Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the characters in it.

A/N: This is an AH, AU story, rated for adult scenes and it will alternate between viewpoints. I'm not sure how fast I will update on this one as the final part of my United trilogy takes precedence, but I hope you'll enjoy it.

CHAPTER ONE

Edward's POV

"It's a wrap!"

They were the words I had been longing to hear all week and I heaved a sigh of relief and fixed a warm smile on my face as several of the crew congratulated me. Then I slipped away as quietly as possible and made my way to my trailer, locking myself in while I showered and changed. It was over, finally - until the next time.

I had been born into acting, my father an 'A' list star and my mother a popular comedienne working mostly on sit-coms and the occasional movie. By the time I was five years old I had been cast in a decent sized role as one of Mom's six children in a romantic comedy and by age ten, I was a star in my own right. I had never known anything else - learning lines, rehearsals, filming, studying my school books on set with a private tutor. My Hollywood home had twelve bedrooms, two swimming pools and a staff of twenty; I had my own driver, a live-in baby sitter and I was well used to the constant visits of other stars. All of the big names were 'Uncle' or 'Aunt' to me and every time I stepped outside the property gates, I was surrounded by cameras.

I was used to all the attention from the press and the public, but it didn't mean I liked it. There wasn't much about my life that I did like, but somehow twenty years had passed since my first role and my future stretched interminably in front of me, exactly the same as my present. I had always been made to believe that I was lucky, that I could have anything I wanted and that I should be grateful for the fact that I had the opportunity most people could only dream of. I was reminded that I was adored by millions and would never have to worry about my future, but those things didn't mean to me what they did to my parents and many of the other people within the industry.

Dad moved on from acting into directing when I was in my early teens and from then on it was usually his movies that I starred in. I had never chosen my own roles, always being steered into those my parents considered suitable, except for one five years ago, which I had determinedly plunged into despite their protests. It had been a gritty thriller, completely different from my usual roles and the public had loved it, but my family insisted that it wasn't the type of image I should be portraying and that taking matters into my own hands in such a way wasn't appreciated. I never told them the real reason I'd been determined to have that role; it would only have made things worse and what I had hoped for when I signed up for it hadn't happened anyway. I didn't know why I had imagined it would have.

I sat down with a sigh and closed my eyes, remembering how excited I had been when I got the news I was to co-star in 'The Last Train', a story about a gang of thieves of which I was the new recruit, wet behind the ears and keen to do as the leader, played by Jacob Black, ordered. The story ended with my character stabbing a train guard and then being shot and killed, following which the rest of the gang fled the country. At the time I didn't care what actually happened to my character; I had just wanted to work with Jacob. He had been a friend of my parents for years, having starred with Dad a few times. Jacob was twelve years older than me and I had hero-worshipped him, looking forward to the times he would visit our house and hang out, sometimes staying days at a time - right up until my eighteenth birthday when my parents sent him away and told him they didn't want to see him on their property again, or within several miles of me. Hence their annoyance at me working with him two years later. They thought I had forgotten about him now, but I hadn't and probably wouldn't, although I wished things could have been different. Five years on and even more of my life was mapped out for me although at least part of it made me happy.

It had been on the set of Dad's most recent blockbusters that I had met my girlfriend, Bella Swan. The first movie had been eagerly awaited by public and critics alike, the father and son team of director and actor drawing even more attention than usual. Carlisle and Edward Cullen were known all over the world and when the movie was received well enough to encourage a sequel, my popularity only increased further, especially when the star of the show fell for his co-star. She was virtually unknown before she was cast opposite me, but quickly became a household name after we were photographed eating out together. Since then, every little detail of our relationship had been on the news, in the papers, all over the internet, a large portion of it being untrue as was always the case with the press. We were viewed as the golden couple and seen as a package rather than two individual stars.

I had my own home now, which I shared with Bella. It was a smaller, less pretentious house than that of my parents, but it still felt like a show home, decorated and furnished by a team of designers Bella had employed rather than filled with things I would have chosen for myself. Her attitude virtually mirrored my mother's in that they both considered having almost unlimited amounts of money meant everything purchased should be the absolute best and most expensive available, regardless of whether or not it appealed. I hadn't complained about any of it - she was happy and I loved her so I figured the place in which we lived didn't really matter.

