A/N: hello again! First off, please make sure you read all three things posted today – there was a prologue, flashback, and now we're onto chapter 1!

Oh, the loneliest girl in town

Is bought for plenty a price

Well, they dress her up in golden crowns

His smile hides a lie

~ Halsey, The Tradition

BPOV

I was sixteen when I set foot on a movie set for the first time. The nerves and crippling anxiety from that first day were hard to forget, always following me from set to set over the years. Right alongside the thrill of overcoming those things and proving every fucker on set wrong. It was a high I continued to chase for decades.

It never mattered how many shiny awards I got or how many glowing reviews there were for my performances. Every set of eyes on the cast and crew, no matter the production, always ended up on me. If I wasn't the unknown girl plucked from the middle of nowhere Washington who had everything to prove then I was the girl whose talent had to be over exaggerated and success paid for. I was the woman whose husband would, quite literally, bury any of them within an hour if I asked him to. I was the one who deserved to be behind bars just as much as he did.

I liked to tell myself that I didn't care anymore. That the need for constant approval had died over the years. But the moment I stepped onto a set that all too familiar desire to get everyone's approval flooded my veins, even to this day. The obsessive need to be good enough was what I grew up on. It was what I thrived on.

It wasn't even my own film. Well, technically it was. My production company was paying for it but I wasn't here to do anything more than make sure the girl in front of the camera wasn't being treated the same way I had been.

People could make me out to be a villain all they wanted. I saw every article saying I was out to control Hollywood with the production company and record label and talent agency. But I wasn't after control.

I wanted change. Because the last thing the world needed was another me walking around.

"Mrs. Cullen," the personal assistant said, his voice shaking. "Mr. Jones is running a few minutes behind schedule. He'll be with you as soon as he can."

I gave the poor kid a small smile. It was a miracle he could get through his lie with what I could hear his boss shouting in his headset.

"Bitch thinks she can visit my set whenever she wants and demand my time? I'm not scared of her. She can't come in here and make all these goddamn changes–"

Goddamn changes. Like not letting him work the seventeen-year-old girl starring in the film to the bone. Making him follow safety guidelines I made sure were put into every film contract my company produced. Ones he already agreed to.

They could call me a bitch and say I was power hungry, it was a persona I would happily play if it helped me make the changes necessary to protect the next generation of entertainers.

With Jones 'running late' I wandered through the sound stage and ignored the tight glances I got from everyone who spotted me. I made at least one visit to every production my company funded, usually without warning anyone I was coming. There had only been one production that had followed every safety guideline I had established. Lawrence had been more than happy about my visit to his set, too.

The girl was easy to spot. She was hunched over in a director's chair, a heavily tabbed script in her lap. Her lips moved as she read over her lines.

I pulled a chair up next to her, eying the page she was reading. A full monologue, nearly the entire page highlighted with her lines. "Hi," I said gently.

She looked over at me, her makeup done to accentuate her thin cheeks with fake scratches and bruises along her collarbone and neck. She was beautiful, even with her blonde hair matted and her tired, post-apocalyptic eyes.

Her name was Ana Alexander. She was seventeen, and had been a child actor since she was eight. This was her first big production. Her big break.

"Hi," she gasped.

"Big day?" I asked, eyes floating down to the script in her lap.

"Yeah," she sighed. "The schedule changed and I hadn't realized it until I walked in this morning. And I have this–sorry. You have more important things to do than listen to me complain. Not that I–I'm not complaining. I love–"

"It's okay. I've been there. A few dozen times."

Ana nodded, her fingers fiddling with the tabs on her script. We sat in a calm silence for a few minutes before she worked up the courage to speak again. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

Her eyes–pale blue and already broken from her short time in this business–they broke me. "This. For so long."

I sat back, crossing my legs and looking out at the multi-million dollar production that was underway in front of me. "I realized my self-worth. I surrounded myself with people that wouldn't let me get overworked, even by myself. I realized that the men in suits that like to talk down to you only want you to think they have the power. But if you've got the talent; if you're one of the people doing this because you genuinely love the craft and are willing to put in the work–they need you more than you need them."

Ana nodded, eyes back down on her script.

"Do you love it?" I asked. "Acting?"

"Yes. Too much sometimes, I think."

