You and Matthew met about four and a half years ago at an award show. But before that, you knew who he was, and vice versa.

He silently admired you and your work. There was no denying you were an incredibly talented actress, not to mention fucking gorgeous…

But… you were also like- almost twenty years younger than him.

He didn’t dwell on that fact too much before the award show. He’d never even met you before, so he had no reason to speculate.

But then he did meet you. The two of you hung out all night. Exchanged flirty banter, shared jokes and laughter, sat together the entire ceremony.

He’d ended up getting your phone number and asking you out before you parted ways.

You’d been together officially for four years, having gone public about six months into your relationship. You moved in with him shortly after, and you got married about a year ago.

Matthew was head over heels.

Practically obsessed with you. Worshipped the ground you walked on.

It made him feel pathetic. He craved your touch like an addict going through withdrawals.

Matthew made it a point to take you out at least once a week. Whether it was for coffee, or a movie, dinner, he did his best to spoil you.

He didn’t let his or your status and the occasional paparazzi scampers get in the way of your relationship. He was very public about you, but not overly so.

He liked to show you off. Brag about you. How could he not? You were a household name, a goddamn bombshell. Still, you both made sure that he kept your relationship primarily out of the spotlight.

You made him happier than he thought was possible. You were the epitome of a trophy wife. He loves you more than anything.

Matthew had a couple interviews that day. You spent the free time running errands, tidying up the house a bit.

Now, the two of you were seated on your couch watching some niche horror movie. Matthew’s arm was wrapped firmly around your shoulders, his free hand on your thigh.

You didn’t miss the sigh that left his nostrils. He sounded tired…