Collide Into Ruin

Chapter 45 Checkmate, Darling

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the sleek, modern living room as, yet another photo frame crashed against the marble fireplace. Scarlett Evans—formerly Scarlett Hanson—stood in the wreckage, her breathing ragged, her fingers curled into fists so tight her manicured nails threatened to pierce skin.

Her golden-blonde waves, usually polished to perfection, were slightly disheveled, a result of the pure rage coursing through her body. Those sharp cheekbones and full lips—painted in her signature deep red—were twisted in a look of pure fury, while her piercing blue eyes burned with an intensity that could incinerate a man where he stood.

And right now?

She was imagining Ryder Evans standing right in front of her, burning to a crisp.

Scarlett Evans was not a woman to be trifled with.

Born and raised as Scarlett Hanson, she was once one of the youngest CEOs in the world. A woman who had clawed her way to the top, working tirelessly to build her empire. She hadn't inherited wealth. She hadn't been handed anything. No, she fought for every single dollar in her billion-dollar empire, outsmarting men twice her age in boardrooms and making her name known as one of the most ruthless, powerful women in business.

She had everything—power, money, success—until she met Ryder Evans.

A struggling, small-time actor with a pretty face and a dream.

Scarlett had fallen hard and fast. She had thought she was marrying love, not a liability. She thought she had found her equal, someone who would stand by her side. But instead, she had become his steppingstone.

It was Scarlett who had introduced him to Kevin Feige. It was Scarlett who had pulled the strings, made the calls, and ensured Ryder got his first major role in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Without her, he wouldn't have made it past the audition doors.

And now?

Now, that ungrateful bastard was humiliating her.

Scarlett clenched her jaw, eyes darting down to the coffee table where the envelope still lay open. The photos inside were seared into her brain.

Ryder.

Hallie Rogers.

Their bodies tangled together in a hotel suite. In a car. In what looked like a damn dressing room.

She had told him to end things. Years ago. She knew. Of course, she knew. A woman like her always knew. And for a while, Ryder had pretended to listen. He had promised. Sworn. Looked her dead in the eye and said, It's over, baby. It's only you.

Lies.

Because every time, he found his way back to that B-list, no-talent, social-climbing bitch.

Scarlett grabbed another frame—this one of their wedding day—and threw it against the wall just as the front door swung open.

Ryder Evans strolled in, gym bag slung over his shoulder, his black hoodie damp with sweat, looking completely oblivious to the war zone he had just walked into.

"Scarlett, what the hell—"

Before he could finish, she grabbed the first thing within reach—his MTV Movie Award for Best Kiss—and hurled it at him with terrifying accuracy.

Ryder barely ducked in time as the golden popcorn trophy slammed against the wall behind him.

"Jesus Christ, Scarlett—are you insane?" he shouted, straightening up.

Scarlett let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Insane? Oh, baby, we haven't even started crazy yet."

Ryder's brows furrowed, his blue eyes flicking to the wreckage. "What the hell is going on?"

Scarlett grabbed the envelope off the table, stormed toward him, and shoved it against his chest. "Why don't you tell me, Ryder?"

He frowned, looking down before reluctantly pulling out the photos. His face paled instantly.

Scarlett folded her arms, watching him like a predator toying with its prey. "Go on," she sneered. "Explain. Convince me these are deepfakes. That you were hacked. That it's your twin I don't know about. I dare you."

Ryder swallowed, flipping through the damning images. His jaw clenched. "Where the hell did you get these?"

Scarlett's eyes flashed. Not the right question.

"Oh, that's what you're worried about?" she hissed. "Not the fact that you've been screwing Hallie Rogers—again?"

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. "Scarlett, listen—"

"Oh, I'm listening, Ryder," she cut in. "I've been listening for years. Listening to your excuses. Listening to your promises. And guess what? I'm done listening."

Ryder set the photos down on the counter, his expression shifting into something defensive. "I told you before, she means nothing to me—"

Scarlett let out a bark of laughter. "Yeah? Well, your nothing sure seems to be making a habit of spreading her legs for you."

His face darkened. "Scarlett—"

"No, you listen," she snapped, stepping closer, her voice lowering into something lethal. "I don't know what's worse, Ryder. The fact that you cheated? Again? Or the fact that you keep crawling back to her—a woman so painfully average that even reality TV wouldn't cast her."

Ryder's nostrils flared. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Scarlett's lips curled into a smirk, dangerous and cold. "Don't I?"

And then, with one swift motion, she grabbed the stack of photos from the counter and flung them into the air.

Dozens of glossy prints rained down like confetti—each one a damning, irrefutable truth Ryder could no longer escape.

Scarlett tilted her head, watching him with mock curiosity. "So tell me, husband," she drawled, "when exactly were you planning to tell me you got your side-piece pregnant?"

Ryder went rigid. His jaw tightened so hard she swore she heard his teeth grind. The room fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by the faint rustle of the incriminating photos settling onto the polished floor.

Scarlett tilted her head, her arms folded as she watched him flounder for a response.

"Nothing to say?" she taunted, her voice dripping with venom. "No grand speech? No Oscar-worthy performance where you swear it's not yours?" She let out a sharp laugh. "Because, Ryder, if you even think about blaming this on a paternity scam, I will personally set every last one of your Marvel contracts on fire."

Ryder's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his body wound tight like a coil. "Where did you hear that?"

Scarlett let out a slow, mocking tsk and crossed the room, picking up one of the photos. It was particularly damning—Hallie, half-dressed, draped over him like an over-eager fan at a comic convention.

She turned it around and studied it for a moment, before flicking it at him like it was nothing more than an old receipt. "Oh, darling, it's not about where I heard it," she said coolly. "It's about who wants you to know that I know."

Ryder's brows furrowed, but Scarlett could see the flicker of unease beneath his usual arrogance. Good. Let him sweat.

Scarlett took a step forward, her stilettos clicking against the floor like a countdown to his execution. "So, tell me, Ryder," she continued, her voice like silk wrapped around a blade, "how long were you planning on lying to me this time? Until she popped? Until she went running to the tabloids? Or were you just hoping I'd be stupid enough to believe it was some random guy's baby?"

"Scarlett—"

"No!" she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through his pathetic excuse for an explanation. "You don't get to speak right now. You don't get to twist this into some bullshit misunderstanding." She took a deep breath, her nails digging into her palms. "I have defended you. I have built you. I have protected your sorry ass from every PR disaster you've created, and this—" she gestured wildly to the mess of photos, "—is how you repay me?"

Ryder exhaled heavily, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "It's not what you think."

Scarlett's head jerked back so fast it was a miracle she didn't get whiplash.

"Not what I think?" she echoed, her laughter bitter. "Not what I think?" She stepped closer, fire in her eyes. "Oh, so you didn't sleep with her? She didn't keep coming back into your life like a cockroach that refuses to die? And she definitely isn't carrying your child, right?"

Ryder swallowed hard, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Silence.

Scarlett let out a slow breath, her rage sharpening into something lethal. "That's what I thought."

For a moment, she just looked at him—the man she had once adored. The man she had risked everything for. The man she had made. And all she felt now was disgust.

She took a step back, arms still folded. "So what is it, Ryder?" she asked, tilting her head. "Was I too much for you? Did your fragile little ego need some validation from a woman who wouldn't challenge you? Who wouldn't remind you that without me, you'd still be fighting for roles in straight-to-streaming dumpster fires?"

Ryder's nostrils flared. "That's not fair."

Scarlett scoffed. "Oh, now we're talking about fairness? That's rich coming from a man who had to sleep his way into relevancy."

Ryder's face twisted, his anger rising to meet hers. "Jesus, Scarlett, you think you own me, don't you? Just because you helped me get my foot in the door doesn't mean you get to control my entire damn life!"

Scarlett's expression didn't waver. "Oh, Ryder, let me make something crystal clear," she said, voice dangerously calm. "I don't need to own you." She took another step back, eyes glinting like ice. "Because after tonight? You'll be nothing without me."

Ryder's breath hitched just slightly, the first real sign of fear crossing his face.

Scarlett inhaled deeply before delivering the final blow.

"I want a divorce."

Silence.

Scarlett swore she saw his pupils dilate for a second, like his brain was still trying to process what she had just said.

