During the press junket, a reporter from *Variety* leaned into her mic. "Mr. Hayes's new film has some very intimate scenes with his co-star. As his wife, what are your thoughts on that?" I gave her my best media-trained smile. "I think it looks sweet." The reporter blinked, thrown for a loop. "And you don't think that will affect your relationship with Mr. Hayes? Especially since he's famously never taken on romantic roles before." "It won't." "Why is that?" "Because we're already divorced." The interview went viral. And my phone blew up. A voice, tight with fury, crackled through the speaker. "What the hell are you talking about, Ava? Since when are we divorced?" I knocked on his hotel room door, divorce papers in hand. "Since right now." 1 **#EthanHayesAvaReedSplit** **#EthanHayesScarlettMay** **#ScarlettMayHomewrecker** The interview exploded, dominating the top three trending topics on Twitter. My phone was having a seizure from the non-stop calls and texts. I finally switched it to Do Not Disturb and leaned back in the black SUV, trying to breathe. On the tablet next to me, a steamy BTS clip from Ethan’s new movie played on a loop—him and Scarlett May, locked in a kiss so intense it practically melted the camera. My agent, Jen, stared at me, her mouth agape. "You're divorced? When did this happen?" "He cheated," I said, my voice flat. Jen instantly understood. She shut off the tablet, and the car fell silent, the only sound my own ragged breathing. She sighed, wanting to comfort me but not knowing how. "Ava, you and Ethan have been together for seven years. Everyone knows you're Hollywood's golden couple. Are you sure there isn't some kind of misunderstanding?" I didn't answer. I just lowered the tinted window, letting the cold city air rush in to dry the tears threatening to spill over. Last night, I got a text from a trusted source with a photo. Ethan and Scarlett May, checking into a hotel. I’d spent hours sobbing, my body convulsing with a grief so deep it felt like it was tearing me apart. Then, I called my lawyer and had him draw up the papers. It's precisely because we were together for seven years that the betrayal was so unforgivable. 2 When I arrived at the hotel, I finally answered Ethan's call. "Ava, what are you doing?" he hissed, his voice a chaotic mix of panic and rage. "When did we get divorced? Why am I finding out about this from a TMZ alert?" He only ever used my full name when he was furious. The last time was when I’d thrown a glass of red wine in Scarlett May's face. "Right now," I said, and knocked on his door. It swung open. There he was, phone in hand, our eyes locking. He was shirtless, with only a white hotel towel wrapped around his waist. I could see every cut of his six-pack, the sharp V of his hips, and the faint, fresh scratch marks on his arms. "What are you doing here?" I ignored him, pushing past into the suite and tossing the divorce papers onto the marble coffee table. "Sign them." Ethan picked them up, glanced through them, and then tossed them onto the couch. He let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his perfectly messy hair. "Is this because of the movie? The scenes with Scarlett? It's acting, Ava." He sighed, the picture of exhaustion. "Look, I'm tired. Can you please not be dramatic right now?" "Ethan," I said, my voice low, "no intimate scenes. That was the deal we made when we got married." Ethan’s possessiveness was legendary. Any script that came my way with so much as a kiss, he’d either turn it down on my behalf or force the director to rewrite it. Once, during a scene, my co-star got caught up in the moment and improvised a kiss on my cheek. The next day, the actor was replaced. He hasn't worked since. Ethan Hayes has always been a possessive, controlling monster. But now, for another woman, he had broken his own sacred rule. He gave Scarlett a privilege he'd always denied me. That was all the proof I needed. His expression hardened for a moment before melting back into a practiced smile. He stepped forward, wrapping an arm around my waist and nibbling on my earlobe. "This was a one-time thing. It won't happen again, okay? As for this divorce nonsense, I don't want to hear another word about it, understand?" I was about to push him away when a saccharine, girly voice drifted from the other room. "Ethan, honey, I think the shower drain is clogged…" "Oh! Ava! What are you doing here?" Scarlett May stood in the doorway, wearing a silk slip that barely covered her. Her long hair was damp and tousled, and a constellation of fresh hickeys dotted her neck. Noticing my gaze, she nervously tugged at the hem of her slip, a gesture that only made her look guiltier. