My Actress Girlfriend - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
You are reading My Actress Girlfriend, Chapter 10: Chapter 10. Read more chapters of My Actress Girlfriend.
The photos were too grainy at first—some netizens insisted it could be anyone, not necessarily director Vincent Roscente.
Then the whistleblower dropped two more batches. Crystal clear this time. Different locations—a VIP lounge at an exclusive club, a penthouse suite. Same Vincent, but the women beside him? Never the same face twice.
The internet lost its damn mind.
What started as a run-of-the-mill cheating scandal exploded into a full-blown pattern of exploitation.
Netizens did what they do best—digging. The women were identified: an art student, a rising influencer, a struggling actress. This wasn't just infidelity. This was abuse of power. Vincent had been leveraging his influence, preying on women who couldn't say no.
Suddenly, every star who'd ever worked with him was sweating bullets—who'd be exposed next?
Sophia Laurent, though? She'd been keeping a low profile, but not in the way you'd expect. Her name wasn't on any leaked lists, and she was acting… weirdly upbeat. Like she was enjoying the chaos.
She draped herself over me, all casual confidence. I decided to poke the bear.
"Aren't you worried? With the whole Vincent mess?"
A smirk curled her lips. "Why would I be? I've got front-row seats to the show."
I pushed further. "You've been meeting him a lot lately. What if photos of you two surface?"
Her body went rigid. A sharp, crimson nail dug into my chest.
"When did I ever meet Vincent?" Her voice was ice. "You're the one sneaking around with him. If they find proof you were partying with him and those women? Oh, Ethan. You won't like what happens next."
I stared. She was still denying it?
Then Vincent called.
"Ethan. Get here. Now."
Assuming it was about his next project, I drove straight over.
The second I stepped inside, a stack of photos hit me square in the chest.
"You've got some nerve," Vincent hissed, "sabotaging me like this."
I picked them up. Same shots as the leaked ones—except these were uncropped. And in every single one? There I was.
"Explain." His voice dripped venom.
How the hell was I supposed to?
Yeah, I'd suspected Vincent had messed with my girlfriend. Yeah, I'd been waiting to catch them. But I didn't hire a damn photographer.
And even if I had—why would I include myself in the shots?
"This wasn't me. I swear, I don't know anything."
"Then who else?" Vincent's lip curled. "What are the odds you just happened to be there every time? And miraculously, the leaked photos all conveniently cut you out?" He stepped closer. "I borrowed your script framework. If you wanted credit, you could've asked. But now? You've torched my project. Do you even know how much this will cost me? Could you possibly pay for it?"
That's when it clicked.
His "new project" was my stolen screenplay.
He'd slept with my girlfriend. Stolen my work.
Enough.
I swung. My fist connected with his face. Hard.
Then the whistleblower dropped two more batches. Crystal clear this time. Different locations—a VIP lounge at an exclusive club, a penthouse suite. Same Vincent, but the women beside him? Never the same face twice.
The internet lost its damn mind.
What started as a run-of-the-mill cheating scandal exploded into a full-blown pattern of exploitation.
Netizens did what they do best—digging. The women were identified: an art student, a rising influencer, a struggling actress. This wasn't just infidelity. This was abuse of power. Vincent had been leveraging his influence, preying on women who couldn't say no.
Suddenly, every star who'd ever worked with him was sweating bullets—who'd be exposed next?
Sophia Laurent, though? She'd been keeping a low profile, but not in the way you'd expect. Her name wasn't on any leaked lists, and she was acting… weirdly upbeat. Like she was enjoying the chaos.
She draped herself over me, all casual confidence. I decided to poke the bear.
"Aren't you worried? With the whole Vincent mess?"
A smirk curled her lips. "Why would I be? I've got front-row seats to the show."
I pushed further. "You've been meeting him a lot lately. What if photos of you two surface?"
Her body went rigid. A sharp, crimson nail dug into my chest.
"When did I ever meet Vincent?" Her voice was ice. "You're the one sneaking around with him. If they find proof you were partying with him and those women? Oh, Ethan. You won't like what happens next."
I stared. She was still denying it?
Then Vincent called.
"Ethan. Get here. Now."
Assuming it was about his next project, I drove straight over.
The second I stepped inside, a stack of photos hit me square in the chest.
"You've got some nerve," Vincent hissed, "sabotaging me like this."
I picked them up. Same shots as the leaked ones—except these were uncropped. And in every single one? There I was.
"Explain." His voice dripped venom.
How the hell was I supposed to?
Yeah, I'd suspected Vincent had messed with my girlfriend. Yeah, I'd been waiting to catch them. But I didn't hire a damn photographer.
And even if I had—why would I include myself in the shots?
"This wasn't me. I swear, I don't know anything."
"Then who else?" Vincent's lip curled. "What are the odds you just happened to be there every time? And miraculously, the leaked photos all conveniently cut you out?" He stepped closer. "I borrowed your script framework. If you wanted credit, you could've asked. But now? You've torched my project. Do you even know how much this will cost me? Could you possibly pay for it?"
That's when it clicked.
His "new project" was my stolen screenplay.
He'd slept with my girlfriend. Stolen my work.
Enough.
I swung. My fist connected with his face. Hard.
End of My Actress Girlfriend Chapter 10. Continue reading Chapter 11 or return to My Actress Girlfriend book page.