Now I gathered up my belongings and left the trailer, eager to get to the hotel and relax for a while before the wrap party that evening. Bella was making a movie on location in Canada, but was probably already landing at LAX, on her way to spend the night with me and to be at my side during the party. It had been a month since we saw each other and I was filled with excitement at the thought of having her with me, slipping away from the party at the earliest opportunity to catch up on some love-making before she left again the next morning.

The evening passed way too quickly. I watched out of the hotel room window as Bella arrived in a limousine and spent several minutes allowing herself to be photographed before she disappeared into the lobby. I would have preferred to spend the night with her at home, but it was a thirty-mile drive to our house, while the hotel was close to the club where the party was being held and not too far from the airport.

We had only an hour before the car arrived to take us to the club which was barely enough time to catch up on each other's news and share a few kisses. I would have loved to be able to give the party a miss, just for once, but there was no chance it would happen. Bella was ready in some new designer's creation that looked as if several peacocks may have been plucked to provide the decorations and my parents would be waiting at the club along with the rest of the cast and guests. There would be plenty of complaints from all sides if the star didn't show and I pinned a smile to my face and got on with it, the same as always.

A lot of hand-shaking and smalltalk followed, interspersed with sips of champagne and nibbles of tiny bits of food that left me starving, while Dad and Bella lapped up the attention and I asked myself for the thousandth time why I continued to put myself through this. The simple answer was, it was easier; I didn't want to hurt anybody; it was all I knew and part of me was afraid to turn my back on it all and discover that I still wouldn't find what I wanted - if I could figure out what that really was.

Back at the hotel, I was quick to order room service - steak and fries for myself and a salmon dish for Bella. We ate and emptied the mini-bar of wine and at last I found I could relax and forget about the world outside. For a few hours it was just me and my girlfriend, talking, laughing, making love and soaking in the deep bathtub together. We spent the night wrapped around each other and when I woke she was still with me, on the phone ordering breakfast be brought to our room.

"Can't you stay for the day?" I sighed, rolling over to look up at her.

"Sorry, Ed, my flight's at noon." She pouted regretfully and bent to kiss me.

"What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty."

"Shit."

Our time together was well and truly over and I got up to use the bathroom while I waited for breakfast. This was the worst part of working on different movies; we barely saw each other and it was more than two months before she finished filming. By the time she came home, we would only have weeks before I was tied up again although I hoped to at least be involved in something that didn't require too much filming on location.

I didn't leave the hotel until I knew Bella's plane had taken off and then I slipped out of the rear entrance to find my driver, who was lurking in a nondescript Jeep amongst the staff vehicles after I had called him with instructions on where to find me. For once, my escape went unnoticed as I slumped down in the seat, my face hidden behind dark glasses and a baseball cap pulled low and the journey home was uneventful. It was only when we approached the tall electric gates at the end of my driveway that the photographers appeared and I ruefully told the driver to exchange the vehicle as soon as he could.

I kept four or five cheap cars for the purpose and switched them regularly in order to achieve anonymity when I could. Bella didn't understand me and always took her red Porsche if she felt like driving, or the limo if she didn't. She loved the attention, even if it meant a simple trip for groceries taking hours and involving photographs and autographs and probably several articles in the tabloids.

At last the gates swung closed behind me and the car swept up the drive to the front door. A couple more minutes and I was indoors, dumping my belongings in the hallway and heading for the kitchen to make coffee. I probably had a week or two of endless interviews and TV appearances to look forward to before the excitement over my recently-finished movie dwindled until it actually appeared in the theatres. Then my time would be my own, more or less, for a brief period until I had to sign the next contract.

Later I talked to Leah, my manager, publicist and surrogate big sister when I needed one and filled in my diary with the list of appointments she reeled off. Leah liked the limelight less than I did and would go to great lengths to keep her life out of the press. She managed only a handful of stars and made no secret of the fact that she was in the business for the money. Once she had enough to make sufficient investments for her future, she planned to simply walk away and live the way she wanted. I envied her.

