A Hollywood Producer’s Revenge：My Husband’s Sweetheart Co-Star Tried to Replace Me，Too Bad I Made Them Famous

Emma Davis, the young actress Oliver got close to while filming The Hollow Room, walks into his Oscar after-party dressed almost exactly like me. She sees me and smiles. “Mrs. Jones.” Her eyes drop to my dress. “Oh my God.” I look at her. “What?” She laughs under her breath. “Nothing. It’s just… wow.” “Say it.” “I mean, I knew you liked what I wore to the Governors Awards.” She smiles. “I just didn’t think you’d actually do the whole look.” Oliver turns around. “Emma.” “What?” She looks at him. “I’m kidding.” Then she looks back at me. “You look good, Mrs. Jones. Seriously.” I laugh. “You think I copied you?” “I didn’t say that.” “You kind of did.” She shrugs. “I’m just saying, this is like the third time.” “The third time what?” “We show up looking the same.” Emma smiles like I’m making this way more serious than it is. “Come on, Mrs. Jones. People notice stuff.” Oliver sighs. “Rachel, just let it go.” I look at him. “She’s literally standing here telling me I copied her.” Emma cuts in. “No, I’m not.” “Yes, you are.” “I said people might think that.” She looks at Oliver. “See? This is what I mean.” I laugh. “What do you mean?” “You get so mad.” “I’m not mad.” “Okay.” That “okay” almost gets me. Then I notice the diamond camellia brooch on her dress. My brooch. “Where’d you get that?” Emma looks down. “This?” “Yes.” She touches it. “I’ve had this forever.” “No, you haven’t.” She looks back up at me. “Seriously?” “Yeah. Seriously.” Oliver steps closer. “Rachel.” I don’t look at him. “That’s mine.” Emma lets out a small laugh. “Mrs. Jones, come on.” “You’re wearing my dress and my brooch.” Her smile fades. “I wore this when we were doing The Hollow Room.” Oliver goes quiet. Emma looks at him. “You remember.” Of course he does. That movie changed his career. Before The Hollow Room, Oliver was a movie star. After it, people finally started calling him a serious actor. Emma had been nobody when she got cast opposite him. The director almost replaced both of them after their first read. Oliver knows that part. What he doesn’t know is that I called the director the next morning and talked him into keeping Oliver. When he told me Emma was getting cut too, I told him to give her another shot. She was new. I thought she deserved one. Oliver asked me later if I had gotten involved. “Well, I just made a call.” That was all I said. He hated people thinking he got parts because his wife was a producer. So I never told him more. Emma smiles at him now. “That second read changed everything.” Oliver nods. “It did.” She turns back to me. “I know you weren’t really there for that part.” I stare at her. Emma lowers her voice. “Oliver and I kind of went through that together.” “Did you?” Her smile tightens. “Mrs. Jones, I’m not trying to take anything from you.” “Good.” I point at the brooch. “Then turn it over.” She freezes. “What?” “If it’s yours, turn it over.” Oliver frowns. “Rachel, seriously?” “There’s something engraved on the back.” Emma blinks. “I don’t know anything about that.” “You’ve had it for years, right?” “So?” “So what does it say?” Her eyes start to shine. Oliver steps between us. “Enough.” I look at him. “You believe her?” He rubs a hand over his face. “Rachel, I’m not doing this here.” Emma touches his arm. “It’s okay. I should probably go.” Oliver looks at her immediately. “No.” She gives him a small smile. “I don’t want to mess up your night.” “You’re not.” Emma glances at me. “I know I’m just someone you worked with.” Oliver shakes his head. “Come on. You know you’re more than that.” Something in me goes very still. My phone buzzes. A message from my assistant. Found the gown. It came out of your archive yesterday. No approval. I lock my screen. Then I look at Emma. “Enjoy the party, Mrs. Davis.”