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink. She bit her lip, the picture of innocence. "Ava, it's not what it looks like between me and Ethan…" Ethan instinctively reached for the suit jacket on the couch, about to cover her up. I was faster. I whipped out my phone, the camera flash firing several times. "Sign the papers," I said, my voice cold as ice. "Or these photos go straight to every gossip blog in the country. Let's see... 'Hollywood's Golden Boy Caught in Hotel Tryst with Rising Starlet.' How does that headline sound?" He let out an irritated hiss. "She got drunk at the wrap party last night. It wasn't safe for her to go home alone, so I brought her here. Nothing happened." I ignored his pathetic excuse. "You have three seconds." "Three." "Two…" He snatched the papers off the couch, scrawled his signature across the line, and threw them at me. "There. Are you done playing games?" I nodded, picked up my copy, and turned to leave. "Ava," he called out from behind me, his voice laced with a weary frustration. "You never used to be like this. When did you become so unreasonable?" I froze. It was the exact same thing he’d said the first time I met Scarlett. 3 Scarlett May was the new actress his agency had signed. She bore a passing resemblance to me, which had earned her the nickname "Baby Ava" online. At first, Ethan was indignant about it. He'd hold me and whine, "Baby Ava? My wife is one of a kind. That girl couldn't hold a candle to a single strand of your hair." He was always complaining about her riding my coattails. When she copied my style, he called it a cheap knock-off. When she copied my makeup, he called it tacky and pathetic. What he didn't seem to notice was that he was talking about her more and more. This "unimportant" person was becoming a constant presence in our conversations. Even at dinner, he'd bring her up with feigned disgust. "Scarlett hates cilantro, too," he'd scoff. "So unoriginal." But how would he know she hated cilantro if they weren't eating together? I finally snapped, slamming my fork down. "Are we ever going to have a conversation that doesn't involve her name? What is it with you, Ethan? Do you have a thing for her or something?" He immediately swore his loyalty, even deleting her number from his phone right in front of me. A few days later, at an industry party, a sleazy producer started pressuring Scarlett to drink with him. In front of everyone, Ethan smashed a bottle over the guy's head. He ignored me, standing there in shock, and wrapped a protective arm around Scarlett’s shoulders, his face dark with rage. "The talent at my agency," he snarled, "doesn't do 'drinks'." I went to the restroom to splash cold water on my face. When I came back out, Ethan was standing there with Scarlett, her cheek red and swollen. His voice was sharp. "If you have a problem, you take it up with me. Why did you hit her?" "Ava," he said, his voice dripping with disappointment, "when did you become so unreasonable?" He didn't come home that night. After a few days of silence, he showed up with a one-of-a-kind vintage diamond necklace from a London auction house. "Don't be mad, baby," he cooed. "Seeing her in that situation… it just reminded me of what happened to you, all those years ago. I lost my head." He couldn't protect the me from seven years ago, so he would protect the Scarlett of today. He fastened the necklace around my neck and cleared his schedule to spend time at home with me. I smiled for him, and he thought the chapter was closed. What he didn't know was that I had found Scarlett’s finsta. It was filled with pictures from the three-day "work trip" they’d taken to Vegas together. 4 The way Ethan and I met feels like a scene from a movie. Back then, I was just another struggling actress in L.A., working as an extra. He was the heir to a hotel empire, defying his family to chase his own Hollywood dream. His parents, determined to teach him a lesson, had cut him off completely and were actively sabotaging his career. I saw him for the first time on a street corner at 2 a.m. I had just wrapped a night shoot and was eating a hot dog from a street cart. I felt a pair of eyes on me, and when I turned, I saw a pair of hungry, glowing green eyes staring back from a dark alley. I bought him a hot dog. We squatted there on the curb together, and he told me he was just another transplant trying to make it in the business. We talked all night, feeling that instant, electric connection of two souls who understood each other. After that, we met at that same spot every night, sharing stories from our miserable days on set. Inevitably, we fell for each other. We moved into a tiny, cramped studio in the Valley. In that room that always smelled like stale takeout and mildew, on that rickety metal bed frame, we loved each other with the desperate intensity of two people with nothing else to hold onto. For three years, we were a team. We had each other's backs, pulling each other up as we clawed our way