Chapter 30: Creativity and Corporativity.

February 6, 8:00 AM. Residential District of Dreamside, Amara’s house.
In the spacious bright living room, Laney Brooks, Mina Lune, Kim Vetra, Ākuhata Mahuta, and Amara Srinivasan herself sit on a soft blue couch and armchairs. Laney wears tight blue jeans, white sneakers, a white tank top, and an open light pink Adidas sports jacket. Mina wears tight dark jeans, white sneakers, and a blue t-shirt. Kim wears a light pink dress and bright pink shoes. Ākuhata wears loose light pants, dark boots, and a loose black short-sleeve shirt. Amara wears tight blue jeans, white sneakers, and a purple t-shirt.
Amara and Mina sit in the armchairs and silently exchange glances while Laney stares at her phone on the couch. Next to Laney sit Kim and Ākuhata, whispering to each other—clearly Kim flirts with the Māori guy.
The front door slams open with a bang. Becky bursts in with a triumphant smile, wearing tight blue denim shorts and a matching tight yellow t-shirt that leaves her midriff bare. Right behind her stands Vincenzo in loose dark pants and a loose white shirt. He looks furious and agitated.
“Becky, I don’t know how to say this gently… But have you completely fucking lost it?!” Vincenzo almost squeals, unintentionally creating a comical effect. “You assembled a team to go to Marisol’s in Malibu and beat the shit out of her? Over some idiot who tried to hack into your security system at Château des Rêves?! Do you realize what kind of hit this will be to your image and everything we’ve worked on together?!”
Becky rolls her eyes and waves a dismissive hand. “Relax, Vinnie. I’m not actually going to beat her up. We’re just gonna make a mess of her property. A little revenge prank.”
Vincenzo’s face flushes red. “Revenge prank? That’s what you’re calling a thousand-dollar property damage scheme?!”
Amara finally speaks up, sounding bored. “Oh, shut up, Vincenzo. Becky knows what she’s doing.” She smirks and adds, “Besides, Marisol deserves it after what she did to Becky’s reputation in LA.”
Vincenzo throws his hands up in frustration. “Her reputation? She’s a fucking sex symbol!” He gasps for air, rattling off words at breakneck speed. “Becky is a sex symbol! We poured so much effort, time, and money into unleashing all her talents, Amara! You have no idea!…”
Vincenzo waves his arms wildly. “Model, designer, singer, soccer player, dirt bike racing champion—and the way she twerks!” He dramatically rolls his eyes. “She’s the best booty shaker on the planet, I swear to God!”
He spins toward Becky. “You’re about to screw over the entire team right now, Becky! Hundreds of people! The whole Becky G brand! Or did you forget that this year you’re the main face of the AMA Motocross Championship and that the Megami Tenshi sequel is in pre-production where you’re coming back as the Red Megami Tenshi? You really wanna tank your entire career over these dumbass beefs with Marisol? Marisol is nothing next to you!”
Becky tosses her head, flipping her long black hair, and plants her hands on her hips. “Oh, boo hoo, Vinnie. I’m not going to ruin my career, just get some payback.” She shoots a sly look at Amara. “Besides, Amara says I have the perfect plan.”
Vincenzo turns to Amara with an expression of despair. “Amara. Really? You’re encouraging this?”
Amara lounges back in her chair, stretching her legs out. “Oh, don’t be such a drama queen, Vinnie. Becky knows what she’s doing.” She smirks. “And Marisol? She needs to be put in her place.”
Vincenzo groans and runs his hand over his face. “Fuck… This is fucked up. You’re not adults, you’re a pack of teenagers! How do you not get that SACZ and ‘outer California’ are two different worlds? There’s no paparazzi in Dreamside, but in Malibu they’ll be tailing you constantly, Becky!”
He stares straight at Becky, arms crossed, shifting from foot to foot. “Amy and Madi hit me with the news that you…” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Fuck… basically—some night janitor of yours tried to hack the security system on Marisol’s orders, but he got caught—and now you’re going after Marisol for revenge? And as I was told, Kate has no idea. I couldn’t even find her at Château des Rêves this morning. Where the hell is she anyway?”
