Behind the Curtain of Desire

Chapter 1

The door to the dressing room swung open abruptly, the sound of high heels clicking against the floor echoing through the space. Elaine de Grey slammed a tablet down onto the vanity.

“I knew it! After walking the red carpet, you were bound to get compared again, and of course, Annalise Fairfax steals the spotlight,” Elaine exclaimed, her face dark with frustration.

On the tablet screen, trending on The Writerground, two images were displayed side by side, with a bold "VS" in black lettering between them.

The accompanying commentary read, “Annalise Fairfax looks like she’s been kissed by angels—just stunning. That bright yellow gown highlights her flawless complexion. And don’t get me started on her collarbone and neck. Goodness! Even as a man, I’d feel tempted to kiss her. But honestly, I can’t fathom how Beatrice Clearwater thought it was a good idea to wear the same shade of bright yellow. That’s just asking for trouble—whoever looks worse will feel the embarrassment.”

One image showed Beatrice Clearwater in a fitted dress with a thigh-high slit, while the other featured Annalise Fairfax in a stunning yellow mermaid gown that accentuated her shoulders, collarbone, and neckline.

Though the styles differed, they both sported the same vibrant color. To make things worse, when they stepped out of their cars, Beatrice arrived first but was positioned behind Annalise on the red carpet. Annalise emerged to a chorus of gasps and screams, drawing all eyes and media attention.

By the time Beatrice made her entrance, the applause was significantly muted, with fewer camera flashes. Some fans even accused her of trying to steal Annalise’s thunder.

Elaine jabbed at the screen. “I clearly checked on what Annalise was wearing. The intel I received was that she’d be in a black backless gown. How could she suddenly switch to a yellow mermaid dress? It’s absurd.”

“Albright Studios’ star is definitely not like any other," Elaine scoffed.

“Do you have some unresolved issue with Annalise Fairfax? Did you cross her somehow?” Elaine leaned against the vanity, glancing at Beatrice, who was carefully applying her eyeliner.

With a delicate pause, Beatrice lifted her eyes, her perfectly shaped brows framed her striking features. “Whether I’ve wronged her is a mystery to both of us,” she replied softly.

With a frustrated cluck of her tongue, Elaine chose not to press further.

Elaine knew Beatrice’s background all too well—a girl born into poverty, she was signed by Elaine the year Beatrice graduated at twenty-four when Elaine met her while visiting her brother at school and immediately recognized her potential.

In the years since, Beatrice had used her beauty and the constant comparisons to Annalise to carve out her space in the industry. Initially, some even claimed Beatrice bore a resemblance to Annalise, but those whispers quickly faded, overshadowed by the consistent pressure Beatrice faced in trying to measure up to Annalise.

Annalise was a definitive top star; her dominance only heightened Beatrice’s visibility, but over the past couple of years, Elaine yearned for Beatrice to break away from being in Annalise's shadow.

Having grown accustomed to being overshadowed, Beatrice found herself forever one step behind Annalise, like an insurmountable barricade blocking her path—a source of deep irritation.

Beatrice returned her gaze from Annalise’s face to her own features in the mirror, continuing to perfect her brows.

Her skin was porcelain smooth, and at twenty-seven, faint traces of fluff adorned her face. Her enchanting eyes held a glimmer, always appearing luminous and inviting, evoking a desire to lean in for a kiss.

“Why does the Albright Studios president only elevate Annalise?” Elaine’s confusion flared; it was a recurring grievance.

Beatrice paused her brow work, staring into her reflection, contemplating the same question—why was she overlooked by him?

She smiled faintly, “Well, that’s a question only the Albright Studios president can answer.”

Chapter 2

“I can’t even imagine where I’d find someone like that. Don’t joke around,” Elaine de Grey said with a playful smirk as she picked up a brush and began to style Beatrice Clearwater’s hair. “Is it true that the president of Albright Productions is actually a scion of the Hawthorne family?”

Beatrice Clearwater paused her makeup, flipping her tablet closed. “I honestly can’t confirm that.”

“If the president of Albright Productions really is from the House of Hawthorne, then it makes sense why he’s so enthusiastic about Annalise Fairfax. It’s no secret she’s the daughter of the Yang Corporation, the big players in the City of Gold,” Elaine mused as she deftly wove Beatrice’s long, dark hair into place, preparing her for the next magazine shoot.

Beatrice remained quiet, preoccupied as her slender fingers fidgeted with a paintbrush.

As the brush flipped through her hair, it only emphasized the pale clarity of her skin.

Annalise Fairfax—a name that held a lot of weight, especially with her background.

