Sweet Temptation: A Trick-Or-Treat Collaboration

I won that pageant, and the very next day I was offered a modeling contract at a well-known kids’ agency. Dad kept his opinion to himself, but Mom was over the moon.

A week later, my mother was diagnosed with Ovarian cancer.

My sister and I had no clue she was sick.

Mom pushed my career, all the while becoming frail and unable to get out of bed some days. Dad never talked her out of it. He barely came home for dinner, and when he was around, he hardly spoke and was very withdrawn.

Two weeks before she passed away, my parents sat us down and finally admitted the diagnosis. Morgan, who back then went by her real name, Violet, was older than me by two years. She understood what they were saying, retreated to her room, and slammed the door before sobbing in bed all night long. I was eight, and although I understood Mom was sick and would die, I didn’t understand the impact that would have until she was gone.

The day of the funeral, Morgan pulled me aside when Dad had passed out on the couch from too many beers.

“It’s just you and me, okay? We have to take care of Daddy,” she said, latching onto my arm and not letting go. “You need to start helping, too.”

I nodded, listening to her instructions even though her grip began to hurt.

“Mom made me promise you wouldn’t give up your career. So, I’m going to help you. Mom taught me how to do makeup and hair. You just need to do one thing…”

“What, Violet?”

“Convince Daddy you don’t want to give up. He hates this, but Mom wanted it for you.”

Nodding my head again, her words began to sink in.

I didn’t have to convince him, I loved being in the spotlight. And if Violet was going to help me, I had no doubt that one day, I would become a famous movie star.

A familiar voice interrupts my wandering thoughts as Pedro, my butler, greets me with an empty tray.

“Madam, our most expensive champagne is almost finished. Shall I retrieve more from the ce

llar?”

My gaze is fixated on the beautiful dark night, and obscured behind the clouds is a full moon.

Perfectly fitting for Halloween.

“Yes, please, Pedro.”

Pedro nods politely, leaving me alone once again. Outside, on my upstairs patio, I stand alone while the party downstairs is in full swing. I enjoy the solitude, and in a few short moments, someone will come find me, and it will be all over.

Valentino gave his seal of approval earlier. He cried joyous tears, making sure every media outlet will get pictures of me tonight, accompanied by an article of terrible designers. It’s over the top, but I didn’t argue nor stop him, still somewhat pondering over my time with Mama Valentino.

I want to ask him questions about her, things that somewhat won’t settle in my mind. But when it came to extravagant events like this, Valentino only had one thing on his fashion-obsessed mind and that was who wore what and who was going home with whom.

My hands grip the railing, mustering up the courage to play the part of the gracious hostess. This event wasn’t even my idea. My publicist insisted I host the annual Hollywood Halloween party. Since the previous known host spent the last year in rehab after her third failed divorce and a brief fling with a business mogul which landed her in hot water, and nobody wanted to associate with her.

It will be great publicity for my upcoming movie release where I play a possessed beauty queen. It’s based on a true story, portraying the ugly side of mental illness which developed from the character’s obsession to be number one.

This event tonight is practically funded by a multitude of companies wanting to sponsor everything from the champagne to the fancy napkins, and the decorating of the property.

It’s also the first time this house will be opened up to guests after having moved here only a few months ago. Nina, my publicist, pushed an article with Architects in Design because any publicity is good publicity even it means the whole world has an insight into my private sanctuary.

I should have been proud that my home had featured on the front cover of the magazine and was their highest grossing publication to date. It was my biggest purchase, a testament to my hard work over the years.

My house boasts breathtaking views of the city, in an exclusive location, home to only the wealthy. The elevated driveway leads up to the front of the property, which showcases an extravagant fountain imported from Italy—handcrafted— according to the previous owner.

The house features eight bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a state-of-the-art chef’s kitchen with a large dining room which is perfect for entertaining. Attached to the property is a ten-car garage, helipad toward the right, and a massive rear yard. The Olympic-size pool is the masterpiece of the outdoor area with dramatic views of the reservoir, canyon, and city, while maintaining ultimate privacy that I so desperately crave. The paparazzi are relentless in their pursuit of me, and security has been an issue of late.

This house is all luxury, but to me, despite its opulence, has become a place of four walls which houses my loneliness.