By the time I get home, Emma has already posted. Of course she has. Two photos. One of her at the party in my dress. One of me looking at her like I wanted her dead. Caption: Some things are more flattering the first time. I stare at it. Oliver walks in behind me and drops his keys on the counter. “Don’t.” I look up. “Don’t what?” “Make this bigger.” I turn my phone toward him. “She posted this ten minutes ago.” He barely looks. “Emma posts everything.” “She’s telling people I copied her.” “She didn’t say your name.” “She didn’t have to.” Oliver sighs. “Rachel, seriously.” I laugh. “No, seriously. She steals a dress out of my archive, wears my brooch, posts about me, and somehow I’m still the problem?” He goes quiet for a second. “The dress thing, we’ll figure out.” “We?” “You know what I mean.” I toss my phone on the counter. “No. I really don’t.” His phone starts buzzing. He checks it and swears under his breath. “What?” “Publicity.” That gets my attention. Oliver looks at me. “It’s about Stillwater.” My movie. I’ve been putting it together for almost four years. I found the script, brought in the director, closed half the financing, and spent eight months getting Oliver to agree to the lead. Emma joined three weeks ago. Supporting role. Her first job since The Hollow Room. Oliver rubs the back of his neck. “They want to change tomorrow’s press lineup.” I already know I’m not going to like this. “How?” “They want Emma doing the morning show with me.” “She’s already doing it.” “And the industry panel.” I stare at him. “That’s mine.” “I know.” “Do you?” “Rachel, come on.” “No. You come on. I produced the movie.” “The press team thinks putting you up there tomorrow is gonna turn the whole thing into this.” He points at my phone. I laugh. “So Emma starts something online, and I get pulled from my own panel?” “It’s one panel.” “And who takes my seat?” He doesn’t answer. I nod. “Right.” Oliver walks closer. “It makes sense. She’s in the movie.” “She has fourteen minutes of screen time.” “She’s getting a lot of attention right now.” “Yeah. I noticed.” His jaw tightens. “You’re doing it again.” “Doing what?” “Making everything about her.” I just look at him. An hour later, my assistant sends me the updated schedule. OLIVER JONES & EMMA DAVIS — THE STORY BEHIND STILLWATER I read that twice. Then I call her. “Who approved this?” “Oliver’s team pushed it through with the studio.” “Okay.” “You want me to fight it?” I look at Emma’s post again. “No.” There’s a pause. “Rachel?” “Let her do it.” The next morning, Emma shows up at my office. She’s wearing cream, barely any makeup, hair pulled back. Very innocent. Very sorry. “Mrs. Jones.” I lean back in my chair. “What do you want?” She puts the new press schedule on my desk. “I just wanted you to know I didn’t ask for this.” “Sure.” “I mean it.” “Okay.” She looks at me for a second. Then she smiles. “You know, Oliver said the audience connects with us because of The Hollow Room.” I say nothing. Her voice gets softer. “I guess some things just follow you.” “Are you done?” Emma’s smile disappears. Then she steps closer. “You’ve been doing this a long time, Mrs. Jones.” She taps the schedule. “Maybe let somebody else have a turn.” Before I can answer, she slaps herself across the face. Hard. The door opens behind her. Oliver freezes. Emma looks at me with tears already coming. “Mrs. Jones… why would you do that?”

Oliver gets to Emma before I even stand up. “What happened?” Emma covers her cheek. “Nothing.” I laugh. “Of course.” Oliver looks at me. “Rachel.” “I didn’t touch her.” Emma shakes her head fast. “Oliver, please. Don’t make this worse.” He stares at the red mark on her face. Then at me. “Did you hit her?” “No.” Emma looks away. That’s all she has to do. Oliver’s face changes. “Rachel, seriously?” I lean back in my chair. “You asked. I answered.” “She’s standing here with a handprint on her face.” “Yeah. Weird.” Emma starts crying. “I only came here because I felt bad about the panel.” I look at her. “You felt terrible.” “Mrs. Jones, please.” Oliver turns to me. “Enough.” The door is still open. Two people from production are standing outside. One is Martin Hale, a producer I’ve known for twelve years. He looks at Emma. Then at me. He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell immediately. He doesn’t buy it. Neither does Nora, our casting director. She gives me one quick look. The kind that says, Do you want me to stay? I shake my head. Oliver doesn’t notice. “Rachel, you’re off tomorrow’s press.” I look at him. “What?” “You heard me.” Emma grabs his arm. “Oliver, no. Don’t do that because of me.” “It’s not because of you.” I almost smile. He looks at me. “The studio doesn’t need this turning into a bigger mess.” “My movie.” “I know it’s your movie.” “Do you?” His jaw tightens. “Don’t.” I stand. “You’re taking me off my own press because she slapped herself in my office.” Emma goes pale. “Mrs. Jones!” Oliver looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You really hear yourself right now?” I look at Emma. She’s crying harder. Perfect. By lunch, the story is online. POWER PRODUCER RACHEL JONES ACCUSED OF HITTING BREAKOUT STAR EMMA DAVIS Of course there’s no video. Just “sources.” The comments are worse. Imagine being that threatened by a twenty-something actress. Rachel Jones has been running Hollywood forever. Why is she bullying a newcomer? Emma literally helped Oliver become an Oscar actor and now his wife hates her. My phone keeps buzzing. Not from reporters. From people who actually know me. Martin: This is bullshit. Call me if you need me. Nora: I was there. I know you didn’t touch her. A director I worked with ten years ago sends: Don’t respond angry. That’s what they want. I put the phone down. My assistant walks in. “The security camera outside your office caught the glass reflection.” I look up. “Her hitting herself?” “Most of it.” “Good.” She smiles. “Want me to send it?” “No.” Her smile drops. “Rachel.” I open the press folder Emma is using tomorrow. “Not yet.” There’s one version of the production notes with an old scene breakdown. Wrong ending. Wrong motivation. Only someone who never worked on the development would use it. I slide it across the desk. “Give her this one.” My assistant looks at me. “She’ll use it.” “I know.” “And then?” I close my laptop. “Then she can explain it in front of every camera in Los Angeles.”

