Chapter 4

The emcee forced a laugh and quickly changed the subject.

…

That evening, after the post-ceremony banquet ended, Emil blocked my path.

"What was the point of all that?! It's like you're trying to make me hate you!" he growled under his breath, careful not to let anyone overhear us.

I shrugged off his hand and raised my voice. "Mr. Brando, you're making me uncomfortable. Just because I'm not producing your next movie doesn't mean you're allowed to harass me over it, right?"

People turned and shot him knowing looks.

"Wait. Didn't he just win an Oscar? Since when does an Oscar-winning actor struggle to find investors?"

"Ooh. The dude's worried. He knows Bette's got a new artist to back."

"Damn. Harassing a young woman over money? Do artists really have no class anymore? It's her choice what she wants to produce and what she wants to drop!"

"Nah, man. He just realized he's being dropped! Of course he's panicking. He wouldn't be here without Bette!"

His face went pale. He heard every word.

"I told you we'd get married after I won an Oscar, and I intend to keep that promise! So why the hell are you making this so damn difficult? You don't want me as your husband anymore, do you?!" he demanded.

It was straight out of his playbook. He always framed marrying me as some monumental sacrifice on his part while conveniently ignoring everything I had sacrificed for him.

Back then, I believed his determination to marry me even after he became famous proved his feelings were genuine. That illusion shattered the moment I discovered he had encouraged his fans to harass me online.

After quietly approving those attacks, he went on to inherit my wealth and used my death to attract even more media attention.

Any patience he showed me now came with an ulterior motive. He was looking for a way to replace me at the top of the industry's hierarchy.

The more I thought about it, the more I despised him. I doubted I was doing a very good job hiding it, either.

I cupped a hand over my mouth in feigned shock and took a step back. "Mr. Brando, I think you've misunderstood me. I invested in your projects and produced your work because I believed in your potential. I was never interested in you as a person, especially not romantically. Please don't make this any harder for either of us!"

Cameras shot into the air. I had successfully drawn the crowd's attention, and whispers spread through the room.

Emil's expression darkened with rage. He grabbed my wrist and tried to drag me away. "You're coming with me!"

I screamed, "Stop! What are you doing? Let go of me!"

Luckily, Ashe came to my rescue. "Mr. Brando, please. Be mindful of all the attention you're attracting right now. I don't think you'd want ugly headlines about what you're about to do to Miss Colbert, would you?"

Emil looked Ashe up and down before glaring at me. "I don't know what game you're playing, Bette, but pissing me off isn't going to end well for you!"

He flung my hand aside, straightened his clothes, and stalked off like a sore loser.

I watched him slink away and almost laughed at his empty threat.

In my previous life, I had done everything I could to mold him into the industry's golden star. I worried constantly about him suffering even the smallest setback, so I gave him the very best opportunities I could secure.

He won an Oscar because of everything I had done for him, and how did he repay me?

The moment he accepted that award, I was willing to bet he had already started planning how to squeeze every last thing he could out of me, including my life, to build an even more profitable future for himself.

Ashe looked at me with concern. "Are you alright?"

A camera flashed.

I closed my eyes, put on a frightened expression, and gave a small wave. "I'm okay, Ashe. I'm okay..."

When I opened my eyes again, they were glistening with tears.

Ashe looked genuinely upset. Ignoring the journalists' eager to question us, he escorted me out of the hall immediately.