The Screenwriter She Lost A Billionaire Romance

Agreed. A screenwriter can't compare to Seth's looks. A talented woman deserves a handsome man.

I snorted and liked every single one of their comments.

Back at the house, I was directing the movers when Savannah called.

"Mr. Pruitt, I just saw the trending posts. Let me explain before you get the wrong idea. Violet and Seth are just friends!"

I didn't respond to that. I only asked where Violet was.

She faltered, unsure how to answer.

I laughed.

"She's at Seth's bedside, isn't she?"

A minute earlier, I'd already seen the video. Violet sitting at Seth's bedside, spooning porridge into his mouth.

Five years together, and even when I had a fever, she'd never once fed me like that.

Violet always said she was busy. Said she liked strong, self-reliant men.

So I learned to sit through IV drips alone. Learned to take care of myself when I was burning up. Tried my best not to be a burden to her.

But then Seth came back.

Suddenly she wasn't busy anymore. Suddenly it wasn't a hassle.

Savannah's discomfort was almost palpable. She scrambled for an explanation.

"Yes, she's with Mr. Harding."

"But there's nothing intimate going on between them, and there are other people in the room—"

"You don't need to explain. None of it matters to me anymore."

I looked around the villa, already half-empty, and spoke slowly, deliberately.

"Tell Violet I'm breaking up with her."

Savannah tried to say something else, but I'd already hung up.

When the last box was carried out, I stood in the doorway and took one final look.

The closet, cleared out.

The desk, gone.

Even the mug I always used in the kitchen had been tossed into a box.

Four years of living here.

Turns out one night was all it took to erase every trace.

Before getting in the car, I pulled the ring from my bag. The one engraved with both our names.

The one I'd planned to give her tonight.

I looked at it for two seconds.

Then I tossed it into the trash can on the curb.

At the airport, a friend request from an unknown number popped up on my phone.

The moment I accepted, a photo came through.

A man's ring finger, wearing a diamond ring that glinted under the light, almost offensively bright.

The diamond ring Violet gave me. Nice, isn't it?

I stared at it for two seconds and laughed.

Seth Harding.

The man really knew how to make someone's skin crawl.

I didn't bother replying. Just blocked him.

But there was no way I was swallowing this.

I immediately sent Savannah an email.

A full revocation of Violet Henson's filming rights to Headwind.

Along with a unilateral termination, in my capacity as sole copyright holder, of all collaborations with Violet Henson's studio.

One second later, my phone exploded.

"Tristram! Have you lost your mind?"

Savannah was practically screaming.

"What is this copyright revocation letter supposed to mean?"

"Violet's team just locked in the investors. They're set to start production next month! Do you have any idea how much money is riding on this script?"

"You pull the rights now, and you'll destroy her!"

My voice was flat.

"Destroy her?"

"Savannah, you've got it backwards."

"I wrote that script. I decide who gets it."

She went quiet for a beat, then softened her tone.

"But you two are a couple. You're supposed to spend your lives together. How can you stab her in the back like this?"

"I already explained it to you. There's nothing going on between her and Seth. I can guarantee it. You're the only one Violet cares about."

"Three months ago, she told us she was going to marry—"

"Enough."

I rubbed my temples, exhausted.

"Her reasons don't matter."

"What matters is that she chose to throw me away."