Still strikingly handsome, still single. He didn’t recognize me, yet whispers followed him: “Sebastian, still hung up on his ex-wife. Who will inherit his fortune?”
The words confused me. If he loved me, why did he leak my most private photos the night I won my career’s top award? Why did he let my reputation be destroyed until I had to flee in disgrace?
…
Seven years ago, on the day I was supposed to fly to Cannes to accept the award for Best Actress, my private photos exploded across the internet.
Overnight, I went from being a celebrated actress to a pariah, a target for public scorn. I remember staring at the vile comments, my fingertips trembling, before racing home to demand an explanation from Sebastian.
But the conversation I overheard from behind his study door froze me in my tracks.
“Mr. Murray, isn't this a bit too harsh? Mrs. Murray has fought her way up in this industry for years. This could destroy her career. She might never work again.”
Sebastian’s voice was calm, chillingly detached. “This award was meant for Sophie. For the future of Sophie’s career, what’s sacrificing her once?”
My back was pressed flat against the cold wall, a bone-deep chill seeping into my soul.
An assistant’s fawning voice continued, “You’re a true visionary, sir. It only took three steps to have Joanna Wells wrapped around your little finger.”
“First,” the man gushed, “when she was just starting out, you had the agency trick her into signing doctored contracts designed to trap her.”
“Second, you used the fifty-million-dollar penalty clause to force her into those compromising photoshoots.”
“And for the third act, you swooped in like a white knight to ‘save her.’ Of course, she fell right into your arms, loyal and obedient, working herself to the bone to become the biggest earner for your company.”
“She’s more loyal than a puppy, and you don't even have to pay her a real salary!”
Sebastian’s next words were like a sword through my heart. “This industry is a filthy place. With Joanna clearing the path, breaking the ground, Sophie’s journey to the top will be smooth and clean.”
The assistant, noticing the uncharacteristic softness in Sebastian’s eyes whenever he mentioned Sophie Reed, asked, “Then why did you marry Joanna, sir? Did the act become real?”
Sebastian swirled the red wine in his glass and scoffed, as if his hand had been forced. “Three years ago, Sophie had just gotten her license. She… she accidentally hit Joanna and her mother. The three-month-old baby Joanna was carrying, and her mother… neither of them made it.”
“It wasn't Sophie's fault,” he added quickly. “She was terrified. It was Joanna and her mother who didn't get out of the way in time.”
My legs gave out from under me. I bit down on my hand, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth, just to stop myself from screaming.
Three years ago. I had been pregnant, taking a walk with my mother, when a speeding car slammed into us. When I woke up, it was to the sight of my mother’s cold, lifeless body. I had shattered, and Sebastian had been there to hold me, to comfort me.
“Joanna, my love,” he had whispered, “I will turn this city upside down to find the monster who did this. I swear I will get justice for our baby and your mother.”
A month later, he came to me with a look of defeat. “The police said all the surveillance cameras in the area were malfunctioning that night.”
“But it’s okay, Joanna,” he’d said, pulling me close. “I’m all you have now, and I’m all you need. I will protect you. I will love you forever.”
“Marry me.”
I looked down at the wedding band on my finger. This marriage, this life I thought was my salvation, was built on the blood of my mother and my unborn child.
Inside the study, Sebastian’s voice continued. “I was afraid Joanna would press the issue and drag Sophie into it. So I offered to marry her. The title of Mrs. Murray was… compensation.”
“And as for my Sophie, if I can’t give her my name in this lifetime, then I will give her the world in her career. I will stop at nothing to lift her up.”
The brutal truth crushed the last bit of air from my lungs. I fled, scrambling away from that house, that cage. I didn’t stop running until I was blocks away, collapsing in an alley where I finally let out the sobs I had been holding back.
When the tears ran dry, my hands shaking, I scrolled to the very bottom of my contacts and dialed a number that had burned in my phone for years.
He answered on the first ring.
My voice was a raw, trembling whisper. “Does your sister still need my kidney?”
“I’m willing to donate it. But I have one condition.”
“I want Sebastian Murray and Sophie Reed utterly and completely destroyed.”
A low chuckle on the other end. “Done.”
After hanging up, I immediately called my lawyer and had him draft the divorce papers. My heart hammered against my ribs when I saw the settlement clause: I would receive half of all Sebastian’s assets. It was a promise he’d made to me years ago, a promise he never dreamed I would be the one to invoke.
I had just finished reviewing the documents when he came home.
“You’re back? Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “Security said they never picked you up, and you weren't answering your phone.”
I said nothing. He probably assumed I was still reeling from the photo leak. He scooped me into his arms and carried me to the sofa.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his face buried in my hair. “I thought those photos were destroyed years ago. I never imagined they kept copies.”
“I promise you, I’ll take care of this as quickly as possible.”
I looked into his eyes, those clear, dark pools, and saw not a single flicker of guilt or deceit. How many lies had he told me over the years?
I felt exhausted, hollowed out. “I’m tired,” I said, pushing him away gently. “I’m going to take a shower.”
The next morning, Sebastian was already gone when I woke up. I opened my laptop. The top trending story was still about my scandal. But right below it were several new headlines, all about Sophie Reed.
#POPULAR STARLET SITS ON DIRECTOR KING’S LAP, PAIR LATER ENTER HOTEL, WOMAN LEAVES DISHEVELED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT#
#A-LIST ACTRESS IN HOTEL SCANDAL, SUSPECTED TO BE ‘S. REED’#
#SOPHIE REED’S WHEREABOUTS LAST NIGHT UNKNOWN#
I clicked on the article. The woman in the grainy photos was wearing a mask, but I recognized her instantly. It was Sophie.
No wonder Sebastian had left so early. He was already in crisis mode, doing damage control for her.
I let out a bitter laugh, printed the divorce agreement, and slipped it into the middle of a thick stack of contracts on his desk. I knew his habits. He never double-checked paperwork, just flicked the corner and scrawled his signature.
Then, I started to pack.
When I opened the door to my walk-in closet, a chilling realization hit me. Every single gift Sebastian had ever given me—a dress, a necklace, a handbag—Sophie had an identical one. Even my wedding ring had a counterpart on Sophie’s finger. Hers, I now noticed, was a much better match for Sebastian's own band.
I ripped the ring from my finger and threw it into a drawer, slamming it shut.
Just then, my agent called, her voice frantic. “Joanna! Did you know Mr. Murray just called a press conference?”
“You have to watch the livestream! He’s going to clear your name, I’m sure of it!”
I clicked the link. The conference was just beginning. Sebastian stood at the podium, adjusting the microphone as camera flashes strobed across his handsome face. The camera pulled back to reveal Sophie standing beside him, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Good morning, members of the press,” Sebastian began. “I’m here today to address the recent online speculation regarding an artist from my company.”
He paused for dramatic effect. “The rumors that one of our actresses was involved with a director to secure a role are, I can confirm, true.”
A wave of gasps and frantic murmurs swept through the room. I gripped a sofa cushion, my brow furrowed. Why would he admit it? My eyes darted to Sophie. As she lowered her head, I caught a fleeting, triumphant smirk on her lips.
A cold dread washed over me.
“However,” Sebastian continued, his voice ringing with authority, “the woman in those photos was not Sophie Reed. At the time the pictures were taken, she was at the office with me, discussing a script.”
The reporters and the live chat exploded.
“Then who was it?” someone shouted.
Sebastian’s gaze found the camera, his voice clear, each word a hammer blow. “It was my wife, Joanna Wells.”

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