I had just returned to Colorado when I discovered that my younger sister—now a celebrity—was being bullied on a popular variety show. The ones doing the bullying? None other than my uncle’s mistress, Paula Fisher, and my ex-boyfriend.
The internet was flooded with rumors. People mocked my sister, accusing her of desperately clinging to a man—my ex-boyfriend, no less. A man I’d discarded after a mere two months of dating.
Paula used the money she siphoned from my family to craft the image of a glamorous, wealthy woman. Meanwhile, my sister was ridiculed for “wearing fakes” simply because she had worn the handmade hairpins I gave her as a child—my work, my gift, labeled as counterfeit.
When I saw the mess they had made of her reputation, I didn’t hesitate. I invested in the show and joined the cast to support her publicly. And the moment our relationship was revealed—when the cameras caught the resemblance and the truth hit—the people who had mocked and bullied her crumbled.
They fell to their knees, one by one.
Especially my ex-boyfriend. He had the audacity to try and get back together with me. I laughed in his face.
“You were just a prop in a game between me and my fiancé,” I said coldly. “There was never any love between us. So why would we get back together?”
——
Even before I stepped off the plane on my first day back, the butler greeted me with a live video—Colorado’s hottest live-broadcast romance variety show. It was trending everywhere.
And there, in the bottom corner of the screen, sat my sister, Stella Hartman. Her eyes were red. She looked utterly humiliated.
I didn’t need to listen to the audio to understand what had happened. The barrage of hateful comments flying across the screen painted a clear picture.
According to the show’s rules, Stella had been paired up with Clark Wheeler, the newest heartthrob, to complete a three-day couple challenge. But Clark had been flirting with Paula off-camera and even publicly declared that she was the only female guest he liked. He told my sister to “stay in her lane.”
Ordinarily, it might’ve been dismissed as on-screen drama. But since Paula and Clark were already close, my sister—simply trying to complete her challenge—was made to look like a clingy fool.
“She seems obsessed with Clark,” Paula had smirked. “The poor girl’s a bit too attached.”
Clark had the nerve to respond, “She picked me as her partner, but I never agreed to it.”
Netizens immediately rallied behind Paula and Clark. They called them a “match made in heaven.” Meanwhile, my sister—who had done nothing but tried to follow the rules—was slandered as a desperate social climber.
I scoffed. Clark, a man who “keeps himself clean”? He wouldn’t dare say that to my face.
Without hesitation, I told my assistant to contact the program director. I demanded they open a new segment—and warned them I was bringing serious money into the production.
Their reply came swiftly: I could join as a guest, under the identity of Stella’s relative.
“Ms. Hartman, going on air like this might draw criticism,” the assistant warned. “The public hates it when someone buys their way in.”
I smirked. “I don’t need approval from netizens. I’m not here to build a fan base. I’m here for my sister.”
I changed into something suitable and went straight to the set.
By the time I arrived, Stella had already gone back to her room in tears. The comments were still venomous:
[Why does Stella think Clark owes her anything? He never agreed to be her partner.]
[What is this—crying until someone gives in? So manipulative.]
[Can we please vote Stella off the show? I only want to see Clark and Paula's romance blossom.]
When the director introduced me briefly to the live audience, speculation exploded:
[Wait, is that Stella’s sister?]
[Are they seriously bringing in family now to boost her popularity?]
[Nepotism at its finest. She must’ve paid a fortune to be here.]
I ignored the noise. I didn’t bother checking my phone. I walked straight to Stella’s room and knocked on the door.
At that moment, Clark stepped out of a nearby room. The moment he saw me, he froze.
“Y-You… who are you?” he stammered.
His face turned pale. He recognized me—but pretended he didn’t.
How amusing.
