I’m in a divorce variety show and I’m in love Novel – After the divorce from Bobby, everyone assumed I’d cling. He’d announced our marriage at the peak of his career. Later, when he finally won awards after successfully reinventing himself post‑wedding, people still dragged my name into it. “What did she ever do to deserve him? Pure luck.” I was the one who filed for divorce. But it was exactly what he’d been waiting for. When Emilia—the actress from his new show—started wearing his clothes, using his phone case, becoming his on‑set fling… I was still at home, flipping calendar pages, waiting for him to come back. He’d hang up on me every time, always too busy. Then one day, I ran into Emilia in first class. She greeted me warmly, all smiles. “You know what?” she whispered in my ear. “I booked this flight with his card.” She did it on purpose. To push me into ending it. So I gave her what she wanted.
Went home and moved out within half an hour. I don’t keep things others have touched. Thankfully, there were no children. Bobby leaned in the doorway, watching me. His reaction was flat. He only asked one thing: “What else do you want?” “Your phone.” He paused, then handed it over without another word. During the years he loved me most, I stood by him from obscurity to the top. I was always first in his favorites. Now? Swapped out. Muted. The divorce was just a formality. He signed over everything, begging me to make it quick. He said he was really in love with Emilia. After the NDA, on the day I left, I thought I’d never hear from him again. Until his call came. “We need to meet.” One month after the divorce. “Your fans can’t find out *you* were the one who cheated.
The show still needs to air.” I arrived early. In the lounge, Bobby’s agent was working on him. “After the divorce, you’re still the star. Her? She’s just a nobody—waiting to be laughed at.” “She’ll never accept it.” “Just string her along. Tell her you want to do that divorce reality show together.” “Let her think she can win you back. Make her fawn over you.” “Then we edit it so she looks desperate and annoying. You keep the devoted‑lover image.” The agent nudged him. “You even listening?” Bobby had his legs propped on the coffee table, lazily scrolling through his phone. “Mm.” “Bet if you crooked your finger, she’d come running back, tail wagging.” In the meeting room, Bobby idly twirled his phone. He only said a few words. And I agreed. “I’ll do the show.” He stared into my eyes, hesitating. “Are you really… that desperate for me?” So confident.
So easy to fool. I lowered my lashes. “Yes.” “Bobby… is there still a chance for us?” His gaze turned cold. He looked away and murmured, “That depends on you.” “But,” he added, “the show’s script isn’t what you think.” This divorce reality show would air while his new drama with Emilia was still running—to hype up their on‑screen couple. The theme: “Try a different lifestyle, see what went wrong.” Emilia would share a room with him. And I would share a room with Emilia’s husband. Brandon. The one who skyrocketed to fame at nineteen with a single show, swept all the major awards, then vanished overnight to get married. Bobby basically took his spot—capitalizing on an uncanny resemblance. Rumor has it Emilia and Brandon lived apart after marrying. Hers was a love forever out of reach.