Chapter 3

Two weeks later, I attended an industry gala with the initial draft of the French project.

Everyone in the industry knew I'd won Best Screenwriter, and quite a few directors and producers came over to hand me their cards.

I was discussing a project with Director Marcus Kane when Ethan Lucas emerged from the crowd.

He held two glasses of champagne and naturally handed one to me.

"Director Kane, this is Evelyn Shaw. I mentioned her to you before."

Marcus Kane nodded.

"So you're this year's Best Screenwriter. I've been wanting to meet you."

Ethan jumped in quickly.

"She does write well, but she's quite emotional. For major projects, she needs someone to help her control the pacing."

Marcus Kane glanced at the distance between the two of us.

"Are you two together?"

"Not yet, but it's only a matter of time."

He answered the question for me, his tone as certain as if announcing a news item.

I put the champagne glass back in his hand.

"Director Kane, Ethan and I are just colleagues. His words don't represent me."

Ethan stood there holding two glasses of wine, his expression frozen for two seconds.

Marcus Kane laughed awkwardly.

Stella appeared at that moment.

She wore a red slit gown that drew every eye in the room. She walked over and naturally hooked her arm through Ethan's, giving Marcus Kane a sweet smile.

"Hello, Director Kane. Oh, Evelyn's here too."

Her gaze swept over the folder of my initial draft, and her eyes lit up.

"Evelyn, did you write something new? Can I take a look?"

I closed the folder.

"This is my own project."

Stella wasn't affected by my attitude. She turned to face Marcus Kane.

"Director Kane, did you know? A lot of the inspiration for Evelyn's award-winning work actually came from discussions between Ethan and me. The three of us have always been a team--she handles the writing, I handle the acting, and Ethan handles production supervision."

Ethan nodded beside her.

"That's right. We're a complete unit."

I stood there feeling like people were propping me up on both sides.

It was the same in my past life. When my scripts won awards, they said it was team collaboration. When my creativity was recognized, they said it was the result of collective discussion.

Until eventually everyone thought I was just a ghostwriting tool.

Marcus Kane looked hesitant.

"So is this award-winning work a collaboration or an independent creation?"

Stella's eyes curved in a smile.

"How should I put it? Every female lead in there has my shadow. You could say she wrote them based on me."

I spoke up.

"No. Those characters have nothing to do with you."

As my words fell, the conversations at several nearby tables quieted for half a beat.

Stella's smile froze on her face.

Ethan put down his wine glass and stepped toward me.

"Evelyn, there's no need to split hairs like this on an occasion like this."

"Facts are facts. Every single word of those scripts, from the first to the last, was written by me alone."

He clenched his fist then released it, saying in a volume only I could hear:

"Are you planning to offend everyone tonight?"

Stella's eyes had already reddened.

Her tears fell at just the right moment--not enough to ruin her makeup, but enough to make people nearby feel sorry for her.

"Evelyn, I'm not trying to steal your credit. I just thought since our relationship is so good, we didn't need to divide things so clearly."

Ethan reflexively handed her a tissue.

Everyone was watching the three of us, like watching a play.

I picked up my folder and turned to leave.

As I reached the door, my phone vibrated.

Vincent Gould 's assistant had sent a message: "Evelyn, the French production company has confirmed the funding plan. Also, Vincent would like to meet with you next week."

A hand reached from the side and darkened my phone screen.

It was Ethan.

His gaze swept over the last few words of that message, and his face darkened.

"Vincent Gould? What's your relationship with him?"

"A relationship that's none of your business."

He grabbed my wrist.

"Evelyn, stay away from people like that from now on. You're a screenwriter, not a businesswoman. Don't let capital lead you around by the nose."

I looked down at his fingers.

"Ethan, let go."

He slowly released his grip.

The veins on his knuckles were still jumping.

"I'm doing this for your own good."

I rubbed my wrist and walked toward the exit.

Stella's shrill voice chased after me from behind.

"Evelyn, don't blame Ethan. He's really just worried about you. We're all doing this for your own good--why can't you understand?"

She was crying beautifully. I didn't acknowledge her.

The next day, a video of Stella crying at the gala was posted online.

The title read: "Best Screenwriter Evelyn Shaw Publicly Humiliates Best Actress Stella Summers."

The comments flooded in like a tide.

"What kind of person makes someone as gentle as Stella cry?"

"Evelyn Shaw has such a terrible personality, no wonder no one in the industry works with her."

In the video, Stella's tears were beautiful, her grievance and innocence perfectly calibrated.

The shot of Ethan handing her a tissue was also clipped out, and the comments section had already started shipping them as a couple.

Meanwhile, my line "Those characters have nothing to do with you" was cut out separately and looped with background music.

No one clipped the context of Stella saying "she writes, I act."

No one clipped Ethan's original words: "We're a complete unit."

What took fifty years to see clearly in my past life took only two weeks in this one.

On the third day after the controversy erupted, the French production company called.

"Evelyn, someone sent us a formal letter claiming your award-winning work allegedly used Stella Summers's creative ideas and involves copyright disputes."