The main living room of the Blackwood estate felt unusually warm and inviting that Friday evening. Despite the massive house being a monument to his family's incredible business success, complete with high ceilings and expensive artwork, Donovan vastly preferred the comfort of the worn leather sofas.
In February of the year 2000, owning a flat-screen television of that immense size and clarity was an absolute luxury. It was a technological marvel that Donovan had insisted on having personally installed specifically for this exact night.
The rich smell of pepperoni pizza and hot popcorn floated heavily in the air, mixing comfortably with the familiar scent of the giant Saint Bernards that occupied most of the floor space.
Donovan sat right in the center of the main sofa, a large open pizza box resting on the coffee table in front of him.
Apollo, the largest of the dogs, was resting his massive, heavy head directly on Donovan's knees. The dog sighed loudly every few minutes, almost as if he also understood the monumental importance of what was about to happen on the screen, while Buster lazily tried to inch closer to the crusts left on the cardboard box.
"If you don't stop bouncing your leg, Chris, you are going to cause a literal earthquake across the entire state of California," Donovan joked, looking over to his right.
Chris Evans was sitting on the very edge of his seat, practically vibrating with nervous energy. His hands wouldn't stop tapping a chaotic, rapid rhythm against his thighs. His eyes kept darting frantically from the wall clock to the television screen, which was currently just showing brightly colored cereal commercials.
"I can't help it, man," Chris admitted, his voice cracking slightly higher than normal.
"In less than ten minutes, millions of people are going to see my actual face. Screaming and covered in fake dirt in the woods. What if they hate it? What if the audience thinks I am a terrible actor?"
"If they hate you, you can always fall back on a career as a hand model," Jake Gyllenhaal interrupted from the opposite sofa, not even looking up from his computer screen.
Jake had brought over one of those incredibly thick, heavy laptop computers of the era. He had spent ten minutes carefully running a long, gray cable across the living room to connect it directly to the house's telephone line.
The rhythmic, screeching sound of the dial-up modem connecting to the internet had filled the room earlier, creating a symphony of ancient technology that was completely normal for the time. The green lights on the side of the plastic machine blinked rapidly as Jake aggressively hit the refresh key.
"I am currently logging into the message boards on *Ain't It Cool News* and the Yahoo Television forums," Jake explained, pushing his glasses up his nose as the slow webpage loaded pixel by pixel.
"People have been talking about those giant street billboards all week. There is a massive amount of curiosity surrounding the visual effects. Everyone wants to know if the werewolf transformations are going to look cheap."
Suddenly, the front doorbell of the mansion rang out. A few seconds later, Scarlett Johansson walked right into the living room.
She was wearing a pair of comfortable, slightly faded blue jeans and a gray Blackwood Studios hoodie that was definitely a few sizes too big for her. The casual outfit sharply contrasted with her usual New York street style and her character's high-fashion wardrobe.
She kicked off her sneakers at the entrance and walked directly toward the main sofa.
Completely ignoring the empty chairs in the room, Scarlett squeezed onto the couch right next to Donovan, happily invading his personal space with absolute, effortless confidence.
"I made it just in time," Scarlett announced, immediately reaching over and stealing a slice of pepperoni pizza from Donovan's plate before he could even protest.
"There was a paparazzi photographer hanging around outside my hotel lobby, so my mom had to do a crazy driving maneuver to lose him on the highway. I feel like a secret agent."
Donovan laughed, shifting his position slightly to give her a little more room to eat. "It seems like your anonymity officially died today, Scarlett. Welcome to the club."
"It's going to be totally worth it if the show is as good as the final cut we saw at the studio," she replied, taking a large bite of the pizza.
She turned slightly to look at Donovan, her bright eyes catching the dim light of the television. They were sitting close enough that Donovan could faintly smell the vanilla scent of her perfume over the smell of the food.
"Are you nervous, boss?" Scarlett asked quietly, dropping her voice so the loud boys across the room wouldn't hear her.
"This is your first major project as both a lead actor and a studio head. The entire industry is waiting to see if the teenage genius of Hollywood actually knows how to make good television."
Donovan held her gaze, offering her a completely relaxed, genuine smile. He didn't feel the need to pretend or put up a tough front when he was sitting next to her.
"I'm not nervous about the ratings or the critics, Scarlett," Donovan admitted honestly. "I know the show is incredible. All I really care about is that we are proud of the work we did together. And I know we are."
"Wow, what an incredibly mature and boring answer," she teased, bumping her shoulder playfully against his arm.
"I am actually terrified," Scarlett continued, laughing softly. "If this show completely fails, I am going to have to wear that hideous pink cowboy hat on the streets of New York just to earn spare change."
"I promise you, if this fails, I will personally buy you a collection of highly expensive designer hats so you don't have to suffer," Donovan shot back, nudging her shoulder in return.
Scarlett let out a raspy, genuine laugh and rested her head momentarily against his shoulder before sitting back up. It was a fleeting, comfortable gesture, but it carried a heavy weight of trust that showed exactly how much their relationship had evolved over the last few months.
"It's starting! Shut up, everyone, shut up!" Chris suddenly yelled, pointing frantically at the screen.
The clock struck exactly 8:00 PM. The network's intro sequence faded out, and immediately, the crisp silver logo of Blackwood Studios filled the screen. A deep, heavy bass drop rattled the windows of the living room.