I nodded, understanding. Probably more than anyone else ever could. "Hold onto that. Don't let anyone make you feel like you didn't earn your spot."

"Thank you," she whispered.

I gave her a smile, hopping up from my chair and wandering over to the craft services table. I filled a plate full of food, grabbing a sandwich and a cup of fruit and just about one of everything they had before setting it down next to Ana.

Before she could say anything about the food, Drake Jones took the opportunity to make his presence known.

"Bella," he grumbled, not even bothering to put a fake smile on his face. "I didn't know you were coming by today."

I gave him a genuine smile of my own. "I had to make sure my goddamn changes were being followed."

–Love|Power–

Hours later, I was in the comfort of my own shower at home in Chicago. It was late, nearing midnight, but I took my time shaving and scrubbing and moisturizing. Mostly just to enjoy the use of my right arm while I could.

My tremors from the shooting had gotten worse in the last year. Bad enough for Edward to convince me to get my shoulder looked at again. Apparently there was some scar tissue around the nerves that could be causing the increase in tremors. Which meant, if I didn't want them to keep getting worse, I needed a surgery to remove what they could.

I wasn't looking forward to four weeks with my arm stuck in a sling. But it would be nice to not feel older than I already was and get rid of the annoying shaking of my hand.

The house was quiet as I got out of the shower and slid into bed. The day of traveling across the country and fighting with egotistical directors should have left me exhausted enough to pass out as soon as my head hit the pillow but I was wide awake. I couldn't relax until I heard the front door open and listened to the familiar routine of my husband coming home. I heard him arm the security system and listened to his footsteps as he made sure all of the doors were locked. I counted his steps up the staircase and down the hall until I heard the bedroom door creak open.

My eyes fluttered open when I felt his lips press against my forehead. "Hi."

"Sorry," he sighed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

I shrugged from my cocoon underneath the comforter. "I was still up."

Edward sat on the edge of the bed, gently tucking my slightly damp hair behind my ear. "How was LA?"

I sat up, my back against the headboard, and pulled my legs up to my chest. "Fine. How was…" My eyes spotted a splattering of blood on the collar of his shirt. "Work?"

"Fine," he said truthfully. Because it was normal for a fine day for him to leave him with blood covered clothing. "I'm glad you're back."

I smiled over at him. I had only been gone a couple days, but I was glad I was back too. There was this uncomfortable twist in my chest that had been getting worse all day. One that usually popped up whenever I got myself too engrossed in work. I waited up while Edward took a quick shower.

I hadn't lied. My trip was fine. But I couldn't get Ana Alexander out of my head. Her eyes, already so worn down after such a short time in the business. The way her demeanor changed instantly when Jones walked up. I remembered being her. For a long fucking time. They weren't fond memories.

I was well aware of the path I had been headed down before I found Edward. I was overworked and exhausted and saw no problem with any of it. Assumed it was how things were supposed to be. Sure, I had taken some control back over my life with Badlands, but not enough. I still let myself get convinced to do a tour five times the size of the one I had imagined. Still had the next five years of my career mapped out and ready the moment I was able to act again.

Then I found Edward. The man who didn't take shit from anybody and, quite literally, buried anyone who thought otherwise. His methods, while drastic when it came to his own work, were a breath of fresh air for me.

Ana had asked me how I survived in Hollywood for so long. The real answer was I only survived because I had Edward to pull me out whenever I got myself back in too deep.

The man himself slid into bed beside me, his arm falling over my waist and his lips pressing gently against my forehead. My throat got tight, my eyes stinging with unshed tears as I buried myself as deeply against him as I could.

I couldn't see his face, but I didn't have to in order to know he pulled away just a smidge to frown down at me.

"Are you okay?"

All I could do was nod against his chest.

"Bella," he sighed quietly. His fingers wrapping around my chin to pull my attention up to him.

"It's nothing," I told him quickly. Mostly because I wasn't sure what my issue was myself. But as I reached between us my fingers traced over the face I would know anywhere, the one I happily saw first thing every morning and kissed every night before falling asleep. My thumb brushed against the slight stubble littering his jawline. "I'm just glad you found me, Edward Cullen."

