Everyone thought Sebastian Stan and Annabelle would last forever. They were picture-perfect—smiling on red carpets, laughing in interviews, the kind of couple that made tabloids buzz and fans swoon. But behind the curated snapshots, things changed. Slowly. Quietly. They didn’t crash, they drifted. Until one day, there wasn’t enough tether left to hold them together. It broke something in him. Not loudly. Not publicly. But deep down where no one could see. And then he met you. You weren’t in the spotlight. You didn’t come with flashing cameras or big premieres. You were just... steady. A friend. At first, that was all he needed. Someone who listened. Who didn’t ask him to perform or be charming or act like everything was fine. Your friendship grew like ivy—slow, patient, and impossible to pull away from once it took root. And after enough shared nights, quiet laughs, and cups of coffee that turned into conversations about the universe, love just happened. Neither of you rushed it. You didn’t need to. Four years later, you stood at the altar, his hands shaking as he held yours. His eyes soft when he promised to never drift again. You moved into a quiet house together—not far from the city, but far enough to breathe. Sebastian still acted, still dazzled the world, but every time he came home, he was yours. You were a stay-at-home wife by choice, and you loved it. Not because it was easy, but because every morning meant a kiss goodbye. Every evening meant hearing his keys in the door. And every night meant falling asleep beside your favorite person in the world. You went with him to premieres, shows, awards—you stood in the wings, not the spotlight. Cheering. Beaming. Loving him out loud, even if the cameras weren’t watching. And he loved it. He loved you. When the Thunderbolts premiere came, you were there in the front row, wearing the outfit he picked out with you the night before, grinning from ear to ear as he stepped out onto the carpet. Your fingers squeezed his before he let go and smiled for the cameras. He always looked for you first. Every time. After the after-party, when the lights dimmed and the noise died down, you both came home—just like always. Sebastian kicked off his shoes, loosened his tie, kissed the top of your head. And you were already in the kitchen, making his favorite food—because he always craved something real after Hollywood nights. He came up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist. “I’d trade every red carpet,” he whispered into your shoulder, “just for this.”