6. Dylan
— ? —
Dylan
The drive back to the mansion is the longest forty minutes of my life.
Selene left without me, her taillights disappearing down the canyon road before I could even process what had just happened.
I stood in that empty restaurant, an idiot surrounded by overturned chairs and the disappointed stares of the staff who’d stayed three hours past closing because my wife refused to believe I wasn’t coming.
I wasn’t coming.
The thought relentlessly circles through my alcohol-fogged brain.
I promised her I would be there, and I wasn’t.
I let production run over, let Claudette convince me that one more review session was essential, let the crew drag me to that bar near the studio to celebrate a scene I can barely remember shooting.
And while I was toasting to my creative vision with people who don’t really know me, my wife was sitting alone at a table for two, watching candles burn down and hope die.
By the time I pull into our driveway, it’s almost four in the morning. The mansion is dark except for a single light in our bedroom window, and I don’t know if that’s a good sign or an indication of doom.
I let myself in through the garage and make my way upstairs on unsteady legs.
The alcohol is wearing off now, leaving behind a dull throb in my temples and a sick, rolling guilt in my stomach.
I need to fix this. I need to make her understand that tonight was a mistake, an aberration, not a reflection of how much she means to me.
But when I push open the bedroom door, the speech I’ve been rehearsing dies on my lips.
Selene is sitting at her vanity, still in that stunning burgundy dress, methodically removing her jewelry.
Her movements are precise and unhurried, like she’s performing a ritual.
The diamond drops come out of her ears and go into their velvet box.
The bracelet unclasps and coils into its designated drawer. The rings-
She pauses with her wedding band halfway off her finger.
My heart stops.
“Selene.” Her name comes out hoarse, scraped raw by panic. “Baby, please. Let me explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain.” She slides the ring back on, thank God, thank God, and turns to face me. Her makeup is flawless, but her eyes are completely dead. “You were busy. Production ran late. I understand.”
The calm in her voice is more terrifying than any scream could be. I’ve seen Selene angry before. It’s passionate, the kind of fury that burns hot and fades fast. But this is entirely different. This is cold. Controlled. Final.
“I know you’re upset.” I cross the room and kneel in front of her, taking her hands in mine.
They’re ice cold. “I know I messed up. But I’m going to make it up to you, I swear.
The Academy Awards are coming up, and I want you right there beside me.
The whole night. I won’t leave your side for a second. ”
Selene stares at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
“The Academy Awards.”
“Yes.” I squeeze her hands, desperate to see some spark of reaction in those empty eyes. “It’s the biggest night of the year. Everyone will be watching. And I want them to see us together, to see how much I love my wife.”
“You want them to see us together.” She repeats my words back to me, flat and toneless. “At the Academy Awards.”
“Baby, please.” I bring her hands to my lips and kiss her knuckles, the way I used to when we were first dating, when every touch was a miracle. “I know I’ve been distant. I know work has consumed everything lately. But this is my chance to show you, to show everyone that you’re my priority.”
A flicker crosses her eyes. For a moment, I think I’ve gotten through.
Then she laughs.
It’s not a warm laugh, not the bright, musical sound that used to make my chest ache with love. This laugh scrapes against my ears, bitter and wrong.
“You can’t even be with me for our anniversary.” She pulls her hands free from my grip, and the loss of contact leaves me hollow. “What makes you think I’ll believe you’ll be there for the Academy Awards?”
“Because I’m promising you-”
“You promised me dinner tonight, Dylan.” Her voice doesn’t rise, but each word lands with force.
“You promised me a few hours of your time, and you couldn’t even manage that.
What’s different about the Academy Awards?
What’s going to stop production from running late that night too?
What’s going to stop Claudette from needing one more review session? ”
The mention of Claudette’s name sends a jolt through me. I open my mouth to defend her, to explain that she’s just doing her job, that her dedication to the project isn’t personal, but something in her expression stops me cold.
She knows.
I don’t know what exactly she knows, but I can sense it. About Claudette. About the way things have shifted between my co-producer and me, the easy intimacy of long hours spent working toward a shared goal.
