Junior writer Monique Grant is stunned when the famously private Evelyn Hugo offers an exclusive interview to Vivant on the condition Monique writes it. After confirming no family connection, Monique pushes past her editor’s skepticism and takes the assignment—only to learn Evelyn wants no article at all. She proposes a posthumous, authorized biography that will bear only Monique’s name and profits. Monique, whose career has stalled and whose marriage has recently fractured, accepts despite the ethical mess with her magazine.

In Evelyn’s sunlit study, the actress orders the recorder on and begins at the beginning. She grew up poor in Hell’s Kitchen as Evelyn Herrera, terrified of her father after her mother’s death. At fifteen she leveraged her beauty and an opportunity to marry Ernie Diaz, escaping west to Los Angeles. Spotted by young producer Harry Cameron, she signed with Sunset Studios and, guided by publicists and a bleach bottle, became Evelyn Hugo. The studio built a persona—the “Young Blonde”—and steered her into sentimental hits, then staged dates to grow her star. A real romance with leading man Don Adler carried her to a lavish, studio-approved wedding.

Behind the fairy tale, Don’s insecurity turned violent. On One More Day he slapped her; after the Oscars he pushed her from a car. Evelyn hid the abuse and focused on the role she’d coveted since girlhood: Jo in Little Women. On that set she met Celia St. James, whose talent and candor disarmed Evelyn and whose friendship grew into something neither would name. As Evelyn’s marriage deteriorated and the press circled, she manufactured a wave of sympathy with a staged miscarriage call, then watched Celia steal the film and an Oscar. The night Evelyn caught Don cheating, she fled with Harry and, the next morning, admitted to Celia that she no longer loved Don. A first kiss confirmed the truth she’d been resisting.

Don moved to divorce Evelyn while the studio quietly blackballed her. Hiding in Celia’s apartment, Evelyn faced a career dismantled by powerful men and a desire she didn’t yet know how to live. She chose honesty with herself: “I think that I love you.” The women became lovers in secret. To protect them from tabloid scrutiny, Evelyn orchestrated a diversion—an impulsive Vegas elopement with singer Mick Riva designed for quick annulment. The plan worked until a pregnancy resulted. Celia, devastated, left; Evelyn chose an abortion with Harry’s help and then threw herself into reinvention.

Abroad, director Max Girard cast her in Boute-en-Train. Evelyn suggested a tease of near-nudity that made her a sensation without giving the audience everything, relaunching her career. Back home, she entered a calculated, chaste marriage with co-star Rex North to sell their epic Anna Karenina. When Rex fell in love and expected a child with Joy Nathan, Evelyn staged a scandal: paparazzi photos of a fake affair with Harry paired with Rex’s very real one. The gambit protected their box office, solidified Evelyn’s power, and set the stage for her next, most consequential partnership.

Evelyn and Harry married, a pragmatic union that created cover for their real loves: Harry with John Braverman, and Evelyn, soon again, with Celia. After a charged reunion at the Oscars, the foursome built a fragile life together in New York, publicly two straight couples, privately two queer partnerships. When Stonewall erupted, they chose quiet philanthropy over public protest, fearing outing would consume the cause and destroy them. Evelyn and Harry decided to have a child together for privacy’s sake. Their daughter, Connor, bound them in a family that felt true.

Career and desire collided again when Max offered Three A.M., opposite a newly sober Don. Late in production, Max pushed for a raw scene centered on female pleasure; Evelyn, chasing artistic impact, agreed without consulting Celia and filmed it with Don. Celia, unable to bear it, left for good. Though Three A.M. became a sensation and won Don an Oscar, Evelyn was vilified and snubbed. She understood too late how a thousand strategic cuts had wounded Celia: sex used as leverage, secrecy demanded for safety, ambition chosen over tenderness.

Time broke the life they had built. John died suddenly; Harry unraveled into bourbon and grief. Seeking to save him, Evelyn found All for Us, a project with Max that pulled Harry back to work. It won all three of them Oscars, and Max confessed a long love. Harry—still her truest partner—urged Evelyn to let herself find romance. She married Max on terms that protected Connor and Harry, only to recognize he loved the myth of “Evelyn Hugo,” not the woman. Years later, a letter exchange with Celia reopened old doors; when Celia learned Max wasn’t a beard, she refused to meet.

Eventually Evelyn called anyway. Celia answered with guarded hope and a devastating truth: she had COPD and limited time. They reunited, spent the night together, and planned a way forward—public misdirection to defang threats, a protective marriage of convenience to Celia’s brother Robert, and one final studio film before retiring abroad. Evelyn went to tell Harry; he resisted leaving and proposed a different cover back in Los Angeles. On the night they were to fly, Evelyn arrived at a crash: Harry, drunk, and a younger man. To protect Harry’s legacy and Connor’s future, she moved Harry to her car, placed the dead lover in the driver’s seat, wiped the scene, and rushed Harry to the hospital. He died; the younger man remained at the crash, blamed as a drunk driver.

With Connor spiraling, Evelyn retired and moved them to Aldiz, Spain. Robert handled logistics; Celia steadied the home. In the quiet, Connor healed, bonded with Robert, and earned admission to Stanford. Evelyn reclaimed Spanish and, as Celia’s health declined, they married in a private bedroom ceremony with hair ties as rings. When Celia died, a paparazzi photo of Evelyn sobbing at Harry’s grave became a cover story about an old flame, erasing the love she had just buried. In the years that followed, Robert died, and then Connor developed late-stage breast cancer and passed eighteen months later. Evelyn’s grief hollowed her out—and pushed her toward controlling the last thing she could: her story.

Back in the present, Monique proves she can fight for herself—negotiating an excerpt and a cover shoot to protect her job—while Evelyn drives the memoir deeper. Then Evelyn detonates the final truth: the dead man in Harry’s crash was Monique’s father, James Grant. Monique’s fury is volcanic; she blames Evelyn for leaving him and letting the world brand him a drunk. Evelyn gives her a bloodstained letter James wrote to Harry that night, confessing love and choosing to stay married to Monique’s mother and parent Monique. The letter reframes Monique’s past even as it cannot absolve Evelyn’s choices.

Evelyn reveals she has breast cancer and is putting her affairs in order. After a triumphant photo shoot that sells one last myth on a windy terrace, she sends her assistant on vacation and says a deliberate, tender goodbye to Monique. Recognizing Evelyn’s intent to choose her death, Monique weighs intervention against the autonomy celebrated in her own right-to-die journalism. She chooses trust. That night she holds her mother, protects certain truths, and accepts that forgiveness will arrive later than understanding. The book Evelyn wanted—ruthless, truthful, and hers—can now exist, with Monique as its author and heir.