His Low Score Made Me Leave Him For Fame

I was eagerly waiting for the play to end so I could celebrate my one-year anniversary with my boyfriend, Gavin Sterling. But then the troupe director sent out the annual actor evaluations to our work group chat. The message was retracted quickly, but I still saw it. Gavin, the lead actor, had given me the lowest score. The girls around me noticed my expression and quickly gathered to comfort me. "Senior Gavin is always strict. Who in the troupe hasn't gotten a low score from him? Nina, don't take it to heart." "Exactly. Last time I messed up my monologue, he told the whole group I should 'find another career.' I cried so hard my voice gave out that night." "You're lucky. Last time I was half a beat late on my blocking, he had the director replace me on the spot. Three months of rehearsals, gone just like that." Was that really true? But I clearly saw him give Rachel the highest score. In Rachel's scene, she had made three mistakes in her lines. Not only did he not show any displeasure, but he also stayed behind to practice with her all night. I was lost in thought, staring at the script in my hands, when Gavin pushed open the side door and walked in. He wore an all-black stage costume. His face was cold, like that of an unapproachable CEO. His gaze swept across the room, and all the hushed murmurs of comfort instantly vanished. Everyone quickly scattered back to their positions. As they left, they reminded me, "Nina, whatever you do, don't argue with Chief Gavin. Not even the director can save you if you do." Gavin had always been strict with himself and everyone else, and he hated mixing personal feelings with work. That was why our relationship had never been made public. Everyone in the troupe only saw us as an ordinary senior and junior. Their advice came from a place of good intentions. They weren't exaggerating either. Gavin had that kind of power. As the director's star disciple, he had won the Golden Voice Award three times during his student years. With just a few major productions, he had turned our once-obscure troupe into one whose tickets sold out within minutes. Now he was both the lead actor and the one every major theater was vying to recruit. The director treated him more warmly than his own son. Everyone knew that crossing Gavin in this troupe meant digging your own grave. The last person who had openly challenged him had lost their role entirely. I said, "Don't worry. I'm not going to fight." The moment Gavin stepped into the rehearsal hall, everyone tensed up. They all scrambled to recall whether they had made any mistakes in their lines just now. He began checking each group's rehearsal progress, going over lines and blocking one by one. "No issues. Next group." "Fine. Pass." Those who were dismissed looked as if they had just dodged a bullet. They packed up their props and slipped away as fast as they could. The crowd dispersed in waves, until only our group was left. I shouldn't even have been there. I had only stayed because I wanted to leave with him. Rachel hadn't shown up for rehearsal today for some reason, so our group was short-staffed. I had been pulled in at the last minute to fill in for her lines. After Gavin finished reviewing our group's rehearsal, his brows knitted together. "Who marked this blocking? Such a basic mistake, and no one caught it?" His voice was cold. His gaze swept across everyone in the room, and finally landed on me. The blocking notes were lying right next to me. He assumed I was responsible almost instantly. The person beside me quickly jumped in. "Senior, it wasn't Nina. She's just here to—" But she was cut off mid-sentence. "Did I ask you to speak?" Gavin's eyes narrowed, his focus fixed on my position on the floor. "Nina, is this where you're supposed to be? How many times do I have to teach this? Do you even pay attention in class?" I stared back at him in shock. I had known him for over twenty years, and this was the first time he had ever spoken to me like this—harsh and scolding, without a shred of warmth.