Oscar-Winning Traitor

After years of investment from my company, my boyfriend finally broke into show business. At last, he won an Oscar. True to his promise, he married me. Then, during a backstage interview, he said, "It was transactional. I had to marry her in exchange for the funding." His braindead fans came after me soon afterward. They stalked me and, one day, poured sulfuric acid over my face. The attack left me disfigured. He sent me to the hospital, but that was just another part of his scheme. Before long, the world believed I had died from complications. When I returned to life, I decided to invest in someone else. After all, he was the only person who had mourned my death and given me a proper burial. Chapter 1 Emil Brando thanked everyone on stage the night he accepted his award. Everyone except me, his agent, whose investment had paved the way for him to become the Academy's Best Actor. I stared at the familiar backdrop before me and the list of nominees, overcome by a stunned sense of déjà vu. Had God pitied me so deeply that He had brought me back to this moment in time? I watched Emil accept his Oscar, step off the stage, and return calmly to his seat beside me. He paused for a moment before turning to embrace the actress he was rumored to be dating. The crowd erupted into screams of excitement. Fellow actors and guests watched with morbid fascination. His assistant, who knew about our relationship, shot me a wary glance, expecting me to lose control right then and there. I laughed through my tears. I had promised him that as soon as he won an Oscar, he would marry me. Back when he was a complete unknown, Emil had agreed without a second thought. He had taken my hand and told me that even if he never won the award, I was the only woman he would ever marry. He had worried that my parents would disapprove of him for being an ordinary man, so he resolved to work harder and harder until he became successful enough to stand as my equal. He had been determined to make me the happiest bride in the world. But when the day finally came and he won an Oscar, he fulfilled that promise with a heart full of resentment. He continued taking on role after role until his schedule became so packed that we never even had a honeymoon. With every phone call, he grew more impatient and less willing to talk. Then came the interview where he admitted that our marriage had been nothing more than a transactional exchange for my investment in his career. His popularity soared after winning the award. Emil's fans often imagined themselves as his wife, so they saw me, the woman who actually married him and who had been born into wealth, as their rival and nemesis. They quickly organized a hate campaign against me online. Before long, they had even turned my name into a meme. I already knew that celebrity fans could be dangerously obsessive, but I never expected to be doxxed, stalked, and eventually attacked with sulfuric acid outside my own home. By the time I reached the hospital, my face had been damaged beyond repair. My life itself hung in the balance. Emil came to the hospital while the doctors were fighting to save me. I assumed he had come because he cared, because he wanted to be there when I needed love and support during the darkest moment of my life. I was wrong. "I don't need you anymore, Bette," he said coldly, looking down at me from beside my hospital bed. "I have a brighter future ahead of me, but I can't walk that path with you holding me back." He went on about how his fans had discovered our marriage after he became an Academy Award-winning actor. "I've built my reputation around my life as an actor. I'm supposed to be the underdog, the grassroots performer who pulled himself up by his bootstraps until he reached the pinnacle of an acting career. I've sacrificed too much to maintain that image. "Which is why you've become a problem. If people found out you were the one financing my career all this time, and that I only made it because I relied on your money like some sugar baby... then no one would see my Oscar as something I truly earned. "At that rate, many of my fans would leave the fandom, and my haters would attack me even more relentlessly. Everything I've worked so hard to achieve would be destroyed!" Chapter 2 "I don't want to lose any of this, Bette. I'm gonna need you to do this for me one last time!" He bribed the doctor on duty to remove my respirator during the operation. I died in agony. After my death became public, Emil put his Oscar-worthy acting skills on full display and cried like the tragic hero of a heartbreaking drama. His fans claimed they had never seen a man with such profound emotion and devotion, which only made them adore him even more. Overnight, every doubt about his legitimacy vanished, replaced by sympathy and even stronger public support. His fame reached new heights. His agency was ecstatic and booked him for more interviews, talk shows, and God knows what else. One collaboration followed another, along with one endorsement after another. He had found an endless stream of money, and he reveled in it. Now that the public's attention had shifted completely away from me, he forgot all about my corpse. Had it not been for a certain someone, my body would never have received a proper burial. … The thought of that man's handsome face suddenly made me want to leave. While Emil continued putting on a spectacle for the media and his fans, I rose to my feet and headed for the exit. He noticed me leaving and assumed I was jealous because he had embraced the actress. Irritation flashed across his face, and he immediately sent me a series of text messages. Emil: [What the hell? Leaving in the middle of the ceremony? Why? Because I was pretending to have a thing with an actress? Grow up already. It's showbiz. I'm doing this for the attention!] Emil: [Or were you upset that I didn't mention your name in my speech? If that's the reason, then I don't even know what to say to you. I thought we were past that kind of dramatic, performative display of affection!] Emil: [Other people might make up stories about me and Helena, but you of all people should know there's nothing between us! Come on!] Emil: [This is the day I win an Oscar. You know how much this means to me! So stop being a bitch on the most important day of my life!] Wow. He was already that quick to