Chapter 5
“The brand responded.”
Holly’s voice came through the phone.
I’d just wrapped from a cover shoot.
Still hadn’t finished changing.
“What did they say?”
“Partnership temporarily on hold.”
My hand on the clothing rack stopped.
“What’s the reason?”
“The brand VP said… they received some supplementary background materials about you.
They’re internally reassessing the risk.”
“What materials?”
Holly paused for a few seconds.
Like she was searching for the right words.
“Ethan sent an email to the brand investment department’s senior management.”
“In the email, he said you’ve had long-term emotional entanglement with him.
That you’ve had multiple emotional breakdowns out of jealousy toward Sarah.”
“He suggested the brand—carefully evaluate the spokesperson’s psychological stability before signing.”
My head buzzed.
“He also attached screenshots of messages you sent him when you were a teenager.”
Sixteen years old.
180 pounds.
Heart and eyes full of nothing but Ethan.
I’d sent him message after message.
Careful, humble.
Like begging for a response that would never come.
Those messages I’d almost forgotten myself.
He kept them all.
Not because they were precious.
Because they were useful.
Useful right now.
“Holly…”
“I know.
I’m angry too.
But the brand doesn’t care whether you were sixteen or twenty-six.
All they see is an emotionally unstable label.”
My phone vibrated again.
My mother forwarded a Twitter link.
Sarah’s new post: “I just wanted to help Wanda, but she blocked me and also blocked our best friend since childhood.”
With three screenshots attached.
First: the screen showing I’d blocked her.
Second: the screen showing I’d blocked Ethan.
Third: the latest post on the “Supermodel Wanda Sullivan’s Sarah” account—“I’ve been hurt, but I still wish Wanda well.”
The comments exploded again.
“Wanda Sullivan is way too much, right?
Sarah spent three years documenting her growth journey and didn’t get a single word of thanks?”
“I went through Sarah’s account.
Photos, videos, complete timeline.
How could this be fake?”
“Some people float away when they get famous.
Forget who their stepping stone was.”
My mother’s message came again: “Look at what people are saying about you online!
Don’t you know how much Sarah’s done for you?
Your father’s blood pressure shot up again from anger.
Hurry up and apologize to Sarah.
You still have other work.
She has nothing.”
I stared at the screen.
That exhaustion I’d felt since sixteen surged up again.
No matter how hard I worked, I wasn’t seen.
Lost weight to 130.
“Not bad.”
Lost to 110.
“Sarah looks good even without losing weight.”
Made it onto the supermodel rankings.
“Without Sarah, you wouldn’t be here today.”
Landed a million-dollar deal.
“What’s wrong with giving it to Sarah?”
Signed the contract.
Ruined by message screenshots from ten years ago.
Holly called again.
“Wanda, there’s one more thing.”
“Tell me.”
“The MODE interview came out.
The reporter ultimately… didn’t use your version.”
“What do you mean?”
“The article headline is—‘Supermodel Wanda Sullivan: Sarah Is My Greatest Benefactor.’”
“They said, based on Sarah’s three years of social media documentation, complete timeline, photos and videos all there, the editorial board judged that version more credible.”
I didn’t speak.
Three years.
She spent three years weaving this story.
And I spent three years dragging my 180-pound self onto the runway.
When she was crafting her story, I was running.
When she was secretly photographing me, I was at the gym.
When she was writing captions, I was eating plain grilled chicken breast alone.
But the story won.
Not the sweat.
“Wanda.
The brand investment department met with Sarah separately.”
Holly’s voice was very low.
“They’re considering signing Sarah as a secondary line spokesperson.
And… terminating your primary contract.”
I closed my eyes.
My phone rang again.
Not my mother.
Not Sarah.
Not Ethan.
A completely unfamiliar number.
“Wanda?
This is Zoe, the brand’s creative director.”
“I’d like to meet with you.”
“About this partnership, I think… some people have gotten things wrong.”