through the industry. The night he won his first major award, everything changed. He finally got his parents' approval, and he finally told me who he really was. I was devastated by the lie. I locked him out of our apartment. To win me back, he stood outside in a torrential downpour all night until he collapsed from a fever and was rushed to the hospital. The first thing he did when he woke up was try to rip out his IV to come find me. My heart melted. He gave me a fairy-tale wedding and went public with our relationship at the peak of his career, giving me everything I could have ever wanted. Everyone called it a Cinderella story. After a while, I think even Ethan started to believe it. He slowly began to forget those three years of struggle, poverty, and pain in that tiny, moldy apartment. 5 Leaving the hotel, I checked my phone. The trending topic about Scarlett being a homewrecker had already been scrubbed from the internet. Ethan had posted a clarification on his Instagram: **[No divorce. The wife is just mad at me. Currently in the doghouse and trying to make it up to her.]** The comments were a flood of praise for what a doting husband he was, but there were plenty of people attacking me, too. 【*Seriously? All this over a movie role? Ava is so possessive it’s actually terrifying. Ethan has been a saint for her on screen for years. Her control issues scream 'desperate for love.'*】 【*Ava is so embarrassing. She hit the jackpot with a rich, famous husband and she should just be grateful. He has to walk on eggshells just to do his job. You can take the girl out of the gutter, but you can't take the gutter out of the girl.*】 【*My poor baby Scarlett is just a girl from a small town with a big dream. She gets a chance to act with a top star because she’s talented, and Ava bullies her for it. My heart breaks for her!*】 【*Unpopular opinion but... does anyone else think Scarlett and Ethan have way more chemistry?*】 【*OMG YES! Thank you for saying it! Honestly, if Scarlett does take her place, it's Ava's own fault for not being able to keep her man. Useless!*】 Normally, Ethan’s PR team would have deleted comments like these in a second. This time, probably to teach me a lesson, he let them stay. He even "liked" a few of them. Jen was on the phone, trying to get our own team to do damage control. I was too exhausted to care. I fell asleep in the back of the SUV. When I woke up, it was almost midnight. I had dozens of unread messages. As I started to scroll through them, a call from Ethan came in. "Ava, where are you? Why didn't you come home?" I stayed silent. After a few seconds, I could hear his heavy breathing on the other end. He sighed. "Ava, you don't really think that piece of paper means we're actually divorced, do you? I was just playing along with your little game. Now be a good girl and come home." He was right. Divorcing an heir to the Hayes fortune wasn't that simple. In his eyes, those papers were meaningless. This whole day had just been him indulging the tantrum of a pet who had dared to show its claws. My voice was steady when I replied. "Ethan, you don't really think there's an 'us' after this, do you?" The papers might not be legally binding yet, but they were a declaration of war. It was over between us. Even if it got ugly, even if I had to burn everything to the ground, this marriage was ending. He let out a cold, lazy chuckle. "Ava, don't joke like that. You know what happens when I get angry." I could hear the rhythmic *tap-tap-tap* of his finger against a desk. He was serious now. I smiled, a real smile this time. "I can't wait to see." Before he could respond, I hung up. My reflection in the dark window stared back at me—hair a mess, face pale with exhaustion. This was the last time. The last time I would waste a single second of my life on a broken man and a rotten love. I knew how low and disgusting Ethan could be when he was angry. But I wasn't afraid. And I would not back down. I would be the one left standing at the end of this. I had to be. 6 Ethan didn't wait long to make his move. The lead role in a major historical epic I was set to star in was suddenly recast. The new lead? Scarlett May. With Scarlett's star on the rise and her "brand" being so similar to mine, plus the pressure from Ethan, the director didn't put up a fight. Ethan showed up on the first day of shooting. As the main investor, no one dared to ignore him. He was immediately surrounded by assistants holding umbrellas, portable fans, and handing him iced coffees. During a break, Scarlett perched cozily next to him, chattering away about her ~acting process~. Ethan just gave her noncommittal grunts, his dark eyes fixed on me across the crowded set. I ignored him, standing under an awning and reviewing my script. My assistant fanned me, whispering, "Isn't Mr. Hayes here to see you? Why aren't