resort to insults and verbal abuse. My only response was to block his number and look for the young man who had retrieved my body. I remembered him as an unknown actor who kept getting sidelined by the company for being too honest and straightforward. He had been acting professionally for three years and still hadn't gained any recognition. I knew who he was, though. He frequently appeared in the same productions as Emil. He was always the unnamed extra while Emil played the lead. Whenever I visited the set, Emil was always too busy for me. He all but ignored me because he had countless scenes to film, and he rarely even bothered to greet me. On the other hand, that young man would always bring me something warm to drink while I waited. Sometimes, he would chat with me for a while. Other times, he would simply greet me before returning to work. He never once made me feel uncomfortable or overstepped any boundaries. I still didn't know why he had cared enough to give me a proper burial. Maybe he was simply that kind. Maybe he felt sorry for someone he at least knew in passing. Or maybe it was because... I would never know, would I? What I did know was that, with my second chance at life, I was going to spend my money on someone else. "Miss Colbert?" I looked up. The young man who had occupied my thoughts stood before me, his lanky frame wrapped in a thick black parka. He looked at me with gentle eyes. I remembered the expression on his face when he retrieved my corpse. He had been crying. His eyes had been red, and his entire body had trembled. A lump suddenly rose in my throat. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "My agent told me to experience the vibe of the Academy Awards... from here," he replied with an embarrassed smile. That was a lie. He had come to make himself a little more visible, hoping some of the attention surrounding the red carpet might spill over onto him. Unfortunately, he hadn't been formally invited, so he didn't have a seat inside. Once the red carpet festivities ended, all he could do was remain outside. I smiled and stepped toward him. "Come on. You're not gonna experience much of the vibe from out here. Let's get you inside." He stared at me in disbelief. "I-I'd be honored!" Chapter 3 Leading the young man back into the event caused quite a stir. Attention shifted toward us from every direction, but I ignored it. The young man also seemed focused only on me, paying everyone else no mind. Emil glared from his seat as he furiously fired off texts. Emil: [What the fuck are you doing?!] Emil: [You think you can get under my skin just by bringing some random NPC with you?!] Emil: [Do you still want me to marry you or not?! Because you're shooting your fucking self in the foot!] A faint smirk tugged at my lips for a brief moment. He caught my eye and froze before his expression darkened even further. "Miss Colbert, a little bird told us you came here to celebrate our Best Actor's achievements this year. He seems to be taking home quite a few awards tonight! Is there anything you'd like to say about that? Perhaps a word of congratulations?" the emcee asked. I smiled. "Oh, then I guess the little bird got it wrong. I came here for this young man beside me. Not him." The crowd gasped. Everyone in the industry knew I was the deep pocket bankrolling Emil's career. His achievements were only possible because of my money. That meant we had some kind of "special connection." The fact that I was dressed even more lavishly than several actresses, despite not being one myself, only reinforced the assumption that I was here to celebrate Emil's success. I gestured toward the young man beside me. He accepted the attention with poise and grace. "Good evening, everyone. My name is Ashe Olivier. I'm very honored to be here." "Ashe is a very promising artist, I can tell you that. If any writer or director has an interesting project and is looking for fresh talent, give him a chance. I'm sure you'll be very surprised," I said. The gossip grew louder as people darted their eyes between me and Emil. "Is she kicking Emil to the curb?!" "I mean, Emil and Bette are supposed to be practically engaged. But he didn't mention her in his acceptance speech at all. Then he hugged the actress he's rumored to be dating!" "This new guy looks like the next internet dreamboat, y'all. Next Best Actor, anyone?" "Bette really knows how to pick the right men, huh?" "Uh-oh. Someone's suffering the consequences of being an idiot. If I were him, I'd have done everything I could to treasure Bette." "Some people think they've got it all made just because they won an award. Pfft. Let's see how long he stays afloat without her." Fans might be willfully ignorant, fiercely loyal to their chosen idols, and ready to wage a holy war for them, but people in the industry were far more pragmatic. In Hollywood, connections were everything. Knowing the right person opened more doors than popularity ever could. And no one with half a brain and any ambition would piss off their financier. Emil had it too good. I cultivated the connections for him, so he never had to humble himself or endure the humiliating grind of chasing roles. Eventually, he started believing his success came entirely from his own "effort." Why was he the Best Actor at all? Hollywood was saturated with actors, many of whom were genuinely more talented than he was. Many worked harder. Plenty were even more physically attractive. His fame and adoring fans had deluded him. He believed the fantasy they built around him. He had lost sight of reality. "Aren't you a close friend, let's call it that for now, of Mr. Brando?" the emcee followed up, clearly hoping to stir up more drama. "Surely a friend would have prepared a congratulatory speech, right?" The camera panned to Emil and his glowering face. I grinned. "I'm the producer behind many of Mr. Brando's projects over the years, so yes. Of course I'm happy he made it this far. Congratulations! I hope he keeps winning awards like these every year so he can relive this moment again and again!" Emil stared at me. Something about this felt off to him. I had arrived with a complete unknown, introduced him to the entire audience before acknowledging Emil, and only then offered my congratulations. It came across as more than a little passive-aggressive. 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.