Vincenzo runs a hand through his hair, frustration clear. “This is exactly why I’m freaking out. You’re running off to do some crazy revenge scheme and Kate isn’t even there to talk you down from it. She’s supposed to be the voice of reason in all this.”
“Kate’s… indisposed,” Amara says with a knowing smirk, glancing at Mina.
Vincenzo’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Indisposed? What the hell does that mean?”
“She’s with Brian at Topanga Canyon Inn,” Mina interjects, unable to resist, “and she’s been there since yesterday.”
Vincenzo’s face goes slack with shock. “Wait… what?”
“Brian. As in, King B. The rapper. The one who’s been flirting with Kate for months now. They’re… they’ve been together.” Amara’s grin widens as she watches the blood drain from Vincenzo’s face.
“They’re not just together, Amara,” Mina adds with a mischievous glint. “They’re very together. Very well-together.”
Vincenzo groans. “God, this mansion where Becky lives is constant fucking chaos!”
He looks at Becky. “So you told your friends about this, but not your manager? And I was out there like an idiot this morning asking everyone at Château des Rêves about Kate, and they were either clueless or obviously pretending to be clueless… Fuck…”
Vincenzo rubs his face with his hand. “Anyway, Becky—don’t make any rash decisions. Let’s talk this through calmly. No need to go beat the shit out of Marisol!”
Becky lets out a dramatic sigh and rolls her eyes. “Vinnie, relax. I told you, it’s not about beating Marisol up. Just having some fun.”
She plops down on the couch next to Kim, who shifts slightly away. Becky ignores this and continues. “Look, I know what I’m doing. This isn’t some impulsive thing. Marisol’s been trash-talking me in LA for months. She thinks she can just waltz into my space and start shit? No way.”
“Becky’s right,” Amara chimes in. “Marisol’s been acting like she owns Malibu. And after what happened with Jonas…” Amara smirks.
Vincenzo sighs heavily, placing his hands on his hips. “Oh…”
“Jonas is that night janitor? What can I even say about him? Idiot.”
He looks at Becky. “I see you’ve gathered the whole team here. Here’s the condition: you’re taking me with you. And no physical violence!”
Vincenzo crosses his arms over his chest and continues. “And what exactly are you planning to do, huh? Smear shit all over her mansion at night?”
Becky grins and leans back against Amara’s couch. “Nah, that’s too obvious. We’re gonna do something way more embarrassing.” She snaps her fingers and looks at Kim. “Show ‘em what you got, Kimmie.”
Kim pulls out her phone and plays a video.
The grainy footage shows Marisol walking into a club in LA. She wears a short red dress and sways her hips as she heads to the VIP section. The camera follows her, zooming in on her movements. Then, as she sits down, the video zooms in on her crotch and catches a telltale wet spot on her panties.
Mina laughs. “Damn, Becky. You’re brutal.”
Amara giggles and nudges Becky’s shoulder. “Where did you even get this footage?”
Becky grins wickedly. “Oh, I have my sources. That’s from last weekend at 1 Oak. You know Marisol—always showing off, always being extra. This time she was so extra she forgot to check if she’d pissed herself.”
Mina snickers. “So that’s what this is about. Revenge for the Château des Rêves hack.”
Vincenzo raises an eyebrow. “Okay… and why the hell does your whole team need to go to Malibu?” He crosses his arms tighter. “So you’re not just planning to blast this shit online? Spill it all, Becky.”
Becky smirks and shifts on the couch. “Nah, that’s too easy. I wanna get up close and personal.” She taps her chin. “I’m thinking we show up at Marisol’s house, get all her attention, and then—when she’s feeling real confident—we hit her with the video.”
Mina claps her hands together. “Ooooh, I like that. It’s like a public shaming right in front of her face.”
Vincenzo groans. “And when she starts freaking out, I assume you’ll have people filming it? Posting it on social media?”
Becky winks. “Damn right.” She shrugs.
Vincenzo scowls as he scans the living room, taking in Laney, Mina, Kim, Ākuhata, and Amara one by one. Then his gaze lands on Becky. “And you really need a whole fucking team for this shit? Especially the Maori bodybuilder? Becky, stop treating me like an idiot!”