His eyes softened, noticeable even in the near pitch-black room. It was a softness reserved solely for me, one I cherished every second I was given it. He kissed me; a kiss that I had gotten a million times before but one that would always send a jolt of adrenaline through my veins.

"I would have found you," he mumbled, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke. "Even if you hadn't shown up at that benefit, I would have found you."

Logic had no business in my brain as I took comfort in his words, in the idea that no matter what path I ended up on I would have ended up here, with him. Even though we were from two different worlds at the time, our fate had been intermingled from the moment I was born with Aro Volturi's blood running through my veins.

–Love|Power–

"Isabella," my husband sighed from beside me. "They're fine."

"But, I should be–"

"Sit."

I frowned, but did as I was told. It had been a couple weeks since my surgery, but I was still stuck in a sling. The pain was manageable, thanks to the medication I was on. The frustration at not being about to do anything and having a husband who was very adamant about me not lifting a finger for four full weeks was not manageable.

"Hey," Jared smiled, taking a seat beside me at the sixteen-person dining room table. "How's the shoulder?"

"Fine," I stressed, tossing a frown over at Edward who smiled at me over the rim of his crystal glass.

"You wince every time you move, Bella."

I grumbled to myself, taking a sip of my water as I listened to everyone besides me clean up my kitchen. Well, not everyone. We had a big kitchen, but our group for Sunday dinner was always growing. Adeline, Alice, Rosalie and Maggie kicked everyone else out. Olivia was here, along with Selena. Connor, Maggie's husband who had been skittish around our family from the moment we met him, even showed up. Add in Aiden, Ella, Emmett, Jasper, and Alec, and the house was packed.

I loved it. Every family gathering was loud and chaotic and messy, but it was family. They were my people and I never took a Sunday dinner with them for granted.

"Any tremors since the surgery?" Jared asked.

"No, but I haven't done much," I mumbled.

Jared opened his mouth to say more, but then I saw the man walk around the corner. My squeal of delight was uncontrollable. I hadn't seen him in… years. Five at least. I hopped up as fast as I could, wrapping my one good arm around Peter's shoulder.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I gasped, shoving him as we pulled away.

Friends in Hollywood came and went quickly. Peter was one of the only people who had stuck with me. Not once had he said my name in an interview to get himself attention. In all the years after my trial, while I was still hidden away on the island with Edward, he constantly had my back and insisted I was innocent. Even though I hadn't talked to him since before I was arrested. He sold me his record label years ago and then vanished to live off the grid to enjoy nature or some shit like that.

Peter shrugged, an easy smile tugging at his lips. His hair was longer than usual, with enough length for the brownish-blonde locks to flop over his forehead. "I got bored. Then I found this," he grinned, holding up a plain red backpack that had seen better days.

My brows shot up. "What is it?"

"A shit ton of demos from when we were in our twenties."

A couple gasps from behind me caught my attention. I turned and saw most of the family staring at us, but Olivia and Serena stared wide-eyed at Peter.

All of Adeline and Aiden's friends had become family over the years. The girls who were gossiping about me at Adeline's bachelorette party now happily came over for Sunday dinner whenever they felt like it, an open invitation always given to them. Aiden's fraternity brothers also came and went as they pleased.

"Holy shit," Olivia gasped, very obviously eye fucking Peter.

He was handsome, always had been. But in a very classical sense, with that boy next door feel to him. We had dated once upon a time, but it was constantly on and off again because we were too similar to ever last. Worked too hard to put our romantic relationship ahead of our professional one.

"I lost my virginity to your music," Serena blurted out, immediately turning red.

I snorted. It was hardly the worst thing anyone had said to Peter. He was hard to phase.

"Happy to be of service," he smiled.

"Olivia and Serena," I introduced him, pointing to the girls in question. "Are you hungry?"

"Nah, I'm okay," he shrugged, his attention landing on my shoulder. "What the fuck happened to you this time?"

"Scar tissue from the shooting."

"Damn."

I smiled up at Peter. I hadn't seen him in years, but it was like nothing had changed. He was the most laid back man I had ever met. Easy to talk to and easy to trust. It was why his name was one of the few on the list to be let into the house, no questions asked by the security team.

We migrated to the living room, surrounded by the family that had followed us. Peter opened his bag and started pulling out a couple of dated laptops and cords.