you sitting with him? You guys aren't avoiding each other in public now, are you?" There was an empty chair right next to him. She didn't know the whole story, and just assumed he was there on a surprise set visit. I knew he was offering me an olive branch, a chance to come crawling back. But if he was serious about reconciling, would he be letting Scarlett sit that close to him? Not to mention the fact that he'd stolen my role. Threatening my career was a low blow. Unforgivable. Sensing my irritation, Ethan waved over an assistant. "Scarlett loves that plum juice from the cafe down the street," he announced loudly. "Get one for the entire cast and crew." The crew immediately started fawning over them, cooing about how sweet their relationship was. Scarlett blushed prettily. She fluttered her eyelashes and glanced my way. "Oh, you guys, stop. Ava is right there." Everyone suddenly remembered that the actual wife was present. A mortified silence fell over the set. 7 The atmosphere was thick with tension, and it only got worse when we started shooting the next scene. It was a confrontation where the heroine discovers the supporting female character (my new role) has been sabotaging her, and slaps her across the face. It was supposed to be a major, satisfying moment for the audience, so the slap had to look real and hard. I got into character, my eyes filled with hatred as I looked at Scarlett. "So you know it was me," I sneered. "What are you going to do about—" Before I could finish my line, Scarlett's hand cracked across my face. The force of it sent me stumbling back. My cheek immediately started to swell and turn red. Scarlett's eyes filled with tears as she bit her lip. "Oh my god, Ava, I'm so sorry! Your performance was just so powerful, I got lost in the moment…" The director yelled, "Cut!" My assistant rushed over with an ice pack, glaring at Scarlett. "If you were so 'in the moment,' why didn't you finish the scene?" I didn't make a big deal out of it. I just covered the redness with some powder and told the director I was ready to go again. Over the next hour, Scarlett either "forgot" her lines, "messed up" her performance, or "improvised" new dialogue, slapping me a grand total of six more times. I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. Scarlett just stood to the side, looking apologetic. "I'm so sorry, Ava. I know you're a professional, but I'm still new to this. I just need a few more takes to really get the emotion right. Thank you for being so patient with me." The director just laughed nervously. In his eyes, I was the investor's wife, and Scarlett was the investor's rumored girlfriend. He couldn't afford to piss off either of us until he knew who the real winner was. "Uh, you know what? Let's move on to the next scene for now. Maybe we can tweak this one a bit." But Ethan, who had been silent this whole time, cleared his throat. He caught my eye and raised a single, challenging eyebrow. He was waiting for me to surrender. I looked away from him, back to the director. "Let's keep going." The director glanced at Ethan's thunderous expression. "Well, maybe... maybe we can just fake the slap? Use a different camera angle?" After a few tense seconds of silence, Ethan spoke, his voice dangerously smooth. "No need." The director breathed a sigh of relief, but then Ethan added, "We don't need camera tricks. An actress as dedicated as Ms. Reed wouldn't want to resort to such unprofessional methods." He had backed me into a corner. I suddenly remembered a rumor I'd heard a few weeks ago—that Scarlett had been "accidentally" slapped by an actress on another set and had cried for hours. Ethan had stormed onto the set, dragged her into the actress's dressing room, and made her slap the other girl back. He had said something similar to me once. Years ago, a director had slapped me to "get a better reaction." That night, Ethan had gently pressed a warm cloth to my swollen cheek, his jaw tight with rage. "Don't worry, Ava," he'd gritted out. "One day, I'll help you slap him back." He did more than that. He not only returned the slap, but he also made sure that director never worked in Hollywood again. The memory was a sharp, painful sting. It was okay, Ava, I told myself. You never needed him to fight your battles for you. It was just a matter of time. Just like now. As Scarlett prepared to slap me yet again, using a forgotten line as her excuse, a new sound cut through the tense silence on set. The sharp, rhythmic *click-clack* of expensive heels on concrete. A cool, drawling voice echoed through the soundstage, dripping with disdain. "Where in God's name did you find this talentless hack, and why is she pretending to be the lead in my production?"
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "385098", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel