The Friday afternoon sun was beginning its slow descent over the beautiful Sydney Harbor. The water sparkled with brilliant shades of orange and gold, painting the perfect backdrop for what was supposed to be a quiet, private evening.
Donovan stood in the hallway of the luxury hotel, wearing a dark, casually tailored button-down shirt and a silver watch. He had the keys to the private yacht in his pocket. For the first time in weeks, he wasn't thinking about studio budgets, visual effects, or lightsaber choreographies.
He knocked on the heavy wooden door of Scarlett's hotel suite.
Instead of opening the door fully, it swung open violently. The inside of the luxury suite looked like a hurricane had just passed through it. Clothes were scattered across the expensive furniture, and two large suitcases were completely open on the bed.
Scarlett was standing in the middle of the room, looking incredibly stressed. She was wearing sweatpants and holding a ringing cell phone in her hand.
"Donovan, I am so sorry," Scarlett breathed, looking at him with genuine panic in her eyes. "I am so, so sorry."
"Did someone break in, or are you just terrible at packing?" Donovan asked, keeping his tone light and playful as he stepped into the room.
"It's my manager," Scarlett explained, her raspy voice tight with frustration.
She aggressively tossed a pair of shoes into one of the open suitcases. "He just called. He booked me the lead role in a massive teen thriller movie shooting in Los Angeles. The studio moved the production schedule up by two months. They need me for costume fittings and a table read by tomorrow morning."
Donovan stopped walking. The relaxed, comfortable energy he had brought to the room completely vanished, replaced by the sharp, calculating mind of a studio executive.
"Tomorrow morning?" Donovan asked smoothly. "That's a fourteen-hour flight, Scarlett. You have to leave right now to make that timeline."
"I know," she sighed, running a hand through her blonde hair. "My mom is downstairs yelling at the front desk to get a car to the airport. I have to leave immediately. I can't stay for the weekend."
She looked up at him, her eyes softening with genuine guilt. She knew what this meant. The private yacht, the sunset over the Opera House, the quiet escape from the madness of Hollywood—it was all canceled in the blink of an eye.
"Donovan, I really didn't want to leave like this," Scarlett said quietly, taking a step toward him. "I was really looking forward to tonight. You know I was."
Donovan looked at her. He could see the stress and the ambition fighting in her eyes. This was the brutal reality of the industry they had chosen.
"It's okay, Scarlett," Donovan smiled, masking his disappointment completely. "It's a lead role in a major studio movie. You have to take it. The yacht will still be here the next time we come to Australia."
Scarlett offered him a small, grateful smile. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a tight, rushed hug. Donovan hugged her back, resting his chin lightly on top of her head, breathing in the familiar vanilla scent of her perfume one last time.
"I'll call you as soon as I land," Scarlett promised, pulling away and grabbing her heavy jacket.
"Go get 'em, New York," Donovan said smoothly, stepping out of the doorway to let her and her mother rush down the hotel hallway.
He watched her disappear into the elevator. The hallway was entirely quiet. Donovan stood there for a moment, the keys to the yacht feeling strangely heavy in his pocket, before he turned around and walked back to his own empty room.
Two weeks passed.
The filming schedule in Sydney became significantly more brutal. Without Scarlett sitting behind the director's monitors to joke with him and keep him grounded, Donovan threw himself entirely into the work.
He arrived on set earlier than anyone else. He trained with the stunt coordinators until his muscles burned. But most noticeably, his performance as Anakin Skywalker shifted into something far darker.
He didn't just act like the terrifying Chosen One anymore; he lived it. He crushed prop droids with his telekinetic magic with a cold, blank expression. His lightsaber strikes were so heavy and aggressive that George Lucas had to constantly ask the stuntmen if they were wearing enough padding.
It was a Tuesday afternoon when the final blow landed.
Donovan was sitting alone in his private trailer outside the massive soundstage. He was drinking a bottle of water, still wearing his dark Jedi tunics, when the heavy door of his trailer opened.
Ewan McGregor stepped inside, holding a glossy American tabloid magazine. The older actor looked highly uncomfortable, his usual cheerful demeanor completely gone.
"Hey, mate," Ewan said quietly, tossing the magazine face-up onto the small table in front of Donovan. "One of the camera operators brought this back from a trip to the States. I thought you should see it before the rest of the crew starts whispering about it."
Donovan looked down at the magazine.
The cover of People Magazine featured a massive, high-definition photograph of Scarlett Johansson. She was walking down a sunny street in Los Angeles, holding hands and smiling closely with Josh Hartnett, the current golden boy and biggest teen heartthrob in Hollywood.
The bold, yellow headline printed across the top of the page read: HOLLYWOOD'S HOTTEST NEW COUPLE? Scarlett Johansson and Co-Star Josh Hartnett Spotted on Romantic Date!
Donovan didn't say a word. He just stared at the photograph.
"There's a quote in there from her manager," Ewan added softly, leaning against the doorframe. "The manager says she is thrilled to be working with an established, real movie star, and that she is officially moving past her 'television phase'."
It was a direct insult. The manager was actively using Josh Hartnett's massive fame to elevate Scarlett's status, while publicly dismissing Donovan and Teen Wolf as a lower level of entertainment.
For a normal seventeen-year-old boy, seeing the girl he liked holding hands with a massive movie star on the cover of a national magazine would be completely devastating. It would cause a spiral of sadness, insecurity, and anger.
But Donovan was not a normal teenager.
The ancient, half-god soul inside him processed the sharp sting of betrayal, but it didn't break. Instead, it reacted the only way an ancient ruler knew how. It built a massive, impenetrable wall of absolute ice.
Donovan didn't cry. He didn't throw the magazine against the wall. His dark eyes simply grew cold, entirely devoid of any warmth or vulnerability. The charismatic, relaxed teenager from the Los Angeles arcade disappeared completely, leaving only the ruthless, untouchable CEO of Blackwood Studios in his place.
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ewan," Donovan said. His voice was completely flat, lacking any trace of emotion.
Ewan looked at him, shivering slightly at the sudden drop in the room's atmosphere. "Are you alright, Donovan? I know you two were close."
"I am perfectly fine," Donovan replied smoothly, pushing the magazine away from him. "It is just cheap Hollywood PR. I have an empire to build. I don't have time to worry about tabloid magazines."
Ewan nodded slowly, clearly unsettled by Donovan's chilling lack of emotion, and quietly left the trailer.
A few hours later, the sun had set over Sydney. Donovan was still in his trailer, reviewing financial documents for Rogue Entertainment on his laptop, when his cell phone rang loudly.
He picked it up, glancing at the caller ID. It was a joint call from Los Angeles.
"Hello," Donovan answered, his voice calm and completely detached.
"Dude. Donny. Tell me you didn't see it," Chris Evans' frantic voice immediately came through the speaker.
"If you are referring to the magazine cover, Chris, yes, I saw it," Donovan replied, turning the page of a Japanese manga contract on his desk.
"Man, you have to listen to me," Jake Gyllenhaal's voice jumped onto the line, sounding highly analytical but genuinely worried for his friend.
"I talked to her makeup artist on the studio lot today. Scarlett didn't know about any of this. Her manager ambushed her the second she landed in Los Angeles. He forced her into a PR contract with Hartnett to promote the movie. It's a fake relationship, Donny. She looked absolutely miserable in the makeup trailer."
Donovan stopped flipping the pages. He stared blankly at the wall of his trailer.
He understood the business. He knew that managers in the year 2000 ruthlessly controlled young actors, forcing them into fake relationships to generate box office buzz. But understanding the business didn't change the absolute reality of the situation.
"It doesn't matter, Jake," Donovan said, his voice dropping to a low, icy tone that neither of his friends had ever heard before.
"What do you mean it doesn't matter? She was forced into it!" Chris argued through the phone.
"No one is forced into anything in this industry, Chris," Donovan replied coldly.
"If she didn't want to hold his hand for the cameras, she could have walked away. She could have called me. Blackwood Studios has more than enough money to pay whatever breach of contract fees her manager threatened her with. I would have protected her."
The line went completely silent. Chris and Jake didn't know what to say.
"But she didn't call me," Donovan continued, his logic absolutely flawless and entirely devoid of empathy.
"She chose the spotlight. She chose the PR stunt because it benefits her career. That is her choice, and I respect her ambition. But I will not sit around and play the victim for a tabloid magazine."
"Donny, don't do this," Jake said quietly. "Don't shut down. You're going to turn into one of those soulless Hollywood executives."
"I am the head of a multi-million dollar studio, the owner of a global comic book monopoly, and the lead of the biggest sci-fi franchise in history," Donovan stated.
He wasn't bragging. He was stating pure, objective facts. The warmth was gone, leaving only an intimidating, hyper-focused predator.
"I don't have time for high school drama," Donovan finished. "I'll see you boys when I get back to Los Angeles. Have a good night."
Donovan hung up the phone before they could reply.
He set the device down on the table, right next to the glossy magazine cover. He didn't look at Scarlett's face. He stood up, grabbed his lightsaber hilt from the counter, and walked out into the dark Australian night.
The galaxy was waiting for the Chosen One, and Donovan Blackwood was finally ready to show them exactly what the dark side looked like.