By ten the next morning, Emma is sitting next to Oliver onstage like she’s been doing this for years. I’m backstage with Martin and Nora. The moderator is supposed to be talking about Stillwater. Instead, it’s Emma, Emma, Emma. Breakout star. Big year. Great chemistry with Oliver. Emma keeps doing that little embarrassed smile. “Stop,” she says when the moderator calls her Hollywood’s new favorite. The audience laughs. Oliver does too. Then the moderator turns to him. “You two go way back now. Did The Hollow Room make this movie easier?” Oliver nods. “Yeah. We already knew how to work together.” Emma looks at him. “He means I knew how to annoy him.” Oliver laughs. “That too.” The moderator grins. “And you guys almost got replaced on The Hollow Room, right?” Emma nods. “Yeah. That was a fun week.” Oliver shakes his head. “It was not fun.” Emma laughs. “You were ready to quit.” “I was pissed.” “You were impossible.” “I was having a bad week.” “You were dramatic.” The room laughs again. Then Emma shrugs. “We did the read again. It worked. We stayed.” The moderator leans in. “So that chemistry basically saved the movie?” Emma smiles. “I mean... I’m not gonna say that.” A beat. “But it didn’t hurt.” More laughs. I don’t. Then they move on to Stillwater. The moderator asks Emma what pulled her into the story. She opens the folder in her lap. The one I gave her. She starts talking about the lead trying to reconnect with his daughter. I look at Martin. He looks right back at me. That storyline was cut almost a year ago. Emma keeps going. “That’s really the heart of it for me. Him and his daughter, all that stuff he can’t fix—” Oliver turns to her. “There’s no daughter.” Silence. Emma looks at him. “What?” “That was an old draft.” Her face changes for half a second. Then she laughs. “Oh my God. Right.” The moderator smiles awkwardly. Emma waves it off. “Sorry. I’ve read way too many versions of this thing.” Martin mutters, “Sure you have.” I almost smile. After the panel, Emma comes backstage fast. “Mrs. Jones.” I look up. She holds up the folder. “Seriously?” “What?” “You gave me the old notes.” “I gave you production notes.” “You knew.” “Knew what?” “That I’d use them.” “You did use them.” Her mouth tightens. Oliver walks in. “What’s happening?” Emma turns to him. “Nothing.” I laugh. Oliver looks at me. “Rachel.” “She just found out she was talking about a character that got cut last year.” Emma crosses her arms. “I messed up one detail.” “One detail?” “Yeah. One.” Oliver sighs. “Okay, can we not do this?” I look at him. “She’s out there doing press for a movie she barely knows.” “She’s been on it three weeks.” “Exactly.” Emma looks down. “Sorry I’m not perfect, Mrs. Jones.” I stare at her. “That’s not what I said.” “I know.” She gives me this tiny smile. “That’s just how it feels.” Oliver’s face softens immediately. Of course it does. Emma heads for the door. He looks at me. “Did you really have to do that?” “Do what?” “Set her up.” I laugh. “She opened the folder.” “Rachel.” “What?” He rubs his face. “Just... stop.” My phone buzzes. A headline is already up. RACHEL JONES SET EMMA DAVIS UP TO BOMB ONSTAGE, SOURCE SAYS I show him. He says nothing. Then Martin texts me. Everybody in that room knows she didn’t know the movie. Don’t worry about the internet. I lock my phone. The internet can believe Emma. People who’ve actually worked with me know better.