The press release, which appeared on a Monday afternoon, is the type of statement that seems to have been revised by six attorneys before a single verb was agreed upon. Both sides expressed gratitude to the movie. Survivors were thanked by both camps. No one expressed regret for anything in particular. That told you nearly everything you needed to know on its own.
The team led by Blake Lively declared victory. In a matter of hours, her publicists were telling reporters that the settlement was evidence that her concerns had been taken seriously, a moment of closure, and a vindication. In a technical sense, the joint statement acknowledges that “concerns raised by Ms. Lively deserved to be heard.” It’s likely that the language was negotiated comma by comma. The wording itself might have cost six figures.
However, the math began to look odd when the New York Times filing was released four days later. No monetary reward. Not one. Lively left with a press release and three remaining claims that she decided not to test in front of a jury following two years of motions, depositions, competing lawsuits, a $400 million counterclaim, a separate $250 million suit against the Times, and a judge dismissing ten of thirteen claims in April. It’s difficult not to wonder what exactly was won as you watch this play out.
No one wants to itemize the legal bills. A month-long jury trial with teams that size would have cost each side “probably multiple millions of dollars,” according to New York litigation lawyer Richard Schoenstein, who spoke with Page Six. He wasn’t lying. There are thousands of filings on the docket. Forensic specialists, public relations consultants, and motion practice continued for more than a year. Someone was paying for the paralegals, the document review, and the appeals, even if Lively’s attorneys worked on contingency for some of it—and there is no public proof that they did. Such Hollywood litigation is not inexpensive. It is powered by Lamborghini.
Reading the last statement gives the impression that everyone had run out of options. In June 2025, Baldoni’s defamation lawsuit was dismissed. In April, the majority of Lively’s allegations of harassment and conspiracy decreased. The remaining allegations, such as retaliation, breach of contract, and aiding retaliation, are the kind that hold up on paper but become messy in front of jurors who have already seen tabloid coverage. Everyone had control over the conclusion when they reached a settlement.
On the day of the announcement, you could practically picture the scene outside the courtroom: press officers attempting to spin “we agreed to stop suing each other” as a victory, publicists checking phones, and junior associates carrying boxes of binders that would never be opened. Hollywood is skilled at this. Since the studio system, the industry has been transforming messy settlements into tidy narratives. Lively’s team is especially skilled at it; Ryan Reynolds, her husband, has spent ten years perfecting the controlled image.
The size of the legal bills persists, though. A confidentiality clause that probably binds both parties for life, multimillion-dollar fees, no payout, and a movie that made over $350 million worldwide but is now forever marred by what transpired on set. The Hollywood Reporter claims that Lively still needs to “seek a multimillion dollar reward” in order to get her fees back, so the matter isn’t even entirely resolved.
Whether either side actually thinks they won is still up for debate. Closure was mentioned in the statement. Exhaustion, the math says. Hollywood typically recognizes the difference, even when it acts as though it doesn’t.