For the next forty-five minutes, the entire room fell into an absolute, captivated silence, interrupted only by the occasional gasp from Chris taking deep, nervous breaths.
Watching the series on a home television was a completely different experience than the private screening room. It felt more intimate, more real. The visual effects held up perfectly.
When Chris's eyes glowed that unnatural, terrifying yellow in the dark woods, it didn't look like a cheap TV trick; it looked like a high-budget cinematic masterpiece. The fast-paced, anime-inspired martial arts choreography translated beautifully to the small screen, making the action feel grounded and brutal.
When the episode finally ended with the dramatic cliffhanger of Derek Hale stepping out of the shadows, delivering his intimidating warning to Scott, the living room exploded.
"That was unbelievable!" Chris yelled, jumping up from his chair and pulling Jake into a massive, forced hug. "I look so cool! The yellow eyes look so real that I actually scared myself a little bit!"
"You actually did a great job, buddy," Jake laughed, struggling to escape the hug. "The clumsy panic is very natural for you."
Donovan smiled, feeling a genuine wave of satisfaction wash over him. He looked over at Scarlett, who was still staring at the screen as the credits rolled.
She turned to him, and this time, there were no jokes or playful teasing.
"You did it, Donovan," Scarlett said softly, her voice filled with pure, unfiltered admiration. "You really did it. There is absolutely nothing like this on television right now. It's perfect."
"We all did it," Donovan corrected her warmly, holding her gaze for a long moment.
"Hey, hey! Look at this!" Jake shouted, aggressively typing on his thick laptop keyboard. "The Yahoo TV discussion forums are completely crashing. There are over five thousand new messages in the last ten minutes alone!"
Everyone immediately abandoned the sofas and crowded around the small, glowing screen of Jake's laptop. The internet of the year 2000 was painfully slow, and the pages took several seconds to load, but the bold headlines of the message boards were crystal clear.
*Who is the actor playing Derek Hale? He is incredibly intense!* read one of the top threads. *The special effects look exactly like a blockbuster movie*, read another. *Scott and Stiles are the best comedic duo I've seen in years!*
"Look at this one," Jake pointed, highlighting a thread with hundreds of active replies.
*I can't believe how perfect Lydia Martin is. She is the exact popular girl we all love to hate, but she seems so smart. Who is this Scarlett Johansson girl? She is gorgeous.*
Scarlett read the glowing message, and a radiant, slightly embarrassed smile illuminated her face. She bit her lower lip, trying to hide how happy she was, but her eyes gave it away completely.
"I guess you really won't be able to go to the mall without bodyguards anymore, Scarlett," Donovan commented, looking at her with a knowing, teasing smirk.
"Well, I suppose I will just have to hire the most handsome producer in Hollywood to be my personal security," she fired back instantly, matching his flirtatious tone without missing a single beat.
Chris, who had been scrolling down to read the messages specifically about his character, suddenly went completely pale.
"Guys... there is a group of teenage girls who just created an online fan club called 'Scott McCall's Girlfriends'. And they are writing long paragraphs analyzing my hair!" Chris swallowed hard, looking genuinely terrified. "This is so weird! My mom is going to read this!"
"Welcome to the price of fame, Evans," a smooth voice called out from the hallway.
Ryan Gosling walked into the living room, looking incredibly sharp in a tailored blazer and dark jeans. He had clearly just come from an expensive dinner, but he hadn't wanted to miss the initial reactions.
Ryan casually checked his cell phone and smirked. "I just got off the phone with my agent. The calls haven't stopped for twenty minutes. It seems Jackson Whittemore is already America's favorite bad boy. Obviously."
The rest of the night passed in a blur of loud laughter, empty pizza boxes, and the endless reading of fan comments as they poured into the slow internet forums.
It was the absolute beginning of something massive. Donovan could feel the shift in the atmosphere. The show was a certified hit, his studio empire was cementing its legacy, and most importantly, he had the perfect pack surrounding him to share the journey.
Near midnight, after the dogs had finally fallen asleep and the adrenaline of the night began to settle, Scarlett quietly stood up to leave. Her mother was waiting in a car outside the estate gates.
Donovan walked her out to the massive wooden front door, stepping away from the chaotic noise of Chris and Ryan arguing about who had more fans in the living room.
The Los Angeles night air was crisp and cool. Scarlett stopped on the front porch and turned to face Donovan, burying her hands deep into the pockets of his studio hoodie.
"Thank you for inviting me to watch it here, Donovan," she said, her tone much softer and highly personal. "Seriously. You could have thrown a massive, expensive Hollywood party with models and directors, but you chose this. I liked this way better."
"It wouldn't have been a real celebration without the pack," Donovan replied, taking a slow step closer to her on the porch. "And it definitely wouldn't have been the same without my favorite co-star."
Scarlett let out a low, soft laugh that sounded like music in the quiet night.
She leaned forward, completely closing the distance between them, and pressed a soft, quick kiss to his cheek, right near the corner of his mouth. It was a deeply tender gesture, filled with comfortable affection and the undeniable promise of something much stronger growing between them.
"Goodnight, Alpha," she whispered with a playful, highly attractive smile, before turning around and walking down the driveway toward her car.
Donovan stood there, leaning casually against the heavy doorframe, watching the taillights of her car disappear down the private road. He reached up and touched his cheek where he could still feel the lingering warmth of her kiss, smiling entirely to himself.
The year 2000 had only just begun, and Donovan Blackwood was fully prepared to conquer every single second of it.