Aurelia Shaw clicked open.
The first thing that caught her eye was—Eleanor Spencer in a red long gown, sweeping the floor with a train over three feet long.
Eleanor's image was crafted as the gentle and kind maiden type, and the cold, glamorous red outfit clearly clashed with her persona. The photo had too many highlights—the overly luxurious clothes, slightly forced tenderness… making it hard to find the intended focal point.
Aurelia's deep, dark eyes sparkled with a strange light, her tongue licked her lips, making her rosy lips look fiery and seductive.
She casually curled her lips, her slender beautiful fingers rapidly danced over the keyboard.
Eleanor now can't compare to her five years later, she's still too green.
Five years later, Eleanor had already become a queen of cinema, her acting and influence couldn't be matched. But is there anything more thrilling than nipping an enemy in the cradle?
Thinking about this made the excitement in Aurelia's veins boil.