"I tossed most of my stuff in storage when I left. I got back a few weeks ago and was clearing it out when I found all of this." Peter sat back on the couch beside me, pulling the computer into his lap. "We were some moody fuckers."

I snorted, shaking my head. Peter and I worked together. A lot. He was one of the only people I wrote music with. Partly because I didn't trust most people with my work and partly because after the trial not many people wanted to work with me anyway.

He was the first person I wrote a song with. We made Badlands together on a fucking whim and it went on to with Album of the Year at the Grammys. Over the years we had written and recorded a lot of random shit together. Enough to make me hesitant about what he was about to play for everyone.

But don't forget about the night out in L.A

Dance in the kitchen, chase me down through the hallway

No one knows about the words that we whispered

No one knows how much I miss you

The song brought an immediate smile to my face. My good arm reached for Edward, where he relaxed to my left, a fresh glass of whisky in his hand. "I wrote this after you came to LA for the first time."

"Happiest song you had ever written at that point," Peter said with a shake of his head, his knee bouncing with the beat of the song.

Peter played a dozen more songs for us. Some weren't great, bordering on embarrassing, but they still brought back vivid memories. There were a few overly dramatic songs about how heartbroken I was about Jacob Black and while I was more than over the whole thing, I could admit that the mess of a relationship had given me some great songs. Including ten minutes of me being hopelessly depressed I couldn't forget about him.

"Do you remember our country phase? We spent two weeks in Nashville and it shows."

And there we are again when nobody had to know

You kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath

…

But now that we're done and it's over

I bet it's hard to believe

But it turned out I'm harder to forget than I was to leave

"I spent two weeks crying in Nashville," I snorted. It was right after I found out the man I thought I was dating was married. And I was always a bit on the dramatic side. More so in my youth.

"Black was never worth the tears," Peter said. "But he helped you write some damn good music."

"I love that one," Alice sighed dreamily.

"Oh, this is the one!" Peter shouted, excitedly pressing play on the next track.

I started laughing as soon as I recognized it.

I'm really gonna miss you picking fights

And me falling for it, screaming that I'm right

And you would hide away and find your peace of mind

With some indie record that's much cooler than mine

"Little miss dramatic," Peter sighed. "We dated for three months, Bella."

"We dated for like one month out of those three because we were a mess," I clarified, feeling Edward's hand on my shoulder tense.

"And you went to him to write a song about it?" Serena gasped.

I shrugged. "He's conveniently skipping over the one he wrote about me."

You want me to forget you

Okay, forget me too

You tell me you hate me, baby

Yeah, I bet you do

"Why didn't you ever release any of these?" Aiden asked, smiling over at me with his daughter fast asleep in his lap.

Peter and I shrugged. His was probably much less painful than mine. "Other stuff was better."

"Our other stuff was fucking legendary," Peter corrected me. "Our cuts from decades ago are better than half the shit that gets released today."

I got this feeling in my soul

Go ahead and throw your stones

'Cause there's magic in my bones

I connected all of the dots, my brows shooting up. "You want to release these?"

Peter shut the computer, leaning forward. "They're fucking good, Bella. Re-recorded with some new instrumentals and we can show these kids how it's really done."

"It's a hodgepodge of genres."

"It shows our versatility."

I laughed. And maybe it was because I was tired of not being able to do anything with my arm out of commission, or maybe it was just my inability to let go of the industry that had fucked me over time and time again.

"I'm in."

A/N: Here we go. A few questions answered before you ask: Chapters will be alternating BPOV/EPOV. There will be at least one flashback between each chapter, all BPOV. I don't know exactly how long this will get. But I'm so grateful for everyone still sticking around with these two and I hope you enjoyed the beginning because we've got quite the road ahead of us!

Also: I'm still working on Closure so I'm hoping to alternate between postings for these two stories. Writing two things at once is new to me so please bear with me on the wait between updates!

Lyrics, in order of appearance: The Very First Night – Taylor Swift, All Too Well (10 Minute Version) – Taylor Swift, I Bet You Think About Me – Taylor Swift, We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together – Taylor Swift, Forget Me Too – Machine Gun Kelly (Feat. Halsey), Bones – Imagine Dragons