Well, it wasn’t surprising if he truly favored her.

A soft chuckle escaped Beatrice's lips as she pulled out her phone, tapping onto the WeChat app to check for any messages.

**Beatrice Clearwater:** Are you in town today?

Looking at the chat window, it was clear that most of her messages were sent unanswered. The only times he replied were to tell her he was home and to extend a New Year’s greeting.

She caught her reflection in the mirror.

Her fingertips traced her jawline, gliding gently along her cheekbone, and up to her brows. She pursed her lips, giving a quick flutter of her lashes. The woman staring back blinked in unison, reminding her of how much he enjoyed whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

Elaine gently patted her shoulder. “Time to shoot.”

“Right,” Beatrice replied, rising. As her eyes flicked back to her phone, she noticed it was quiet—no reply. She tossed the phone in her bag and shrugged on her wrap, striding out.

Outside, a tall figure approached—a woman dressed in a sleek black dress.

It was Annalise Fairfax.

With a subtle flick of her hair, she smiled warmly at Beatrice.

A smile of courtesy was exchanged, and Elaine quickly grasped Beatrice’s arm, hastening past her as if avoiding a jinx. Once they were further away, Beatrice glanced back.

Annalise was looking too, and their eyes met for a fleeting moment, wherein Beatrice caught a glimmer of pity in Annalise's gaze.

Startled, Beatrice shook her head and continued into the studio, where everyone was awaiting her.

“Lady, Lady!” they called out, affectionate yet respectful, as they hustled to rearrange things. A large chair was switched for a smaller one, and Sir Gabriel Emberton waved her over. Before she sat, Elaine quizzically asked Sir Gabriel, “Why the change of chairs?”

Sir Gabriel hesitated momentarily before answering with a grin, “The other one was damaged. This one’s better.”

Elaine raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Is that so?”

The photographer stepped forward, confirming the shooting schedule with Beatrice, who nodded, her hair cascading softly over her shoulders, wearing a casual expression. Meanwhile, a couple of assistants nearby exchanged words.

“Why didn’t you switch the chair earlier? Now we’ve got to wait for her.”

“I wanted to! But Yang just left!”

Beatrice stared at her feet, listening to the chatter, her mind starting to drift.

Elaine couldn’t keep quiet, squeezing the chair. “Oh, so it was meant for her? Does she own the space now? Just because she sat there first doesn’t mean I can’t sit too. That’s bullying.”

The photographer pretended not to hear, accustomed to behind-the-scenes hierarchy that ran rampant in this industry. Ultimately, he smiled and gestured for Beatrice to stand.

Beatrice returned his smile and rose from her seat, slipping into her high heels and striding confidently to the backdrop.

With the camera focused, the photographer leaned in, ready for the first shot.

The magazine shoot seemed to stretch well into the evening, though Beatrice was used to the routine. She effortlessly shifted through poses, each appearing more natural than the last as the photographer focused intently on her, capturing the allure of her black dress against her gentle expression—it was the kind of look that sparked an instinct to protect her, to cherish her, to kiss her.

Finally, as the last rays of daylight dimmed, the session wrapped up. Beatrice exhaled, feeling relieved as Elaine rushed over with a bottle of water. Beatrice took a sip and glanced at the now-occupied chair, deciding to plop down onto an alternate seat nearby. Sir Gabriel watched from the side, noticeably awkward.

Elaine continued to chat with the production crew.

Once they finished, Beatrice got up to leave with Elaine but paused to ask for her phone.

Upon checking WeChat again, she saw no new messages from him.

She bit her lip. “I can drive myself,” she said, collecting her belongings.

“Okay then,” Elaine replied, handing Beatrice the car keys. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Beatrice might be keeping a secret boyfriend, but every time Elaine inquired, Beatrice denied it without hesitation. Perhaps she really was just staying single.

With trust in her friend, Elaine dropped the topic.

Beatrice climbed into the car, resting her hands on the wheel. After a moment, she started the engine, making her way through the busier streets toward Crystalwater Keep. As she swiped her access card for Meadowvale, she grabbed her bag and pushed the massive door open, revealing a billiard room where a man dressed in all black leaned casually against the table, focusing on a shot.

He struck the cue, lining up to hit the red heart, sinking it effortlessly.

His profile appeared relaxed.

Beatrice sauntered over and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

“Still in the zone, huh?” she teased.

He remained focused, continuing his game, prompting her to tilt her head to meet his gaze.

Without his glasses on, his captivating, almond-shaped eyes seemed absorbed in thought—a moment later, he returned her focus with a half-smile, a blend of amusement and familiarity.

