Behind the Headlines!

The flashbulbs were a relentless storm, each burst a tiny, searing sun aimed directly at her soul. Becky forced a smile, the kind she'd practiced a thousand times in front of a mirror, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. Another premiere. Another sea of faces blurring into a hungry mass. They wanted a piece of her - the actress, the icon, the flawless image plastered across magazine covers. No one saw the tremor in her hands, the tight knot of anxiety in her chest.

Tonight felt different. The usual thrill of the red carpet was muted, replaced by a prickling unease she couldn't shake. A shadow lingered at the edges of the adoration, a whisper in the roar of the crowd. She'd tried to ignore the unsettling letters, the fleeting glimpses of a figure in the periphery. Richard, ever the worried father, had insisted. A bodyguard. An intrusion she hadn't wanted, hadn't asked for.

Then she saw her.

Standing a few feet away, a silent sentinel amidst the chaos. Dark suit, an air of quiet intensity that cut through the surrounding frenzy. Her gaze was direct, unwavering, assessing. Freen Sarocha. Her new shadow.

Becky's breath hitched, a flicker of something unexpected stirring within the familiar dread. It wasn't relief, not exactly. It was... intrigue. This woman looked like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, and yet, there was a stillness about her that Becky found strangely compelling.

She won't understand, a cynical voice whispered in Becky's mind. No one ever truly does. They saw the glamour, the success. They didn't see the loneliness that echoed in the empty spaces of her penthouse, the constant pressure to be someone she wasn't.

But as Freen's eyes briefly met hers across the swirling throng, a different kind of understanding seemed to flicker there, a silent acknowledgment of the underlying tension. Or perhaps it was just her imagination, a desperate yearning for connection in a world that often felt isolating