This time more talk show hosts, news programmes, newspapers and magazines wanted a piece of me than usual. They were excited about the new movie and wanted to take every opportunity to grill me about it and about Bella. The question that came up repeatedly was, had I thought about proposing yet and as usual I skipped over it and changed the subject. In truth, I had thought about asking her to marry me. We loved each other and I knew she eventually wanted marriage and children, but so far I had shied away from it. The very thought of a huge event with hundreds of guests and probably a whole magazine issue devoted to it horrified me and I knew that Bella would never agree to slipping away somewhere exotic with no one to attend to us except a priest and a couple of witnesses. I knew that eventually I would ask her anyway; I wanted to marry her and I would put up with the extravagant day for her and the rest of my family; I just wasn't ready yet.

I slumped back onto the couch with a sigh. The only person I ever revealed my real thoughts to was Leah and I always expected her to tell me to get hold of myself, grow a spine and tell everyone to go fuck themselves, but she never did; she sympathised and helped me deal.

Now a month had passed since I finished filming and I'd finally gotten through the stream of publicity. I had a stack of fourteen scripts awaiting my attention and a list of recommendations from my father as to which of them I should read and which should go straight into the trash. His next project was a children's animation, something Mom had specifically asked him to get involved in, which for once had no part for me, but as usual this made no difference to his intention to dictate what I worked on next. I had been putting off looking at the offers, but now I gathered up the pile from the coffee table in front of me and looked at the sheet of paper on the top.

Dad's list noted three out of the fourteen scripts which he deemed 'suitable' and I began to scowl as I moved the pile onto the cushion next to me and picked up the first one. Twenty-five years old and I was still doing exactly as my parents told me, but they had always been able to manipulate me well enough. Both of them were skilled at making me feel as if I owed them and making me feel guilty if I went against their wishes - like with 'The Last Train'. I hadn't heard the end of that for months afterwards.

By the time I had scanned through the opening pages of the three on Dad's list, I was bored and frustrated. The movies were undoubtedly going to be blockbusters, especially with my name at the top of the cast list, but they were all safe, unexciting plots - at least to me. If only Bella were home; perhaps we could have chosen one together, but she still had almost six weeks' filming in Canada and I would have to make a decision in the next week or two. Besides, Bella was much too close to my parents to want to go against them, even if it meant pleasing me.

"Fuck it," I muttered, picking up the next script from the pile. 'Claustrophobia' was a horror movie, but the summary indicated the title was all I needed to know and I cast it aside. The story was about a group of pot-holers trapped underground after a cave-in and I hated small spaces myself. The idea gave me the creeps.

I quickly discarded the latest remake of the 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre' and Wes Craven's new gory and horrific tale before the next title sparked my interest. 'The Chains That Bind Us'. Hell, if that wasn't a title that could be applied to my own life. I began to read the first page.

'Martin Fuller, spoiled rich kid, desperate to break away from the boundaries of his father's law firm and experience life. At the risk of upsetting the family and being cut off, he turns his back on his upbringing and meets...'

My phone rang and I stared at it for a moment, wondering if somehow the paparazzi had managed to get hold of yet another new number, or if it was one of my parents or Bella. I scooted forward on the seat and snatched it up from the table, answering the unknown caller quickly.

"Yes?"

"Edward Cullen?"

"Who is this?" My thumb hovered over the 'end call' button and I pinched the bridge of my nose with my free hand as I waited for a response, wondering why I had bothered to answer.

"This is Seth Clearwater from the 'Stars Weekly' newsdesk..."

"How did you get this number?" I growled.

The young journalist was a pain in the ass who somehow repeatedly succeeded in breaking through any amount of security in place intended to prevent his type from getting to me. Predictably he didn't answer the question.

"I was wondering if I could get your thoughts on the photograph in this morning's papers? Assuming you've seen them; it is quite early..."

