Rejected My IP? I Gave It to Their Rivals

Chapter 1

"We don't want some hand-me-down script, and we sure as hell aren't taking whatever scraps the big shots toss our way!"

The second Sophie Sullivan tossed those words out, the entire studio went dead silent.

The producers sitting in the front row went pale, as if someone had dumped a bucket of plaster dust over their heads.

Director Zachary's mug sloshed in his grip, nearly slipping from his hand.

The guy running the livestream jolted so hard that his camera jerked upward and pointed straight at the ceiling.

An extra in the audience muttered under his breath, "Is she out of her mind?"

Other people, ears bright red with excitement, ducked down in the back and waited for the drama to explode.

Sophie stood dead center beneath the spotlight, her costume pressed crisp as a brand-new dollar bill. Her ponytail was pulled up so tight that not a single strand was out of place.

Her eyes were rimmed with red, but she couldn't hide the smug little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Dignity. New talent. The underdog. The entertainment industry.

With those buzzwords hanging heavily over the stage, anyone who dared call her out would instantly be painted as a greedy, heartless bully who had too much money and too little conscience.

Director Zachary scrambled onto the stage.

"Sophie, don't make a scene. Give me the mic."

Sophie stepped out of his reach.

"I'm not making a scene, Director Zachary. I just want everyone to know that we're not pretty props for the big shots to parade around. We might be short on opportunities, but we're not short on backbone."

The livestream chat exploded, with comments flying by so fast they blurred together.

A: [This girl's got guts, holy crap.]

B: [Now that's how you stand your ground without being a jerk.]

C: [Bet the big-money suits are squirming right now.]

D: [Oh, 5 million makes you a big shot? Please.]

I sat in the very front row, watching every flicker of expression on Sophie's face.

Director Zachary was sweating bullets. He turned and looked straight at me.

"Mr. Lawson, she's just a kid. She speaks without thinking. Don't take it personally, alright?"

He sounded apologetic, but it was obvious what he was really worried about—losing my investment and the project.

My assistant leaned in, his voice low and urgent. "Should we cut the livestream right now?"

"No."

He replied, "If we let this keep going, there's no way we'll be able to salvage the situation today."

"That ship's sailed."

Everyone in the studio kept sneaking glances in my direction.

They were waiting for me to slam my fist on the table. Waiting for me to lose my temper. Waiting for me to get into a screaming match with some rookie halfway across the stage.

I walked to the edge of the stage and took another mic from the host.

A flicker of triumph flashed through Sophie's eyes.

She thought she'd backed me into a corner.

Naive.

I curled my lips into a faint smile and clapped twice.

"Well said. It's rare to see a newcomer with this kind of backbone. If you don't want this opportunity, I won't force you to take it."

The smug smile on Sophie's face froze.

"I bought the rights to this project because I didn't want to watch people bow and scrape just to get work. If you all think this is some kind of handout, then we're done here for today."

Director Zachary's face turned a furious, sickly green.

"Mr. Lawson!"

I set the mic back on its stand.

When Sophie walked off the stage, her back was ramrod straight.

Less than 30 minutes later, a clip of her speech was blowing up all over the internet.

The headline was as blunt as it could be.

"We Won't Take Handouts. We Trust Our Own Hard Work."

The comments were filled with praise.

My assistant shoved his phone in front of me and huffed, "See that, Mr. Lawson? She's using you as a stepping stone to boost her own fame."

I glanced at the screen for a couple of seconds.

"The editing's actually pretty good."

"You're not mad?"

"Would that change anything? If she doesn't want this opportunity, there are plenty of people who'd fight tooth and nail to get it."

A few hours later, it was already 9 p.m. when Director Zachary showed up with the others to apologize.

The hotel suite was spacious enough to host the whole group.

The moment Director Zachary stepped through the door, he bowed so deeply that his back was practically folded in half.

"Mr. Lawson, today's mess was all on me. She's young and got swept up in all the online hype. Don't hold her nonsense against her, please?"

Sophie followed right behind him, bundled up in a white down jacket with her head hanging low.

When she spoke, her voice was small and soft.

"Mr. Lawson, I'm sorry."

I kept flipping through the script in my hands without looking up.

"Sorry for what, exactly?"

She bit her lower lip.

"If anything I said upset you, I'm sorry. I really am."

My assistant let out a quiet scoff beside me.

"That's about as hollow as an apology gets. She might as well have said nothing."

Director Zachary's face immediately darkened.

"Sophie, apologize properly."

Her eyes reddened, tears dropping onto the carpet.

"I already said I'm sorry! What more do you want from me? Just because you put up the money, I'm supposed to kiss the ground you walk on?"