Beatrice’s heart skipped a beat, realizing how close they were. She stood on tiptoes to brush her lips against his.

He didn’t flinch; instead, after a heartbeat, one hand gripped her neck, pulling her closer, drawing her into an even deeper kiss.

Warmth flooded through her as he enveloped her in his embrace, balancing his game while giving in to the kiss. The scent of rosemary lingered around him, intoxicating and enchanting.

With a swift motion, he secured another shot, pocketing the final red heart before pulling her tighter into him as his sleeve brushed her side.

Chapter 3

Beatrice Clearwater let out a soft, cat-like hum. Lord Edmund Hawthorne paused momentarily, then turned around swiftly, lifting her and placing her on the billiards table. As she blinked awake, she found him leaning over her, a playful smirk on his face, his lips still glistening faintly with moisture.

Heat rushed to Beatrice’s cheeks as she pushed herself back on her arms, her long legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“What are you doing?” he asked, amusement lacing his deep voice.

“What do you think?” she replied, her slender fingers trailing up his cheek. He looked down, his gaze following her fingers until they reached his ear. He tilted his head slightly, evading her touch. Just then, she tried to pinch him again, but he suddenly leaned in, kissing her.

Beatrice's heart raced as she turned towards him, surrendering to the warmth of his kiss.

In a dizzying moment, he seized her hand, pulling it down.

Her fair wrist dangled to the side, and she let out a soft sound of surprise before wrapping her arms around his neck. Lord Edmund raised his eyes, their temperature chilling as he smirked, his fingers pressing firmly against her chin, then playfully biting her ear. She shuddered, half-opening her eyes before succumbing to the confusion.

In the cloudiness, she asked softly, “Why do you love touching my ears, but I can’t touch yours?”

He chuckled lowly. “What do you think?”

Beatrice leaned back, trying to escape his teasing grasp. But he was relentless, and soon enough, the question slipped from her mind.

*

Two hours later, she emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp and dressed in a sleep shirt. In the spacious living room, Lord Edmund was dressed impeccably, leaning casually against the couch, silver-framed glasses perched on his nose, his long legs crossed as he scrolled on his tablet. Beatrice paused for a moment, aware that while she was in a relaxed outfit, he looked as if he had just come from a formal affair, a stark contrast to the earlier intimacy they had shared.

Hanging her towel up, she settled beside him, leaning in to see the screen as he continued flipping through pages.

His long fingers paused briefly before returning to their task, revealing a message from his assistant, Edmund Gage.

“Gage: Mr. Xu, we really need to invest in the Aetherians Guild project.”

“Gage: I understand you want to support Annalise Fairfax, but the rights to Aetherians Guild are too costly. Moreover, our domestic sci-fi technology isn’t ready for this film.”

At this, Beatrice pulled her gaze away sharply, fumbling for her phone to open a chat with Elaine de Grey.

But once the conversation window opened, her mind went blank.

Annalise Fairfax was the star of Albright Studios, garnering all her resources through the company’s heft investment over the years, thrust into the limelight with sheer monetary power.

The Aetherians Guild was a daunting endeavor, requiring both vast financing and effort. Yet, Lord Edmund was intent on backing Annalise Fairfax, even if it risked a loss. A tremble raced through her fingertips.

With a bitter chuckle to herself, she curled her legs up, resembling a child as she continued scrolling through her phone, not sending a message but aimlessly looking.

The man beside her exuded an air of stoicism. When they weren’t in the throes of passion, he held this austere presence, his dress shirt perpetually buttoned up to the very last hole. Only on rare occasions over the years had she glimpsed his wild side, particularly when he relaxed his collar, sitting back with a half-smirk that was inherently alluring.

Everyone was curious about what Albright Studios’ president looked like.

Well, there he sat, the same man who, eight years ago at the University of Dawnmere, had single-handedly disabled the lecherous finance professor, his grip tightening around that man's limbs, forcing him to the ground where he cried out in agony, echoing through the campus.

And that’s when she had first fallen for him, standing at the entrance of the university, as he donned a crisp white shirt and black trousers, trampling over the old pervert’s dignity with a victorious stride. When he kicked the man away, removing his glasses and wiping them casually, he caught her gaze and smirked, “What are you looking at, classmate?”

That single glance had captured her heart, a feeling that clung to her for the past eight years.

Later, she had researched his background and discovered his true identity wasn’t a secret: Lord Edmund Hawthorne of the House of Hawthorne, the dream of countless young girls.

That status seemed insurmountable.