“This isn’t about Claudette.” The words come out defensive, even to my own ears.
“Isn’t it?” Selene tilts her head, studying me as if she’s never seen me before. “She’s the one who schedules your shoots. She’s the one who decides when you can leave the set. She’s the one you spend every waking moment with while I sit alone in this house, waiting for you to remember I exist.”
“I always remember you exist-”
“Do you?” She stands up abruptly, and I have to scramble backward to avoid being knocked over.
“When’s the last time you asked me about my day, Dylan?
When’s the last time you came home before midnight?
When’s the last time you looked at me and actually saw me instead of looking through me, past me, at nothing? ”
I don’t have an answer. The questions pile up like accusations, and I can’t refute a single one because she’s right. She’s right about all of it, and the realization makes me feel sick.
“Don’t be like that, babe.” The words come out before I can stop them, a desperate attempt to deflect the conversation somewhere less painful. “You know I’m doing this for my career. My dream.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake.
Selene goes very still. Her face, which had been starting to show cracks of genuine emotion, smooths back into that terrifying blankness.
“Your dream.” She says the words slowly, tasting them. “Your career.”
“That came out wrong-”
“Did it?” She crosses to the bar cart in the corner of our bedroom. When did we get a bar cart in our bedroom? She pours herself a glass of wine with steady hands. “Because it sounded pretty clear to me. Your dream. Your career. Not ours. Yours.”
A memory surfaces unbidden, unwelcome.
I’m standing in the foyer of Selene’s childhood home, twenty-four years old and terrified, facing down a man who looks at me with undisguised contempt. Her father, Richard Vance, legendary producer, the man who shaped Hollywood in his image and never let anyone forget it.
“You think you deserve her?” His condescending laugh still echoes in my ears after all these years. “She’s been in this industry since she was young. She’s a star, a force of nature. And you’re what? A rookie with one lucky break under your belt?”
I stood my ground that day. I told him that I loved his daughter, that I would spend my whole life proving I was worthy of her, that I would build something so extraordinary he’d have no choice but to respect me.
“Stop getting so close to my daughter.” He leaned in, his breath hot against my face. “You’re not in her league, boy. You never will be.”
But I proved him wrong. I built exactly what I promised. I became the youngest actor-director in the industry, collected awards and accolades and critical acclaim. I made myself into someone Richard Vance couldn’t dismiss, someone his daughter could be proud to stand beside.
Only now, looking at Selene’s empty eyes across our bedroom, I’m starting to wonder if I proved him wrong at all. Or if I just proved him right in ways I never anticipated.
“Dylan.” Selene’s voice pulls me back to the present. She’s watching me with an expression I can’t read, her wine glass held loosely in one hand. “Where did you just go?”
“Nowhere.” I shake off the memory and try to refocus. “I was just thinking about… it doesn’t matter. What matters is us. What matters is making this right.”
“And how do you plan to do that?” She takes a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving mine. “With promises? With pretty words about the Academy Awards? With another ‘later’ that never comes?”
“I mean it this time-”
“You meant it every time.” She sets the wine glass down with a decisive click. “That’s what makes it worse. You always mean it in the moment. You always believe you’re going to follow through. And then something more important comes along, and I get pushed to the back of the line again.”
“You’re not at the back of the line-”
“I’m not even in the line, Dylan.” Her voice finally cracks, just slightly, and a glimpse of devastation breaks through the frozen mask.
“I’m outside the building. I’m watching through the window while everyone else gets your time and attention and creative energy.
I’m standing in the parking lot at three in the morning, wondering when my husband turned into a stranger. ”
The words pierce straight to my chest. I stagger back, my legs hitting the edge of the bed, and I sink down onto the mattress because I’m not sure I can stay standing.
“I love you.” It’s all I can think to say. “I love you more than anything, Selene. You have to know that.”
“Do I?” She laughs again, that terrible, hollow sound.
“Because love isn’t just words, Dylan. It’s showing up.
It’s prioritizing. It’s choosing someone over and over again, every single day.
” She pauses, and when she continues, her voice is barely above a whisper. “When’s the last time you chose me?”