Divorcing Hollywood’s Genius: I Am My Own Muse Chapter 01

A few years ago, the next heir to the Vale family walked away from his position as Don to plunge into the entertainment industry.

Possessing staggering talent, he had already become the most sought-after breakout director of the moment.

Yet, alongside Ronan Vale’s sheer brilliance came his notoriously sharp tongue and savage wit.

Upon hearing that his new film was about to start shooting, fans of every stripe flocked to the comments to pitch their favorite idols.

But he only replied to my fans with a single line:

[Over-the-top and melodramatic. Don’t desecrate my art.]

Those few words thrust me right into the crosshairs of a massive internet storm.

The irony? I was actually his wife. Legal.

Faced with the overwhelming onslaught of abuse online, I clutched my phone, my voice trembling.

“Why?”

Ronan knit his brows, scanning me up and down.

“You usually play pretty, useless ornaments, and just because your brainless fans praise you, you actually take them seriously? ”

“Which part of you fits the criteria for a leading lady? Scarlett, don’t try to fit in where you don’t belong.”

Seeing me drop my head in silence, he finally softened his tone like he was granting charity.

“Alright, we’ll talk about it next time there’s an opportunity. Same old rule—don’t contact me while I’m filming.”

Five years of a secret marriage, and what he left me with was always “next time.”

Even though he knew perfectly well that I had cleared my entire schedule just for his new movie.

A notification popped up right on cue.

A rising starlet was leaning against his arm, making a grand appearance at the opening ceremony.

Staring at the smiling Ronan on the screen, I lowered my head and fired off a message to another account.

[Send me that script of yours again. Let me take a look.]

Ronan, I’m done playing along with the script of your life.

I’m no longer your leading lady.

I’m going to be the main character of my own story.

…

The opening ceremony livestream was still running when a reporter immediately raised a hand to ask a question.

“Rumor has it that Director Ronan is notoriously strict. Bianca, is this your first time working with Director Ronan? Are you nervous?”

Bianca glanced up at Ronan first before offering a shy smile.

“Strict? I think he’s fine. Maybe some people who find Director Ronan hard to get along with are just fundamentally unsuited for him.”

Her insinuation was so blatant that even the drama-loving entertainment reporters froze for a second.

Yet Ronan remained completely silent, never offering a single word to defend me.

Bianca addressed the camera graciously.

“Director Ronan actually sent this script to me six months ago. Our ideas clicked instantly. I’m confident we can deliver an outstanding piece of work to everyone. See you at the theaters!”

Clutching my phone, I froze in shock.

Six months ago.

Back then, I had just finished a grueling three-day, two-night shoot.

I dragged my exhausted body home, only to find the floor covered in discarded drafts and overturned coffee cups.

Ronan had looked up from the sea of crumpled paper, his eyes burning with an intense fire called ambition.

“Just wait and see,” he had said. “This new film will sweep Hollywood.”

Back in college, Ronan used to have that same fierce look in his eyes when he held my hand and made a solemn vow.

“Scarlett, before your thirtieth birthday, I will make sure you take home an Aureate Award with my work.”

The Aureate Awards—the highest honor in the cinematic world, and my ultimate dream.

So when I heard his new movie was entering production, my heart swelled with joy, thinking he had finally remembered that old promise.

I turned down all work for the latter half of the year, keeping my schedule wide open, just waiting for him to say the word.

It wasn’t until today that I realized his choice from the very beginning was never me.

While managing the negative press about me, my agent, Mavis, snatched the phone out of my hand and let out a ruthless sneer.

“Scarlett, is this guy really your husband?”

I couldn’t help but look down with a bitter smile.

When Ronan wasn’t famous, he refused to go public.

He said he wanted to stand proudly by my side with a new status one day.

Now he had become the sharpest calling card of the Vale family and a breakout director coveted by Hollywood.

Yet every time I brought up going public, he would only frown.

“Next time.”

Next time again.

Just how many more “next times” were there going to be?

“You’re turning thirty soon, stuck in no man’s land where everyone mocks your lack of acting skills. Do you plan on spinning your wheels in reality shows for the rest of your life?”

Mavis glared at me, exasperated that I wasn’t putting up a fight.

The sudden ring of my phone cut off her lecturing. Ronan’s cold face appeared on the screen.

“Director Julian has a new project. I got you a cameo. I’ve sent the script over.”

I tapped it open and skimmed a few pages.

Unsurprisingly, it was another uninspired eye-candy role—standing among a crowd of men, responsible for looking pretty and making the male lead’s story look complete.

I took a deep breath. “Ronan, I don’t want to take this. I…”

Ronan’s expression darkened.

“Then what do you want? The leading role? Scarlett, look at your own image. Can you stop chasing these unrealistic dreams?”

I was left speechless.

Because of my striking looks and curvaceous figure, I was dubbed “Hollywood’s luxury doll.”

To put it nicely, I was a red-carpet darling.

To put it bluntly? I was just a trophy.

Over the years, every single role that came my way was the same—the mistress, the beauty, the pretty wife—mere ornaments in a man’s story.

Once, I gathered the courage to approach a production myself, only for the director to laugh in my face.

“Scarlett? Quit joking. That face of hers belongs on a mantelpiece.”

I couldn’t help but laugh mockingly at myself.

“Ronan, in your eyes, I’m only fit to be a decoration for the rest of my life, aren’t I? I’m turning thirty. If I don’t land a real role soon, my career is over.”

“Don’t forget, I’m an actress. My dream—”

He cut me off ruthlessly once again.

“Then stop acting. A dream is different from a delusion.”

Bianca’s voice drifted over from behind him. “Ronan, it’s time to head over.”

He shut off the camera, leaving me with a final line: “The role is yours. Take it or leave it, but don’t look for me again.”

The call disconnected.

Mavis took the script, glanced at it, and hesitated.

“Director Julian’s movies always do well at the box office. Maybe… just go show your face?”

Seeing my silence, she spoke up anxiously.

“What else can we do? You cleared everything for Ronan, and now he gave the lead to Bianca. Are you really going to sit at home and watch everyone else strip away your resources?”

I took a deep breath, pulling out the other script I had just received.

“No. I’m taking this one.”