Becky grins and stretches her arms across the back of the couch. “C’mon, Vinnie, don’t act like you don’t know how this works. You gotta have people to document the moment. People who can keep Marisol’s security busy. And, you know…” She winks at Ākuhata. “Sometimes it’s good to have a big dude around to intimidate people. Even if he’s not gonna actually do anything violent.”
Vincenzo groans and drags a hand down his face. “Fuck, Becky. This is so stupid. So stupid. And illegal.” He turns to Amara. “You, of all people, know what kind of mess this could turn into.”
Amara shrugs and smiles faintly. “I know. But it’s also kinda funny.” She nudges Becky’s shoulder. “And you know Becky—she’s got a point. Marisol’s been running her mouth for too long.” She looks at Vincenzo with mock innocence. “You don’t want justice for all of us, Vinnie? Justice in the form of a viral video of Marisol’s wet panties?” She gasps theatrically. “What a horrible thing to suggest!”
Vincenzo runs his hand over his face. “Amara… Becky is clearly a bad influence on you. Becky is a bad influence on everyone.”
He looks at Becky. “Becky, to be honest, I should quit and stop being your manager…” Vincenzo sighs. “But I feel sorry for you and your parents. Fine. When are we all heading out on your little adventure?”
Becky grins, clearly pleased with his reluctant acquiescence. “Tomorrow night. After midnight. Marisol’s always up late, posting shit online, showing off for her fans. It’ll be perfect.”
Vincenzo groans. “Of course it is. Perfect for disaster.” He looks around the room again. “And you’re all really okay with this? Amara, Mina, Kim—are you seriously going to risk your reputations for this nonsense?”
Amara shrugs and stretches her legs out. “Why not? It’s not like I’ve never done something stupid before. And besides…” She nudges Becky again. “I’m kinda excited to see Marisol’s face when Becky drops this on her.”
February 6, 10:00 AM. Dana’s office, Sogni Nudi.
Dana spends half the night reading chapters from the books of the young British erotic writer and comic artist named Beatrice. Beatrice is the latest discovery from Elisabetta, Dana’s assistant. “Obviously,” Dana thinks, “it is time to give Elisabetta a raise.”
Dana sits at her massive desk and keeps reading Beatrice’s chapters on her laptop. The big boss of Sogni Nudi wears a tight black suit jacket with a V-neck plunging almost to her navel, black trousers, and black high-heeled shoes. A cup of coffee stands next to her—Dana has already downed about ten cups this morning just to stay awake. The sleepless night spent reading Beatrice’s work does not affect her appearance at all. Miss Lovell remains as sexy, powerful, and commanding as ever.
“Fuck, this girl…” she whispers, rereading lines from the laptop screen. “Talent is one in a billion.”
At that moment Malu’s voice comes through the intercom. “Dana, Beatrice—you know, the one from Britain who became a resident of our cozy Dreamside yesterday—has already arrived. Should I send her in, or do you need to prepare?” Dana’s secretary sounds cheerful and slightly playful. Dana does not even look up from her laptop as she responds. “No, Malu, do not prepare me. I am always ready for anything, as you know. Send her in, but warn her—if she shows me any signs of nervousness, I will immediately make her work as a cleaning lady in my penthouse for a week without pay.” She chuckles darkly. “Tell her I am joking… mostly.” The intercom clicks off, and Dana sips her coffee, tilting her head back to stretch her neck. The coffee helps. Her body feels exhausted from reading all night, but her mind stays sharp and hungry for more.
A few moments later, the door opens. Malu steps in first, her oversized hoop earrings swaying as she moves. She wears a bright yellow blouse that complements her fair white skin, the fabric hugging her slim body perfectly. She also wears light blue jeans and white sneakers. Dana raises an eyebrow at her secretary’s choice of outfit. Malu always wears something cheerful and bright to work. It is her signature style, one that contrasts sharply with Dana’s own dark, professional attire.
