Winona let the water run over her body as she prepared for another day at the bookstore. Her hair had grown longer than before, now reaching nearly down her back, and she tied it up in a ponytail. Every day, she read three to four stories while managing everything at the shop, fighting to keep her depression in check. Routine was the only thing that allowed her to breathe calmly, without feeling overwhelmed. Yet her entire being still burned with the thought of Billy — it was an addiction to feel him close, to be kissed by him, to linger as long as he wished.
The soap glided over her curves, her generous breasts trembling slightly with the movement. Her large dark eyes, as bright as stars, tried to focus on some distant point: the green of her irises, her loose hair falling heavily across her forehead, or her long, tender hands — a little rough, yet they made her shiver in her private imaginings.
She finished a long, cold shower, took two pills for stress and her headache, and began her day. She liked to dress with easy confidence — linen trousers, loose shirts cinched with a belt. She was more than pleased with such choices.
Her red shoes were as comfortable as they were charming, carrying her with an almost fairy-like grace around her apartment before she descended to the bookstore, which Billy had partially purchased on the condition that they allow the filming of a movie there and reorganize the tangled web of book sales.
—Good morning, dear. —Greeted the old shopkeeper, a man in his mid-sixties, gray-haired and perpetually exhausted, or at least that's how he always appeared.
—Good morning, Mr. Carter. —Winona replied, her voice free of the heaviness that had haunted her before starting her routine. She manned the pricing machine, arranged the shelves, worked the register, and greeted customers who didn't seem to recognize her. Her name tag bore a different name, her long hair softened her presence, and she was pleased. She had slipped into the role of a bookseller who seemed to merge with the world of stories — a performance that contributed to the store's success.
Her days were soothing: she would buy a coffee and spend her afternoons reading. She expected nothing more, nor less. It was her job — simple, steady, and without the stress she had never been built for. She preferred a low profile, away from the exhausting demands of long tours or constant orders.
Yet within her burned the struggle of wanting to stand out, to be someone important, someone others always noticed — the woman the world would watch. It was what she longed for, what she needed to keep herself from falling into despair, and it trapped her in constant conflict.
—You've got a letter, —remarked the old postman, looking at the girl who often resembled a forsaken bird.
She opened the envelope; inside was a revised draft of a script with some of Billy's ideas. The more she read, the more convinced she became that this project would be extraordinary — almost like an arrow that connected seamlessly to Billy's other films. They were consistently strong, especially when it came to portraying love, and she sensed this one might even earn a BAFTA nomination.
***
William Domer watched his granddaughter Amelia, as beautiful as she was meant to be. She thought she was defying him by choosing dance, modeling, and even competing in the Miss Universe pageant, the pinnacle of beauty contests. And beautiful she was — there was no denying it. At just seventeen, everything about her radiated a striking, undeniable beauty, one that seemed destined to fade in another time and place.
But now, with a new prospect, perhaps the timing was perfect. A marriage to Billy Carson — bringing him into their family — was all William desired. For now, he had to show Billy just how dangerous the world of the wealthy truly was: the secretive sects, the businesses that generated real money, the battles fought in the shadows, the rampant corruption, the underhanded dealings. This was perhaps the only form of certainty left to them.
That was William Domer Rockefeller's goal: to bring Billy into his own vision of reality and introduce him to the true world of power, adopting the Rockefeller name simply because it carried weight — a grand, formidable name suited to a celebrity of Billy's stature.
His foresight, coupled with a century-long web of family connections, would be enough to make the young man the richest in the world — if only Billy would embrace the role that was expected of him: the role of wealth, of suffering, the kind of power that no one should fully comprehend, yet all are drawn toward. Once ensnared, power becomes something one longs to escape, but most only ever scratch its surface, foolishly believing they can climb out of the tar pit that is true influence, the shadowed forces that drive the world.
Amelia faltered.
She lifted her gaze and met her grandfather's eyes, which looked at her as if she were nothing more than trash. She held his gaze for a few seconds before lowering her eyes. She hated these moments, but her grandfather's will weighed heavily on her — the mastermind behind everything, the iron-fisted ruler of the family.
—I'm sorry, Miss Amelia, —said the instructor, but I have to go now. I've nothing more to add.
She let out a soft sigh, wishing she could simply walk away. For now, she lived off the savings her mother had left her in an account meant to sustain her for two years. Her father paid for her dance lessons, and the rest came from her job as a secretary in a major firm. She was fluent in three languages and attended university with the help of a scholarship fund, but life felt like a constant headache — the loneliness, the burdens, everything.
—Grandfather. —
—Child, —he replied sternly—. At last, you've come to recognize your immature behavior and decided to do as your grandfather asks. It's simple, girl. Follow my orders, and you'll never have to work or do anything that troubles you again. Follow my orders. There's a young man in England, the son of oil magnates. Your hand in marriage will open the doors our family desperately needs. —
Amelia flushed, her eyes filling with tears. She struggled to find her words but couldn't. Panic spread through her as she stood there, alone, facing the metallic thud of his cane striking the floor. She had always been fearful, never daring to confront her grandfather.
Taking a deep breath, she gathered her notes. She was studying business administration and excelled at it; with her background, university felt almost like a mere summer course.
..