"What photograph?" I asked before I could stop myself and then cursed inwardly. I should have simply hung up.

"Well, the one of Bella and...Sam Uley."

"They're in the papers practically every day. I'd appreciate it you wouldn't bother me in the future. I'll be having this number changed later." I cut the call and sat back with a sigh. "Jerk," I muttered and then picked up the phone again and turned it off. "What's he talking about, anyway?"

I hadn't picked up my morning paper from the mailbox by the gate yet, but my housekeeper was due to arrive some time within the next hour and she always checked on the way in. It could wait until then. Bella was in the papers lately even more than me, with stills from her movie, some alone and some with Sam, her co-star, or various other cast members.

"Good morning, Mr Cullen!"

Her cheery voice took me by surprise. I hadn't heard her car or the door and guessed I had been too engrossed in either the scripts or the phone call.

"Morning, Bridget. Did you get the mail?"

"It's right here; the paper too. Shall I make you coffee?"

"No, I'm good, thanks, I had some."

"I'll get on with the upstairs then."

The housekeeper left me quickly, closing the door behind her and I dropped 'The Chains That Bind Us' back onto the pile and sifted through the mail. Fan letters, a phone bill, something from my accountant...the usual. I pulled the plastic sleeve off of the newspaper and unrolled it.

Immediately I found myself faced with a photograph of Bella in the arms of Sam Uley. It was similar to the one shown last week - a shot of them getting it on in the studio surrounded by cameras, a boom mic practically in their faces. But in this one they weren't on set and it didn't look like part of the movie. They were in some kind of park, partly obscured by shrubs, the photograph a little blurry as if it had been taken from a distance with a telescopic lens, but not so blurry that you couldn't see the detail of them locking lips. I shivered, suddenly feeling cold all over and I put a hand over my mouth, unsure whether I would vomit as I began to read the description below.

'Bella Swan and co-star, Sam Uley, grab some alone time in Stanley Park, Vancouver. Could the starlet be moving on from Edward Cullen to the little known actor from Forks, Washington?'

It went on to speculate about our relationship, pointing out that we had barely spent any time together in the past few months and despite Bella flying to LA to be with me for the wrap party, she had only stayed one night, perhaps eager to get back to Sam.

"Bullshit," I muttered.

She had cried when she left me in the hotel; told me how much she loved me, how she couldn't wait to finish filming and come home. We talked on the phone, emailed, every day. I glanced at the photograph again, looking for something in it that said it wasn't what it looked like. Her hands were on his neck, his arm around her, the tips of his fingers hidden under the waistband of her jeans, their bodies pressed together, eyes closed.

I threw the paper aside and ran to the downstairs bathroom, throwing myself to my knees in front of the toilet and vomiting violently, continuously, until I was dry heaving, eyes watering. My chest hurt and I flushed the toilet and leaned back against the cold tiled wall. Tears spilled down my cheeks and I cried silently, snuffling and gasping, clenching my fists so hard that my nails cut into my palms.

I wasn't sure how long I stayed there, but eventually Bridget knocked on the door to ask if I was alright and if she should call my doctor. I hauled myself up and turned on the cold water to wash my face and called out that I was fine, I probably ate something late last night that upset my stomach. I emerged reluctantly a few minutes later, retrieved my phone from the lounge and headed up to my room - our room. The only thing I could do was call her; find out for sure.

I called Bella's cellphone on the off chance that she might be in her hotel or her trailer rather than on set, but when she answered on the second ring, I didn't expect it and for a second I was speechless.

"Ed? This is a surprise."

"Yeah. I wasn't sure if you'd be on set, or..."

"We're taking a break, I'm in my trailer."

"Alone?"

"Of course."

"I thought you might have had company," I said. "Like Sam."

"What?"

"There's a picture of you on the front page of the Globe, Bella. Stanley Park?" I wanted to get it said as fast as possible, but I found myself holding my breath as I waited for her to say something. The photo told enough of a story, but I didn't want to believe it. I wanted her to say they were rehearsing; that it was part of the movie...anything.

"Edward...I'm sorry..."