3. A Dramatic Exit

AYRA

I woke up with eyes burning into my soul. My amazing partner from the previous night looked at me with a blank expression on his face.

I jumped out of bed as I realised how late I was going to be. I needed to leave before 10 p.m., and the time was nine.

As I grabbed my dress, I felt a tug against it.

“You’re just leaving without a word?” His voice broke me out of my rush.

I turned to give a blank stare. “Yes, I am. I need to leave now,” I said. “Hand me my dress.”

I stretched out my hands expectantly.

He stood up, and for a second I thought he was going to hand it to me—but he ignored me.

“What’s the rush? Got someone waiting for you at home?” he questioned, one brow raised.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you. And besides, why do you care? You’ve done your job already. I’ll pay you—and even tip you extra before I leave. Now hand it over,” I snapped, stepping closer to reach it.

He raised the dress above his head and grinned.

“Cold and brutal. You’re not even giving me a chance after pouncing on me last night?”

“What are you getting at? I really don’t have time for this. I have somewhere to be.” I groaned.

“So you’re giving me the fuck-and-flee treatment? Didn’t see that coming from you, cupcake.” He purred. “Here you go, sugar.”

He tossed me the dress.

I had no time to process the crap he just said. I put the dress on hastily, found my bag, and sent a quick text to Brielle telling her I was fine. One to Raven followed—she was expecting me.

“What’s your account?” I asked, not sparing a glance.

He chuckled roughly. “Consider this service, on the house.”

“Don’t try to play it cool. I’m sure you need the money. You know what…”

I opened my purse. “Here’s three thousand cash.”

He looked at me incredulously.“I don’t need your—”

I didn’t let him finish. I slammed the cash on the table and dashed out. I didn’t have time for this.

I paid for the hotel room and made my way to finish the last phase of my crazy split from Chris.

*****

I stepped into the hall with Raven by my side, dressed in a simple black Chanel two-piece and dark sunglasses.

As I walked in, the questions and camera flashes started immediately.

“Mrs. Yaldon, is it true you’re planning to leave Chris?”

“What caused the Golden Couple to split?”

“How will the Yaldon family deal with the fallout affecting their stock?”

“Is this all for show?”

I expected all of this.

After all, I set up this press conference.

I wanted to hit the Yaldons where it hurt—and what better way than a public announcement that I divorced Chris because I caught him with my step sister… and they were planning to get married.

I could visibly see the veins in Olivia's head popping.

Little Miss Perfectionist was about to lose her mind.

As the eldest daughter of a conglomerate empire, Olivia was a nightmare.

I cleared my throat as I took the stand.

“My name is Ayra Smith. I’m here to tell the public—and especially my fans, who have always supported me—the truth before they hear it elsewhere. I owe them that. Let’s begin with the questions. I’ll answer all I can today.”

All the reporters raised their hands, eager to get their scoop.

I chose a young woman in the middle wearing a green top and a messy bun.

“We got intel that you asked for a divorce. Is that true? And can you tell us the reason why?” she asked eagerly.

I smiled and took off my glasses.

“Yes, I divorced Chris Yaldon, who was more than happy to sign the papers—because he’s in love with, and happy with, my sister.”

I continued firmly, “Why ever would I come between the greatest feeling on earth?”

The room exploded.

“Your sister?”

“How did you find out?”

“Can you live without him?”

“Can’t you fight for your marriage?”

“Is this all some sort of misunderstanding?”

The questions came fast, loud, and relentless.

But we were ready.

Raven’s planted reporter raised her hand, and I pointed to her immediately.

“So what are your plans now, after leaving the marriage? You retired from the movie industry for it,” she asked.

“Thank you for that question.

I’m also here to announce that I won’t be in charge of the Yaldon family’s art division or their charity foundation anymore.

But I’m proud to introduce you to my own charity, The Shelly Shelter.

It’s a tribute to my mother, and I’ve poured every ounce of my love into it.

Also…” I paused, letting the flashbulbs blink like fireworks, “I’m officially coming out of hiatus. I’m open for roles—big or small, I don’t care. I lost myself in that marriage.

This is me, taking back everything I gave up.

Also, Director G. Phillips contacted me for a role. I’ll be making my comeback in his latest movie ‘Love for a Thousand Years’. Thank you.”

The room went wild.

“She’s opening her own charity? That’s a direct slap to the Yaldon family!”

“She’s asking for war.”

“She’s all talk now—but can she back it up?”

I picked a man in a faded blue shirt. He looked stunned I’d called on him.

“How do you think the Yaldons will react to this? Especially Olivia. Don’t you think this might cause some backlash for you?”

I smirked.

“I don’t care.”

Then I stepped down from the podium, ignoring the noise as Raven cleared a path to the car.

*******

“Thank you for coming back, Raven. I can’t believe you left Star Entertainment. Weren’t you working with Dara as her manager?” I asked, genuinely worried.

Raven was my manager before I retired—my ride-or-die.

She’d been totally against me giving up my career for Chris and his family.

“Oh please. Dara can shove it up wherever the sun doesn’t shine. She thought I was her damn slave or something. I dropped her the second you called.

I’m so happy you’re back. My era as the manager of one of the best actresses is about to begin—and nothing is going to stop me. I’ve already got it all planned out. Endorsements, brand deals… it’s all coming.

You were already getting offers while married and you kept turning them down.

The first one we’re chasing is Opium Skin. Their serum wants to break my bank, but if you get endorsed—free skincare for me,” she grinned.

“I missed you… thank you, thank you. And yes, you can have all the skincare you want,” I laughed heartily.

I was still smiling when my phone buzzed.

A text from Chris.

“What was that silly stunt you just pulled? We need to talk.”

Another text buzzed in—this time from the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever known.

My father.

“You need to come home. Now.”