Chapter 3
“You and Sarah have a pretty good relationship, right?”
The stylist clipped a hairpin into my hair while making casual conversation.
I didn’t respond.
“She came here for styling last time and mentioned you.
Said you got your break because she helped introduce you to a scout.
You two have such a great sisterly bond.”
The hairpin pinched slightly when it went into my hair.
“When did she come in?”
“Last week.
Said she wanted to do a set of headshots to try her hand at modeling too.”
“She also told us you promised to mentor her.”
I looked at my face in the mirror.
From 180 pounds to now.
My features hadn’t changed.
But my facial structure was carved out knife by knife.
Through three years of running, two years of weight training.
Not because someone mentored me.
My phone lit up.
A message from my mother.
“Sarah cried all night.
Why can’t you just give in to her?
You’ve competed with her since you were kids.
Now that you’re successful, you look down on her even more.”
I didn’t reply.
The second message came right after.
“Ethan even called asking why you blocked him?
He’s always looked after you two.
What kind of attitude is this?”
The third was a voice message.
I played it.
My mother’s tearful voice: “Your father says if you don’t apologize to Sarah and Ethan, don’t come home for the holidays.”
Holly pushed the door open.
“Ready?
The MODE interview is about to start.”
I turned off my phone.
MODE.
One of the top fashion publications.
Getting featured in their profile interviews—many supermodels run for ten years without that opportunity.
The interview was in the lounge area next to the photo studio.
The reporter was a girl wearing thin-framed glasses.
Very polite.
“Wanda, first, congratulations on landing the million-dollar North American endorsement.”
“Thank you.”
“During our preliminary research, we discovered a very interesting angle.”
She opened her notebook.
“Sarah runs a social media account with over a hundred thousand followers.
On it, she’s documented your complete journey from 180 pounds to supermodel.”
“She says she introduced you to the scout who discovered you, and that she stayed by your side during your most difficult times.”
My fingers tensed on my knee.
She had an account documenting me.
Over a hundred thousand followers.
I knew nothing about it.
“So I wanted to ask—”
The reporter looked up, her smile professional and earnest.
“How do you view the role Sarah has played in your career?”
Holly took a light breath beside me.
“Could you let me see that account?”
The reporter looked surprised but handed over her phone.
The account name was “Supermodel Wanda Sullivan’s Sarah.”
The profile picture was Sarah’s selfie.
The first post was from three years ago.
A photo of my back while running.
Caption: “Wanda started running today!
It was my suggestion~
Hope she can stick with it.”
That angle was shot from my family’s balcony looking down.
Back then, Sarah was living at home.
I ran on the rubber track downstairs.
She photographed me from the balcony.
Never told me.
Second post.
A photo of me lifting weights at the gym.
The angle was shot through the reflection in the equipment area mirror.
Caption: “Wanda’s on the equipment!
I found a personal trainer to help design her training plan.
It hurts to watch, but it’s worth it for her health!”
I never hired a personal trainer.
I learned those training movements one by one from YouTube videos.
I pulled a muscle three times, injured my shoulder twice.
Third post.
A photo of me walking out of a building with my head down after a failed audition.
Caption: “Wanda didn’t pass her audition today.
My heart aches for her.
I went to comfort her and bought her favorite hot chocolate.
I’ll definitely help Wanda find better opportunities.”
I never saw her that day.
That day I walked four kilometers home by myself.
Because I couldn’t afford a cab.
The comments were unanimous in their praise: “Sarah is so warm!”
“Wanda’s success is all thanks to you!”
“Wanda should be grateful to you forever.”
I scrolled down a few more posts.
One was a weight loss brand collaboration.
The promotional image used my training photos.
Caption—“Wanda’s transformation is my greatest pride.
Recommending this product to those of you working hard to improve yourselves.”
She was using my body to take on advertising deals.
I handed the phone back to the reporter.
“This content—I’m seeing it for the first time today.”
The reporter froze.
“Sarah never introduced anyone.
The scout who discovered me is named Liam Black.
He met me outside the finish line of a half-marathon.”
“I don’t know who took those photos.
I didn’t know she was using my training content for advertising deals.”
The reporter’s pen stopped.
Holly quickly interjected: “This topic is too personal.
We can—”
“No need to skip it.”
I looked at the reporter.
“You can verify everything.
How you write it is your freedom.”
“I’ll only say one thing.
Every step from 180 pounds to here was mine alone.”
The interview ended.
Holly looked at me in the hallway.
“Are you sure about what you said?
If the reporter writes it, you and Sarah will be completely torn apart.”
“Holly, the facade broke long ago.
It’s just that before, the one getting torn apart was always me.”
My phone vibrated again.
Someone sent me screenshots in rapid succession.
An update to Ethan’s social media.
He’d reposted the latest update from Sarah’s account—
“Wanda landed the million-dollar deal!
Even though I just started out and gave the opportunity to Wanda, seeing her succeed makes me the happiest.
Always supporting you, Wanda.”
Ethan’s repost caption was just one line.
“Kind people always lose out.
Sarah, you deserve better.”
Holly looked at the screenshots, her voice dropping.
“Ethan’s repost… does he really not know, or is he pretending not to know?”
I flipped my phone face-down on the seat.
“Holly, when I weighed 180 pounds, he never looked at me properly even once.
Do you think he’d bother checking whether a story is true?”