Scarlett's POV:

Looking out into the crowd all your worries disappear, the blackened rose left behind in the limo so recently vacated along with the letters hidden in the locked drawer in your bedroom. You have waited so long for this moment, to finally be recognised by your peers and idols as a genuine artist, that emotion clogs your voice. Whilst giving your unprepared speech your vision sweeps over the people in attendance, brushing past the dozens of cameras pointed straight at your face. Hoping to capture every ounce of emotion. At the light station the shadows of the people there are clear. You stop short as recognition passes over your features and dread swiftly follows, you know the cameras will not have missed your loss of control but you cannot care at the moment.

You have spotted him, the one that used to haunt your dreams and now haunts your steps. An awkward pause fills the air as you realise you are no longer talking, the people behind the camera's frantically signal to you, asking you what is wrong and all the while motioning for you to continue talking.

In your line of work it is well known that the most successful form of deception is a smile, so that's what you do. Looking straight into the camera broadcasting live with only a five seconds delay you beam, your dimpled cheeks flushing with the appearances of happiness. If only they knew the storm of panic, dread, horror and strangely relief that rages beneath the confines of your ribs.

The famous pearly white smile briefly flickers as you feel something like a punch to your chest; confusion spreads as you see those in the front stand up and begin yelling. Anger wells up as you realize they are interrupting your acceptance speech, and for best female solo artist no-less. However, almost simultaneously, you notice the horrified gasping and pointing directed solely at you.

Panic spreads quickly to the people at the back as your picture is projected on the screens for all to see. You look to the right to see the reasoning behind such panic and your own reflection looks back at you. Flawless make-up, midnight curled locks resting against slim shoulders and a pale pink Giovanni gown. A retarded spot the difference picture appears in your mind as you compare the picture on-screen to the image of you before you left for the awards. It is only then that you notice the speedily spreading rouge stain slightly to the left side of your chest.

The only question you are able to comprehend is the ever-helpful: 'what?' There is no fear, not even as you realise the image has shifted and the doppelganger now leans on her knees, a movement you had not felt due to the numbness of your legs. You tear your gaze from the large screen, now looking into the audience and, unknowingly, into the camera, you miss the tear that glitters down your face, something that will haunt the viewers after this night is over. An image that will cover magazines and newspapers for weeks to come.

You collapse onto your side and briefly note the unconscious presenter slumped at the side of the set: shock, huh, shouldn't that be you? Briefly you note that the bullet must have missed your heart but know that you will bleed to death before paramedics can hope to reach you. You begin to forget and fear flickers to life, encompassing you. The panic only shortening your remaining time.

As black begins to cloud your vision your head tilts to the side, again facing the camera, the last thought you have is surprisingly calm: 'I can't believe I've been shot while receiving a Grammy, guess this really is a deadly business'.

The viewers sit at home, horrified as these events pass over the screen, in the panic no one thought to stop the transmission and millions watch as Scarlett Swan dies alone on her glittery stage.

Bella POV:

It's been two months and I still can't believe he's gone, not just him, all of them. They didn't even care enough to say goodbye. I've tried to trigger Alice's visions but her lack of response leaves me with two conclusions: either my subconscious will not allow me to fully accept my plans as a decision, or she simply doesn't care what happens to me anymore.

"Best female, solo-artist. That's her category, right Bells?" Charlie grunts beside me, effectively snapping me out of my morbid dwelling. My attention now focuses on the TV screen whilst the host reads out the nominations, my sisters is the first to be read out.

Yes I know, I lied to Edward. I do infact have a sister but she and I haven't always been on the best of terms, her absence after my near-death experience at Phoenix confirms that. Besides it wasn't like it was a secret from only Edward, I was the unknown sibling to everyone, staying out of the media. Scarlett was the opposite of myself, beautiful, popular and crazy about singing. She always swore she'd be famous one day and after my Mom met Phil his money helped that happen. There were five years between us and she had been sent to boarding school since she was 15, effectively putting a nail in any sisterly bonding that might have helped our relationship. Nevertheless when I had found out, rather obnoxiously, that she had been nominated for a Grammy I couldn't help but be thrilled for her.

A rare smile lit up my face when her name was announced and I squeezed my Dad's hand whilst she made her way up to the stage, hugging and kissing people she passed along with the host.

Her eyes were welling up with tears as she reached the podium and began her speech. My Dad's face glowed with pride; being the non-materialistic man that he is he had never fully understood why Scarlet wished to be famous, but seeing how happy she was was enough for him.

I didn't even notice any change in her expression and it was the sound of screaming that alerted me to a problem in the first place. Horror. That was all that filled me, no I couldn't handle losing another person. Despite my plea's Scarlet dropped to her knees, the blood marring her exquisite dress.

'No, no, no, no…' I repeated in breathless gasps, almost unaware that I was doing so, my Dad's screams drowning my speech his hands gripping the TV in agony and frustration. We were thousands of miles away watching as the life ebbed out of her and there was nothing we could do. We could only watch as, slumped onto her side, looking directly at the camera, the light left her eyes.

That person lying on the stage did not look like my sister, the only recognisable feature of Scarlett was the dimpled smile that I had always envied. With that I collapsed onto the sofa, quickly becoming less and less aware of my Dad's sobs until the blessed relief of unconsciousness greeted me, my already unstable mind on the brink of collapsing on me. A mantra of 'she's gone' was the last thing my brain was able to comprehend.

Discalimer: I do not won Twilight or any of the characters, unfortunately.

Please review, feel free to go easy on me as this is my first fan-fic.