Too distant for her to even dare hope for.

A sudden hand wrapped around her shoulder, drawing her back to reality. The man leaned in, his gaze fixed on her phone, “What are you texting?”

The scent of rosemary wafted from him as she glanced at him. He teasingly loosened two buttons of his shirt collar, his amethyst-brown eyes dancing with mischief.

Beatrice couldn’t help but inch closer, nestling into his embrace.

He chuckled, opening his arms to welcome her, his lips curving playfully.

Yet, after a heartbeat, he spoke softly, “Don’t suffocate me, aren’t you tired?”

“You just told me to stop!” she exclaimed.

Caught off guard, Beatrice halted, then playfully draped herself over his neck and settled into his lap. Lord Edmund leaned back, one hand sliding beneath her shirt and the other steadying her waist. She looked down, her long hair spilling across her face, shifting until eventually, her bright red earrings peeped through the strands. He watched her ears intently.

And he held that gaze for a long moment.

In an instant, he leaned in, kissing her earlobe. Beatrice quivered, gripping his shoulder, swallowing hard as a question hovered on her lips.

“Why are you so focused on Annalise Fairfax?”

But she refrained from asking that, instead murmuring, “I’m doing a magazine shoot with Annalise Fairfax today.”

Lord Edmund raised an eyebrow, pausing before resting his chin on her head, his voice cool and curious, “And then?”

“She’s a bit taller than me.” Beatrice blurted out, intending to mention they would both be in black dresses for the shoot, sure to draw comparisons, but her words distractedly strayed from that conclusion.

He removed his glasses and began to spin them on his fingers, chuckling, “But you’re paler than she is.”

“Is that a satisfactory answer?” His laughter echoed near her ear, sending delightful shivers down her spine. She was tempted to turn and kiss those tempting lips.

But she refrained, merely smiling, “Yes, that works.”

His laughter resonated again.

Women truly were easy to please.

Chapter 4

Beatrice Clearwater held her boyfriend close, wrapping her arms around him as he stood there, his handsome face betraying no emotion while scrolling through his phone.

She tilted her head up to gaze at him, almost searching for a clue to his thoughts. A hint of a smile curled at the edges of his lips as he lightly stroked her back. Underneath that enchanting facade, she sensed a hidden intensity.

“Did you eat dinner yet?” she asked, placing a quick kiss on his chin.

“No, I haven't,” he replied.

“I’ll make something for you,” Beatrice offered, preparing to rise from his embrace.

But before she could walk away, he caught her wrist with a gentle grip and leaned down, his dark, sparkling eyes twinkling with mischief. “No need. I’m heading out in a bit.”

“Where to?” she blurted, the words escaping her before she could stop them. Instant regret washed over her.

He continued to smile, but offered no answer, bending to grab his glasses and methodically fastening his jacket. “There’s food in the kitchen. I won’t be back tonight.”

He scooped up his car keys from the counter and moved toward the door, leaving Beatrice standing by the couch, watching his tall silhouette stride outside. They called it a relationship, but she often felt as if she didn’t truly know him. Outside, nobody had any idea that Beatrice Clearwater was dating anyone, let alone the CEO of Albright Studios.

Deep down, she recognized the disparity between them. Ultimately, she kept quiet about their emotional connection, partly out of fear and partly due to her own humble background. A nagging thought would often flash through her mind—that perhaps it was her earnestness and devotion that drew him to her, granting her the privilege of sharing in this romantic fantasy.

After all, someone had once declared online that Lord Edmund Hawthorne had long been spoiled by women.

The door slammed shut.

He didn’t glance back.

Without the enthusiasm to cook anymore, Beatrice looked around the empty house. It was a villa, yes, but the living room seemed stark and barren, with only a billiards table, a sofa, a couple of coffee tables, and a TV. The kitchen and bathroom were basic, and upstairs lay two sparsely furnished bedrooms. Most of their moments together unfolded at the billiard table or occasionally on the sofa—seldom did they venture upstairs.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Elaine de Grey: "Don’t forget, we start filming tomorrow!"

“Okay,” Beatrice replied.

Elaine's next message brightened the screen: "Have you eaten?"

Not yet.

But she didn’t reply. Instead, Beatrice ascended the stairs, changed into a nightgown, and selected an outfit from her closet before heading back down, stepping outside, and climbing into her car—the car that would take her away from Crystalwater Keep. Without him there, the house felt void of comfort.

The drive back home was quiet, but her phone buzzed again—this time a message from her family, hinting at her brother needing tuition money for school. Beatrice frowned as she stood by the counter brewing coffee, but eventually transferred the required funds.

