Novel & Cerita Blonde Actress With Scar Between Eyebrows

My veil was the same white tulle with the lace flower design along the bottom. My hair and makeup are simple. The one request Nic had was to not mess with my curls. He didn't want my hair straightened at all. I decided to keep my curls, mostly for him. We pulled my hair back into a low bun and pinned it tightly to my head. We left strands of my hair out to frame my face. My makeup is very natural. I didn't want anything over the top. Scarlet did my eyebrows, she said it was a must. (Just like a damn bikini wax. Ps that shit was painful). My eyeshadow was a shimmery brown with a dark brown color on the outside. I also had eyeliner, but no wing, and mascara. We added light pink blush to my che

He sits on the bed, eyes on the floor. Then I whisper, “So Cindy was there. With her Pradas.” He looks up, eyes narrow. “We figured … from the hospital surveillance. But we couldn’t see her face … what does she look like?” “Tall, brown eyes, boyish build, bleached bob hair, a young Lady Gaga on a caffeine bender and a moral mission,” I try to describe her as best as possible. “Nothing special. Except that she’s crazy as fuck.” “Oh, and she has a long scar on the side of her neck … not older than a year, I would say.”

"How touching. The children are playing at being Emperors." Elena felt the world tilt. She stepped around the desk, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard it hurt. "Who are you? How did you get past my security?" The woman stepped into the light of the desk lamp. She slowly lifted the veil. Elena’s breath hitched. The woman had the same high cheekbones, the same arched brows, and the same piercing eyes that Elena saw in her own mirror every morning. But a jagged scar ran from the woman’s temple down to her jaw, a remnant of a fire that should have been fatal.

The elevator chimed softly before sliding open and Maria looked up. A woman in her mid-forties stepped out with quiet elegance, the kind of presence that turned heads without effort. Her hair, a rich chestnut brown, was styled in smooth waves that rested neatly over her shoulders, catching the light with every step. Her makeup was subtle but flawless—soft rose lipstick, lightly defined eyes, and perfectly shaped brows that framed her composed expression.

"Bastard!" I raised my brows in a questioning look and pulled myself back. "In your dream," I said in a bored tone and returned to my seat. "I would rather eat shit than have you." Her jaw dropped as she narrowed her eyes at me. "What do you mean, asshole? Am I not pretty?" I was amused when her face flustered in anger. Rika was naturally striking with her blonde hair and blue eyes. She reminded me of Lana Turner, she was one of the most glamorous actresses of old Hollywood. She was funny because she always had something hilarious to say.

It was surreal, like stepping into a different world. That’s when I saw her. She stood at the end of the hallway, surrounded by a small entourage, clearly in her own little bubble of fame. Scarlet de Vries—a rising starlet known more for her tabloid antics than her actual acting skills. Her long blonde hair was immaculately styled, and she wore oversized sunglasses even indoors. There was an air of entitlement about her, like the world owed her something simply for existing. As I passed by, she glanced in my direction, her expression quickly turning sour. She pulled down her sunglasses just enough to give me a once-over, her lips curling into a slight sneer.

"But there are five faces one could discern to be her. Though, there is no scar on their faces." I sat up straight. "Let me see them." He walked to the table, picking up a laptop. "Come over here." I walked to him, watching the images pop up on the screen as he scrolled through them. "Not her," I said to the first image, "still not her...not her, not her." I sighed. "Wait, take it back," I asked, bending to look at the image closely. "Do you know her?" "Carmelia Banks, the linguistic director of the Brooks Company. No wonder she looked so familiar. Using a heavy load of makeup was her way of hiding the scar. That bitch!"

I slowly opened the door and peeked out only to find a tall girl standing while looking at me. "Yes?" I asked her with a frown and she waved at me. "I'm Taurus." She said and I frowned even more. What kind of a name is that? "How can I help you?" I asked. She somehow looks familiar. I don't really remember where I saw her. "Um, are you Aurora?" She asked and I nodded. "Oh, Aurora I'm from the scars." She said and my eyes widened. From the scars? What is she doing here and where is her mask?

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Before I could make my case though, a woman stood. Her dark hair was straight as a pin and she wore a scar on her face making her look fierce. The dark line was etched into her skin from her left eye to her ear. Alexandra Chen. Her voice boomed over the noise, not because she spoke words of anger but because it weaved between everyone in a singsong fashion.

Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back into a loose clip, and her face bore the delicate, elegant bone structure that Scarlett had inherited—the same high cheekbones, the same sharp, inquisitive set of the jaw. But it was her eyes that made Scarlett’s breath catch in her throat. They were a brilliant, clear green—the exact same shade that looked back at Scarlett every morning in the mirror. Grace Voss stared at the young woman standing in the rain. Her lips parted, but no sound came out for three agonizing heartbeats. Her gaze scanned Scarlett’s face, tracing the small scar near her eyebrow, the dark circles of exhaustion beneath her eyes, and the raw, unarmored vulnerability of her postur