The party continued in an atmosphere of luxury, with dazzling lights illuminating the entire venue, creating a warm yet glamorous ambiance. Laughter and joyful chatter filled the air, but to Freya, it all seemed like a mere facade masking the emptiness she felt inside. Everything around her blurred, becoming distant and remote.

She had long since lost count of how many times she nodded and smiled in response to compliments and handshakes from colleagues and producers. Their praise felt foreign now, like distant sounds with no weight or significance. She accepted a glass of wine from the server, sipping it slowly to ease the tension in her throat.

As she passed by familiar faces, Freya caught the gaze of a few people, their eyes filled with admiration. Yet none of them truly understood the thoughts swirling in her mind. It wasn't that they didn't care; it was that Freya had constructed an invisible wall around herself, a protective shield to keep her from the loneliness and unease she couldn't share with anyone.

"Freya!" A cheerful voice called out. Freya turned to see Eva, the director, walking towards her. Eva's eyes sparkled with pride. "You truly are the soul of this project. I can’t imagine anyone else playing Emma as perfectly as you."

Freya smiled gently, a smile that couldn't quite mask the fatigue in her eyes. "Thank you, Eva. But I’m just doing my job."

Eva grinned, teasingly adding, "What’s this I’m hearing? If it were coming from some other young actress, I’d believe it, but coming from ‘Hollywood’s Jewel,’ that sounds like an unbelievably humble statement."

Freya remained silent, her practiced smile never wavering. Eva moved on to chat with other actors.

She had poured herself into Crimson Desire, a thrilling horror project filled with twists and suspense, yet she couldn't escape the pervasive feeling of emptiness. In the film, she portrayed Emma, an archaeologist facing life-threatening dangers, but to Freya, everything on set felt like a fading dream—one that had long ceased to be real. The intense scenes, the nerve-wracking action sequences, were nothing more than another layer in a series of facades.

Tonight’s party was the celebration marking the end of Crimson Desire, which, as expected, had been a resounding success, generating waves in the film industry.

The event lasted until late, and Freya finally slipped away from the bustling crowd. Outside, her assistant was waiting. The white Rolls Royce glided smoothly through the quiet streets, the city lights reflecting off its polished glass. Freya leaned back in her seat, gazing out of the window, but all she could see were fleeting gusts of night air. A sense of relief washed over her as the party celebrating Crimson Desire came to an end.

Her assistant, Emma, sat beside her, continuing their discussion about the next day’s schedule. Her voice broke the stillness inside the car.

"Freya, here’s your schedule for tomorrow: We start at 9:00 AM with a press conference for Silent Shadows in Los Angeles. Then, we have interviews with Variety and Entertainment Weekly at 10:30 AM about the film you’re doing with Hugh Grant. After that, a meeting with director Peter Greene at 12:00 PM, and then we have fittings for the Cannes ceremony."

Freya gently rubbed her temple, fatigue evident in her voice. "Oh… I see, thanks, Emma."

She silently thought to herself, Hopefully, there will be some time to rest...

But of course, that was impossible. Her email inbox was already filled with a packed schedule for the coming week—and even the month ahead.

The Rolls Royce continued its journey through the quiet Los Angeles streets, and Freya cast a fleeting glance at the passing scenery, her thoughts wandering until the car slowly came to a stop in front of the gates of her estate. A soft breeze tousled her long hair, and the warm golden light from the house gleamed mysteriously in the night. She stepped out of the car, her long gray-silver gown fluttering gently with the wind, her deep blue eyes still holding an indescribable sadness as she gazed at the familiar home.

Though she had grown accustomed to the bright lights of fame, Freya always found a deep sense of peace within these walls—her sanctuary.

Her home, a perfect blend of European old-world elegance and artistry, stood as a living canvas in the heart of the city. The spacious living room, decorated with luxurious furnishings, exuded a cozy warmth, a place where she could unwind after the most stressful of days, or simply sit alone and gaze at the cityscape through the large glass windows. Priceless pieces of art, collected from around the globe, served as focal points in the house, showcasing the unique personality of its owner—one of Hollywood's brightest stars.

Freya was undeniably one of Hollywood's most celebrated figures, with two Golden Globe Awards, five Grammy nominations, six Oscar nominations, and three wins for Best Actress. Her numerous accolades reflected her relentless dedication to the craft of acting, solidifying her status as a beloved icon in both the public eye and within the industry. Yet, for Freya, all these awards had never been the most important thing—her career was one part, but it was these quiet moments, here at home, that she truly cherished.

"Good evening, Freya," Emma said, "We start early tomorrow."

Freya gave a small nod, waving Emma off as she entered the house. The space inside was just as she remembered—serene and familiar. The warm yellow lights cast a gentle glow across the living room. But as she was about to climb the stairs, a faint sound echoed from the hallway, as if someone was moving around inside the house. It came from the neighboring estate. She paused, glanced over, unsure if it was the wind or something else. But she shrugged it off, not giving it much thought.

Must be the new neighbor, Freya mused. She was never one to pry into the lives of strangers. After a long, exhausting day, she simply wanted to find peace within her own home, in the routines she had grown accustomed to.

Entering her house, Freya shed her outfit, slipping into a soft robe, and made her way to the bathroom, the warm steam from the shower soothing her tired body. Thirty minutes later, she emerged, sat down at her desk, and opened her laptop. She checked the schedule for the next day, browsing through the work-related emails, including some from film producers about upcoming projects. She briefly skimmed through information on the upcoming Cannes Film Festival and the myriad tasks that awaited her. There was so much to do.

When she glanced up, her reflection in the large mirror met her eyes. She saw herself—a strong, confident woman in the public eye—but in the solitude of this room, she felt like someone running from her true self. But that was fine; work would have to go on.

End chap