Her mother sent a follow-up message: “Ying Ying, how’s your health been?”

It always felt like only with money sent did she receive any semblance of affection.

Soon another message followed.

“Take care of yourself living alone.”

“Your brother's studies are going well; we’re considering a private school for him, but it's a bit pricey. As his sister, you’ll need to help out more.”

A barrage of texts arrived, but Beatrice skimmed through them without bothering to respond. She poured herself a cup of coffee and shuffled over to the kitchen to prepare a simple meal of noodles.

Settling back onto the couch, she opened up The Writerground, scrolling through the currents that stirred the morning buzz on social media.

The trending topic was still alive with discussions about Annalise Fairfax, many tearing her down, claiming, “Beatrice Clearwater is clearly trying to steal her spotlight. Why else would she wear the same yellow dress?”

“Annalise seems pitiful, constantly overshadowed by Beatrice, who seems intent on tagging along to ride her coattails. How long until Beatrice tries to outdo her again?”

Chapter 5

“Some people in this world have no shame, riding off the coattails of others just to gain attention. If it weren't for Annalise Fairfax's popularity, Beatrice Clearwater would have long faded into obscurity,” Elaine de Grey scoffed, scrolling through her phone.

“Honestly, Beatrice Clearwater doesn’t even compare to Annalise Fairfax. She’s constantly wearing the same outfits as Annalise, you’d think she’d at least try to avoid it,” one of her friends chimed in.

After a few moments of browsing, Elaine tossed her phone aside. She stood up, grabbing her suitcase as she headed upstairs to pack her things. Bringing Beatrice Clearwater along was a real money-saver — she barely needed any help from Edmund Gage, getting everything done herself.

Once Elaine finished packing, Beatrice sent a text message to Lord Edmund Hawthorne before bed.

Beatrice Clearwater: Heading into the set tomorrow.

It was a subtle way of saying that it would be a while until they met again. The man didn’t reply. She turned off the bedside lamp and drifted into sleep.

Before dawn the next day, Elaine called Beatrice. By that time, Beatrice was already ready. She rolled her suitcase out and opened the door to find two staff members from Hawthorne Enterprises standing there, smiling.

“Good morning, Ms. Yin.”

“Good morning,” Beatrice replied as she pulled her mask up and adjusted her long coat.

They took the two suitcases, following her closely behind. A cold breeze had started, an unexpected chill for a summer morning. Lady Isolde Wren took the wheel while Fiona Lancaster handled the luggage. Beatrice climbed into the car, and Fiona promptly closed the door behind her.

Inside the car, they had breakfast and touched up their makeup. Soon enough, they arrived at The Aerodrome, which was buzzing with activity. Dawnshire was a vibrant hub for the entertainment industry and a vital transit point, overflowing with people. Elaine, still masked, stood at the entrance of The Aerodrome, texting Beatrice.

Elaine: I’ll be down in a bit, just saw Annalise Fairfax. So annoying.

Beatrice leaned back in her seat, glancing at her phone while the sounds of fans screaming filled the air. Then her phone buzzed again.

Elaine: Annalise is in a hurry. She was with a really handsome guy who drew a crowd. Those eyes of his, wow.

“Those eyes…” Beatrice perked up, leaning toward the window and throwing it open.

And there he was.

Lord Edmund Hawthorne, slipping on his sunglasses with a slight, enigmatic smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His expression was unreadable, like a blank canvas.

Where could he be going in such a hurry? Ignoring her messages entirely.

Trailing behind him was Annalise Fairfax, heels clicking rapidly, maintaining some distance, yet her gaze was fixed on Lord Edmund.

Annalise Fairfax.

Elaine: What are you doing? Close that window!

Elaine: The guy just went in with Annalise. He’s really good-looking, but those thin lips scream “heartbreaker.”

And she would know; he was exactly that.

With a thud, Beatrice slammed the window shut, leaning back in her seat, frozen.

When she first started seeing Lord Edmund, she had no expectations, content just to be with him, even if only for one night. But now, desire had crept in—a dangerous longing.

With a sharp exhale, she plopped her phone down, shutting her eyes as memories swirled through her mind. For years her efforts had been taken for granted, never once did anyone ask if she needed help. If she wanted to pursue education, it was up to her to earn every penny; no one else was going to support her.

Elaine: You can come out now. Tell Fiona to drive to Entrance B.

Beatrice glanced at her phone before relaying the message to Fiona.

“Sure thing,” Fiona acknowledged, and the car merged through the bustling traffic, stopping at Entrance B.

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