Her chest felt tight, as if it were being torn apart, as she stared at his expressionless face. In the end, she pressed the remote and switched to the entertainment news instead.
What she saw there was just as expected.
The newscaster's voice was solemn, her gaze heavy. "The death of one of the greatest superstars of our century brings immense heartache. Fans all over the world continue to shed tears, mourning the loss of this remarkable woman, her work, and her legacy."
Gianna's—or rather, Brianne's—hand tightened around the remote, her knuckles turning white. The mention of her "death" made her felt strange, even as the newscaster continued.
"…her unforgettable performances and dedication to her craft have left an indelible mark. As we look back on her achievements, we can only wonder what more she might have accomplished. Truly, Brianne Hathaway's legacy will be cherished by fans and peers alike."
The screen filled with footage of past award ceremonies, flashes of her red-carpet moments, acting moments, and moments with friends . But for Gianna, it was both haunting and painful, as if she were watching the ghost of herself—one already lost to the world.
She turned off the TV and sat in silence, the room dim and quiet around her. Soft morning light seeped through the windows, casting a cool, pale glow across the walls. Her thoughts drifted back to her past life—her successes, her secrets, her mistakes.
Sylus… She had loved him, even if their relationship had been complicated. They had kept it hidden, away from prying eyes and the scrutiny of the public. But in this moment, he was no more her husband, he was merely a figure on the screen, paying respects to a life that had already ended.
In a daze, she wandered to the window, pushing the curtains aside. The streets of the small neighborhood were quiet.
She decided to look around and get herself familiarized.
For from now on, Brianne was dead; Gianna was alive.
So, she set out, and after walking a few steps, she realized the neighborhood was strangely familiar to her, Brianne.
Her brows knitted into a frown as she tried to remember, but she couldn't. She was about to continue walking when her eyes went abruptly wide. She finally realized what was wrong!
This was her hometown—Brianne's hometown.
She looked around with a mixture of shock and surprise, her expression contorting with disbelief.
She hadn't noticed at all.
Brianne was from here. She had grown up here, adopted by a woman from the orphanage in this neighborhood. When Brianne turned 17, the woman died—she was her only family. So, after turning 18, Brianne decided to leave San Francisco and moved to Los Angeles.
She dabbled there for a while, working to sustain her life and education, until a modeling agency approached her, and she signed a contract with them.
Due to her striking appearance, she shot to fame and later switched to acting. Her company was part of an entertainment group owned by Sylus Grey.
He was everything a normal woman would want. His looks, his physique—he was the perfect man, like a character from a romance novel. She had been his number one fan, utterly obsessed with him. Her heart would drum when he was near, and sharing a glance with him felt like heaven.
He helped her many times too. He was everything she had wanted back then, and she secretly loved him for three years. Later, he suddenly approached her and asked if she would like to marry him.
Yes, it was a proposal, an abrupt one. She had been foolish, blinded by love, and had accepted.
He treated her well, gave her everything she wanted. Unfortunately, his family despised her, and that's how the conspiracy leading to her "death" began. She died at a mere 23.
Suddenly, her eyes grew hot, memories flooding her heart like an unrelenting storm. She had thought he would come to her aid, but he never did. When his family hurt her, when they framed her, when they wronged her—he wasn't there. He never had her back.
She couldn't help but hold her chest, telling herself that she couldn't cry. But it was all too painful, too hard to forget, like a fresh wound, and before she knew it, her vision blurred.
"Uh? Gianna, you're going to the store already?" That voice was exactly what she needed at that moment, pulling her out of her daze.
She closed her eyes, quickly wiped her tears away, opened them again, then turned to look at the woman who had called her.
With a kind smile, the middle-aged woman dressed in sportswear spoke in a string of Italian words.
"Quella donna... È così senza speranza. Deve aver lasciato casa e lasciato tutto a te. Mi chiedo quando finalmente crescerà." That woman… She's so hopeless. She must have left home and left everything to you. I wonder when she'll finally grow up.
Gianna was multilingual, so she catch on what she was saying, and she realized she was referring to Sofia. Sofia was a careless woman, always with a new boyfriend every few weeks, leaving her oldest daughter to do everything—from cooking to cleaning, and also to taking care of her younger siblings—yet she would still complain that the original Gianna was lazy. She was simply irresponsible and would even tell her daughter,
"I wasn't able to find a good man to marry, all thanks to you. The moment my lovers saw I had a daughter as old as you, they always left. So, all you can repay me with is by taking care of your siblings for me and never make me worry. I deserve some peace too."
She was a terrible mother, to say the least.
Seeing Gianna silent, the woman assumed she was right and patted her shoulder gently. "No need to tire yourself out, girl. Just do what you can."
Gianna looked blankly at the woman, not expecting such kindness. Finally, she opened her mouth. "Thanks, Miss Allegra."