“Beatrice is here,” Malu announces, stepping aside to reveal the young British writer behind her. “And I did not tell her that joke about three female content editors and one male erotic writer. I thought that might give her a heart attack from laughing.” Dana chuckles, finally glancing up from her laptop. “Good call, Malu. I do not need our newest talent dying from my humor before she is even properly signed.” She studies Beatrice properly now, taking in the girl’s youthful appearance. Beatrice is twenty-five but looks sixteen. Beatrice Kyra Solenne—or just Bea—has East Asian features, brown eyes, fair skin, long black hair, and stands at medium height. She wears a white t-shirt, light blue jeans, and white sneakers. Black flower tattoos cover her arms.
“Malu, close the door behind you,” Dana instructs smoothly. Malu nods, her earrings swaying as she backs out and closes the door with a soft click. Dana finally stands up, stretches her arms above her head, and strides around the desk. She is only slightly taller than Beatrice, but she commands the room with effortless authority.
“Beatrice Kyra Solenne,” she says, each word measured and deliberate. “I did not get much sleep last night, but I did get quite an education.” She stops directly in front of Beatrice, close enough to sense the girl’s nervous energy. “Your work is… fascinating.” She pauses, tilting her head slightly. “You write like you have lived every fantasy in these pages.” Bea shifts slightly under Dana’s direct gaze and tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear. Her fingers tremble almost imperceptibly, but she meets Dana’s stare with surprising steadiness. “I have lived most of them,” she admits, speaking with a soft British accent that contrasts with her bold words. “Not all, obviously. I am not that much of a freak. But enough to know what I am writing about.” She offers a small, uncertain smile.
Dana chuckles, deep and rich. She moves closer, invading Bea’s personal space with calculated ease. The tip of her black stiletto taps lightly against the floor as she leans in. “Good.” Dana returns to her seat and gestures toward the chair across from her massive desk.
“Sit down. Relax. Make yourself at home. From what I hear, Valentina’s people really put you through the wringer during the vetting. Getting Dreamside residency these last few months is a real pain in the ass. Everything go smoothly? We do not get many Brits around here.” Bea settles into the chair, her fingers tapping lightly against the armrests. “It was… thorough,” she admits with a small laugh. “Questions about my family, my background, and my writing. They even checked my childhood medical records. And of course, the psychological evaluation.” She shrugs. “But Valentina assured me it is standard for all new residents. Says it keeps the town safe.”
Dana nods and taps a manicured nail against her coffee cup. “Smart woman, our mayor. Doesn’t trust anyone fully, which is exactly what you want in a leader.” She sips her coffee and studies Bea over the rim. “So.” Dana leans back, sets her cup on the desk, and interlaced her fingers.
“Young actress and singer, then comic artist, and now erotic writer… Your creative pseudonym… Bealullaby. Right? Fuck, you’re so cute I just want to squeeze you…” Dana drops her voice to a whisper and smiles. “We’ve got a few lesbian staff here—they might start hitting on you.”
Bea laughs and shifts in her chair, smoothing her jeans over her thighs. “Yeah, that’s me,” she says with a smile. “Though I don’t know how cute I really am. I’m a fucking mess most of the time. Can’t even cook rice properly.” She tugs at the hem of her t-shirt and meets Dana’s eyes again. “And honestly, being hit on at work sounds terrifying. Not that I’m not flattered. I just… I don’t really do relationships right now.”
Dana smiles. “Yeah, I’m just kidding. But seriously—how did you end up becoming a writer? Especially an erotic one. I spent half of last night reading your stuff. It’s a pile of masterpieces. Don’t tell anyone, but I…” Dana lowers her voice. “I almost came twenty times.”
Bea laughs again. “Fuck,” she breathes. “That’s… that’s really something coming from you.” She crosses one leg over the other and taps her fingers against her knee. “I guess it started as something private. A way to process shit. Then I realized how good I was at it, and…” She shrugs. “Here I am.”
Dana chuckles and leans forward, elbows on the desk. “We’ve never had a Filipina writer before. Especially not one who writes like you.” She tilts her head and studies Bea with open interest. “Your work… It’s dangerous. Raw. It gets under people’s skin.” Her fingers drum lightly on the desk. “And I love that about it. But I want to know—what made you decide to put it out there? To share these parts of yourself with strangers?”
