Chapter 4

I gripped my phone tight.

"Who sent it?"

"It's signed by Ethan Lucas's studio."

I sat at my desk, my fingers ice-cold.

The French project was suspended.

When Ethan came to find me that afternoon, I was organizing contracts on my desk.

He pushed the door open, scanned the room, and saw documents scattered across the floor.

"Feeling better now?"

I ignored him.

"I suppressed a few trending topics about the gala incident for you, but you should at least apologize to Stella. She's petty--just sweet-talk her a bit and it'll blow over."

He leaned against the sofa armrest, his tone like he was arranging a household matter.

I looked up.

"The French production company received a complaint letter from your studio."

He didn't deny it.

"That project isn't right for you."

"So you made the decision for me."

"I'm helping you cut your losses. The production team there isn't reliable. The risk of you going alone is too high. I'm not comfortable with it."

When he said "not comfortable," it was with a tone of natural authority, as if he had the right to dictate my life.

He was the same in my past life.

"Someone in the family has to sacrifice, and you need rest more than I do."

Said with consideration and tenderness, executed without hesitation.

Then my pen became a spatula, and my name became an appendage to his.

"Ethan, listen carefully. We were never together, and we never will be. My scripts, my projects, my life--they have nothing to do with you."

He stood up and braced both hands on the desk edge, his gaze finally turning dark.

"Evelyn, calm down. You think you can write anything without me? I opened half the doors in this industry for you."

"No. You just stood inside the doors I pushed open and took credit."

His face instantly turned ugly.

The sound of hurried high heels came from the doorway, and Stella rushed in.

Her eyes were red-rimmed as she grabbed my hand.

"Evelyn, I'm sorry. I really didn't know the video would blow up like that. Are you angry at me? You can't leave. If you leave, what about my next project? The director said if it's not your script, he won't use me."

She spoke while crying.

"I really can't perform what other people write. Only the characters you create can I win awards with."

I looked at her tears, then at Ethan's dark expression.

Suddenly I felt like I couldn't breathe.

In my past life, it was in these tears and "it's all for your own good" that I gradually lost myself, step by step.

"Stella, you're a Best Actress. You can play any role. Ethan, you're a Best Actor. You don't need my scripts. The only person who needs to extract themselves from this relationship is me."

I picked up my bag and headed for the door.

Ethan blocked my path.

"You can't leave. You think there's anyone out there who understands you better than I do? That Vincent Gould you're looking for--do you think he's interested in your talent or your face?"

I looked up into his eyes.

"Guess who I'll choose."

He was pinned in place by that sentence.

I walked around him and pushed the door open.

When I reached the middle of the corridor, I heard a phone vibrate behind me.

Not mine.

From Ethan's pocket.

I didn't turn back, because I knew what that notification was.

Ten minutes ago, I'd personally pressed the share button on that message.

His voice chased after me from behind, carrying a final note of certainty.

"Just how far are you going to take this tantrum?"

I stopped at the end of the corridor, waving my phone.

"Ethan, please check the headlines. I already have a husband. Please stop pestering me from now on."