Ryder's lips parted, but no words came out. His whole body stiffened like she had just ripped the ground out from under him.

Scarlett just smiled. Cold. Unforgiving.

"And don't worry," she added, reaching for her phone. "I'll make sure everyone knows exactly why."

____________________________

Ryder Evans had taken punches before—onscreen and off. He had endured grueling stunt work, brutal Hollywood rejections, and public scrutiny that would break lesser men. But standing in the wreckage of their home, staring at the cold, unflinching rage on Scarlett's face, he realized something terrifying.

He had never faced a real beating until now.

His heart pounded against his ribs as he tried to steady his breathing. His gym bag slipped from his grip, forgotten, as he took in the disaster she had created. Shattered glass, torn photos, his own award embedded in the drywall like some kind of warning shot.

Scarlett wasn't bluffing.

And that scared the shit out of him.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, still slightly disheveled from the gym, and stared at her. Ryder knew he had the kind of face Hollywood ate up—strong jaw, piercing blue eyes, an all-American look that had made casting directors see him as the next golden boy. But right now? Right now, that face was betraying him. Because he could feel it—the panic seeping in.

"Scarlett, please," he started, his voice raw. "You can't just throw everything away over her—I swear to you, I'll never speak to Hallie again. I won't even act in the same damn movie as her if that's what it takes!"

Scarlett arched a perfectly sculpted brow, looking more amused than convinced. "Oh, Ryder," she drawled, shaking her head. "You still don't get it, do you?"

She took a slow, deliberate step toward him, her heels clicking against the floor like a judge about to hand down a life sentence.

"This isn't about some pathetic promise you're making now," she continued. "You have lied, Ryder. Repeatedly. Do you know how exhausting it is to constantly be ten steps ahead of your own damn husband?"

"Scarlett, I—"

"Save it," she cut in, voice sharp as a blade. "You're not just losing me, sweetheart. You're losing everything."

Ryder blinked, his stomach twisting into knots. "Everything?"

Scarlett smiled—a cruel, wicked thing that sent ice straight through his veins. "You think you'll walk away from this with even a fraction of my fortune? Please."

Ryder's throat went dry.

"You signed an iron-clad prenup, darling," she reminded him, stepping even closer. "Every single dollar you've touched, every house, every car—it's mine. Hell, even the watch on your wrist? Mine."

His pulse pounded as he struggled to find his footing in a conversation that had already left him for dead.

Scarlett leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to a near-whisper. "You should be grateful, really. I won't even ask for any of your Marvel money. You can keep whatever sad little scraps of your career you have left—assuming there's anything left once this gets out."

Ryder swallowed hard. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "Scarlett... please," he rasped. "This—this is my life we're talking about."

Scarlett let out a sharp, cruel laugh. "No, Ryder. This was my life. You were just a guest."

He felt the walls closing in. His vision blurred slightly as his mind raced, searching for a way out. Damage control. Spin this. Fix this.

But then a single, horrifying thought struck him.

Who the hell sent her the photos?

His eyes snapped up to hers, a flicker of desperation cutting through his anger. "Who told you?" he asked, voice tight. "Who sent you those pictures?"

Scarlett merely tilted her head, an almost bored expression on her face. Then she smirked.

"An old friend."

Ryder felt his stomach drop.

Before he could demand more, Scarlett spun on her heel and strode toward the stairs, completely unfazed by the wreckage around them. "Now," she called over her shoulder, "pack up whatever little trinkets you want before I donate the rest. You can go rot in that sleazy penthouse of yours."

Ryder stood there, frozen, his life flashing before his eyes in sharp, brutal clarity. He had spent years carefully constructing his rise in Hollywood, making sure his image was pristine—even when his private life wasn't. (This Novel is only on Wattpad and for free. If you see this anywhere else, it is stolen. Please Report it.) But now? Now it was slipping through his fingers, and Scarlett was watching it happen with a damn glass of wine in hand.

And he knew—he knew—once she set her sights on ruining him, there wasn't a soul in the industry that would be able to stop her.

The moment the front door slammed shut behind Ryder, Scarlett let out a slow exhale and rolled her shoulders, releasing the tension coiled inside her.

Finally.

She grabbed her phone from the counter and scrolled through her contacts until she found the name.

With a smirk, she hit dial.

The line barely rang once before a deep, gruff voice answered.

"Henry."

Scarlett's smirk widened as she sank into the plush couch, crossing one leg over the other. "Henry, thank you so much for informing me of this hiccup," she says kindly. "I'm sorry you had to get involved in such manners."

A low chuckle rumbled through the line. "Couldn't stand by and let these idiots run unchecked," Henry replied, his voice like gravel and amusement mixed into one. Then, with the kind of deadly satisfaction that sent chills down the spine, he added—

"Had to protect my fiancée from getting tangled up with scum like them."

_______________________________

Ryder Evans stormed into his penthouse, his expensive leather shoes pounding against the marble floor like thunder. His face was twisted in fury, eyes wild, breath coming in ragged, furious gasps.

On the couch, Hallie sat cross-legged, popping a French fry into her mouth, eyes glued to the television. At the sound of the door slamming, she turned, her face lighting up at the sight of him.

"Babe! What are you—"

Before she could finish, Ryder's hand came down hard across her face.

The slap sent her head snapping to the side, the taste of salt and grease replaced by the metallic tang of blood as her lip split. The room spun for a moment, her brain struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

He hit her.

He actually hit her.

"What the hell—?!" she gasped, clutching her stinging cheek.

Ryder was already on her, towering over her with the kind of venom in his eyes that made her stomach twist. "Who the hell do you think you are?!" he roared, his voice shaking the walls. "How dare you go to my wife?! How dare you ruin my life?"

Hallie barely heard him over the rushing in her ears, the sheer disbelief that he was standing here, screaming at her, blaming her, like she was the one who had fucked everything up.

Her heart pounded with a mix of fury and heartbreak, her fingers tightening into the couch cushion beneath her.

This bastard.

"I—I didn't—" she started, still trying to make sense of what was happening.

"Oh, don't you dare lie to me," he cut her off, voice dripping with rage. "You stupid, delusional little girl. What did you think? Huh? That I'd leave Scarlett for you? That we'd play house? That you were special?" He laughed, a cruel, sharp sound that sliced through her like a blade. "You were nothing more than a distraction. Just a fuck. And that's all you've ever been good for."

The words hit like a sledgehammer, knocking the air from her lungs.

Just a fuck.

That's all she was to him?

Every stolen moment, every whispered promise, every time he looked at her like she was the only person in the world—it had all been a lie?

No. No, it hadn't.

Hallie knew better. She felt it. Those nights when he held her just a little too tightly, when he kissed her like he couldn't get enough, when he looked at her like she mattered—it had been real. Maybe not to him. Maybe not now. But in those moments?

It had been real.

And now, just because his perfect little life was crumbling, he wanted to rewrite history. He wanted to make her the villain. Make her nothing.

Her whole body trembled, a burning heat rising inside her, something dark and furious clawing its way up from the pit of her stomach.

She hadn't told Scarlett anything.

She had wanted to. God, she should have. But she never got the chance. Ryder's sins had finally caught up to him on their own, and now he was standing here, taking it out on her, because he was too much of a coward to face the truth.

Pathetic.

Hallie let out a shaky breath, blinking away the tears stinging her eyes.

"You think I ruined your life?" Her voice came out soft, but underneath it, there was something sharp, something dangerous. Slowly, she turned her gaze back to him, meeting his with a calmness that made his nostrils flare. "You did that all by yourself."

Ryder's jaw clenched, his face twisting with something unreadable.

For the first time since he walked in, she saw it—the crack in his armor. The fear beneath all that fury.

He wasn't mad that his affair had been exposed.

He was mad that he wasn't the one in control anymore.

Hallie let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Go to hell, Ryder."

She turned away, wiping her bleeding lip with the back of her hand, her chest aching.

He wanted her to be the bad guy? Fine.

Let him think she had destroyed him. Let him believe she had burned his life to the ground.

Because one day—one day soon—he was going to remember every moment they had shared, every lie he had told, every promise he had broken, and it was going to eat him alive.

And when that day came?

She hoped it fucking destroyed him.

________________________________________

Ryder exhaled sharply, running a frustrated hand through his already disheveled hair. His eyes burned into Hallie with pure, unfiltered disgust.

"You need to fucking move out," he spat, his voice clipped and final. "I don't want to see you here when I get back tomorrow."

Hallie's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Ryder snapped, grabbing his suitcase and tossing it onto the couch. "Don't contact me unless it's about the baby."

The baby.

Not our baby.

The distinction wasn't lost on her, and it sent a bitter chill through her bones.

Ryder was pacing now, his hands balling into fists at his sides, seething as if just the sight of her was enough to send him over the edge. "Actually, scratch that. I have a better idea. After the baby is born, put it up for adoption."

Hallie blinked. The words didn't compute for a second. Then, as if the reality of them slammed into her like a brick wall, she let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "Are you insane?"

Ryder turned to her, face darkening. "No, Hallie. I'm done. I don't want this. I never wanted this." His voice dropped, low and cold. "That kid is just another mistake."

Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to keep her face neutral. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

She folded her arms. "No."

Ryder blinked. "No?"

"No," she repeated, chin lifting defiantly. "We need to raise them together. We can make this work, Ryder. You owe me that much."

His laugh was humorless, cutting straight through her. "I don't owe you shit, Hallie."

Hallie felt her composure slipping, her breath coming in shallow bursts. "You can't just throw me away like I'm nothing."

"I already did."

That one stung.

Hallie clenched her fists. "You don't get to decide what happens to our child."

Ryder shook his head, running his hands over his face, exasperated. "God, you don't get it, do you? I don't want this. Any of it." His eyes flashed with something dark. "The only reason I even entertained this disaster was because I didn't want another scandal on my hands. But you? You're not worth it."

Hallie's breath hitched, but her fury only grew. She could feel it burning beneath her skin, hot and suffocating. How dare he?

"You're a piece of shit, Ryder," she hissed. "And you're going to regret this."

He snorted, unimpressed. "Doubt it." He reached for his phone, tapping out a quick message before shoving it into his pocket. "Be gone by tomorrow."

With that, he grabbed his suitcase and stormed out, slamming the door behind him with a finality that sent a crack through the air.

And just like that, he was gone.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Hallie stood there, frozen, her entire body trembling with rage.

How the fuck had this happened?

How had she gone from having Ryder wrapped around her little finger, whispering sweet promises into her ear, fucking worshipping her—to this?

Kicked out. Tossed aside like trash.

Her jaw clenched so hard it ached.

He thought she was just going to roll over and take this? That she was going to pack up and disappear, just because he said so?

No.

No fucking way.

She wasn't going anywhere.

That baby was her lifeline, her security, her meal ticket. Ryder could say whatever the hell he wanted, but he wasn't getting rid of her that easily.

She was going to make sure he regretted every single word that had just come out of his mouth.

Hallie paced the room, her breathing erratic, her mind spinning so fast it made her dizzy. Everything was unraveling. Everything was slipping through her fingers.

This wasn't how things were supposed to go.

She should have been celebrating her victory right now curled up in Ryder's bed, knowing Scarlett was out of the picture for good, knowing she had won.

Instead, she was bleeding from the mouth, standing in an empty penthouse, about to be homeless.

Her vision blurred with frustration as she clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms.

It took everything in her not to scream.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught the time on the clock.

Shit.

The hospital interview.

Her stomach churned. She was still supposed to go in, supposed to sit there, smile, and pretend to be a good person for the cameras.

With a shaky breath, she stomped her way to the dresser, her entire body tense with unspent rage. She yanked open a drawer, grabbing whatever clothes she could find, her hands shaking as she slipped into them.

Still feeling the sting of Ryder's slap, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

A pathetic, swollen-eyed woman stared back at her.

Her lip was split, her cheek red, her expression a mix of fury and humiliation.

She hated that woman.

She hated what Ryder had turned her into.

But most of all?

She hated that she still wanted to win.

And she would.

Somehow, someway, she would.

Hallie straightened her posture, ran a hand through her hair, and forced a smirk onto her lips.

Time to play the part.