Bea exhales slowly. Her fingers tighten around the armrests. She looks down for a second, then back up at Dana with a small, self-deprecating smile. “I don’t know if I can answer that without sounding like a pretentious asshole,” she admits. “It wasn’t some grand artistic vision. It was just… I had all these things I needed to say, and writing them down was the only way I knew how. Then, once I started publishing, I realized—fuck, people actually get this. They want this. They want to feel this.” She gestures vaguely with one hand and shrugs. “So I kept going. And now here I am, and you’re telling me you almost came twenty times reading my work. Which is fucking insane. I don’t even know what to do with that.”
Dana’s lips curl into a slow, appreciative smile. “You know…” She spreads her arms. “You’re like Emmanuelle Arsan, only a thousand times better. I don’t know what else to say. You’re our absolute best discovery. And you don’t need to write under pseudonyms—everyone already knows you as Bealullaby. You’re not hiding. You write under your real name, and you’re not a man. With male authors it’s constant headaches—we have to bury them under female pseudonyms and keep their identities secret outside of Dreamside. With you, that problem doesn’t exist.”
Bea freezes. “Fuck,” she breathes, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t know if I can live up to that.” She laughs nervously, but pleasure edges into it. “But thank you. That’s… a really nice thing to say.”
Dana smiles. “You showed up at the perfect time. Because of this Erodreamarts…” Dana makes a vague gesture. “This media marathon to promote our SACZ and attract new people to Dreamside. We have to hide our anonymous authors who write under pseudonyms. Naturally, almost all of them are men.” Dana sighs. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m not sexist. It’s just market reality. A male name on the cover of an erotic work always creates problems with PR or sales.”
Bea exhales slowly and nods. “I get it.” She shifts in her seat, the leather creaking softly beneath her. “I write under my creative name, Bealullaby, but everyone knows who I am.”
Dana giggles. “Exactly. You don’t have that problem. Even the fact that your photos and creative name first grace the covers of music albums, then comics, and now erotic books… the public forgives you for it. Because you’re a young, pretty girl.”
She pauses, thinking. “Alex is good-looking too, but he’s not a girl. Plus he has all that background with panic attacks… Alex is one of our anonymous authors—a major asset we’re going to hide during Erodreamarts. You might meet him soon. He’s a good guy. Maybe even too good.”
Bea tilts her head, considering. “That’s… kind of fucked up,” she says slowly, folding her arms. “I mean, I get it from a business perspective, but it still feels weird. Like you’re literally hiding half of your talent pool just because of their dicks.” She huffs a small laugh. “And you’re saying I don’t have that problem. But it’s not like I chose to be born a girl.”
Dana chuckles. “No, but you can use that to your advantage. And you do.” She leans forward, elbows on the desk. “Bea, you’ve got something special. You can talk about sex in ways that make people feel seen.” Dana leans back slightly. “And your appearance, plus your work as an indie singer and comic artist, will be useful here too. Basically, the whole SACZ phenomenon was created back in the 2000s in California precisely to gather and nurture multi-talented people like you.”
She pauses, thinking. “Right now, pretty much the entirety of Hollywood and California in general are held up by the IT specialists and artists from Dreamside. If you’d only heard the fights about it in the beginning—like ‘a bunch of talented assholes can’t just lock off some piece of California from the rest of the US citizens for their artsy commune!’ and all that bullshit. But here we are.”
Dana sighs. “Alright, fuck it. Bottom line—I’m waiting for new masterpieces from you, but already under this publishing house’s brand, right here where we are. Your housing, insurance, tax filings—everything’s on Sogni Nudi. We’ll give you everything you need so nothing distracts you from creating. Think of us as socialist Scandinavia in this regard; the rest of America is jealous as hell. If you go on music tours, at least send me separate stories between concerts. Otherwise I’ll be offended.”
Bea exhales slowly and shakes her head with a small, disbelieving smile. “Fuck, I don’t even know what to say to all that,” she admits. “But thank you. You have no idea how much this means.” She straightens in her chair and squares her shoulders. “I won’t let you down. I promise I’ll keep writing.”
Dana grins and leans back in her chair. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”