Chapter 1

I was two hundred pounds when I fell in love with Ethan Vance.

My sister, Sienna, was a hundred pounds, and his eyes lit up every time he looked at her.

When he looked at me, there was only polite avoidance.

So, I started running. I started lifting. I started starving myself.

When I got down to 140, he said, "You look okay."

When I got down to 120, he said, "You know, Sienna looks great even without losing weight."

But I didn't stop. A scout found me, and I signed with a modeling agency.

Milan, Paris, New York—I climbed my way up the supermodel rankings.

Sienna told Ethan that she was the one who introduced me to the scout.

Ethan sent me a text: *“You should thank Sienna. You wouldn’t be where you are today without her.”*

Last month, a major luxury brand approached me to be their global campaign headliner. A multi-million-dollar deal.

Sienna sent me a voice note: "Savannah, can you let me have this one? I’m just starting out in the industry."

Ethan followed up with a text: *“It’s just one ad campaign. Helping her out won't cost you anything.”*

I looked at the numbers on the contract.

My manager urged me, "Are we signing or what?"

"Yes. Sign it."

"Congratulations!" Helen slipped the signed contract into her folder, the wrinkles around her eyes smoothing out with her wide smile. "Multi-million, exclusive global campaign. You are worth every single penny."

I didn’t reply.

My phone screen was still lit.

Ethan’s message was hanging in my notification bar—*“It’s just one ad campaign. Helping her out won't cost you anything.”*

Sienna's voice notes were stacked right above his. Three of them. The last one was seventeen seconds long.

I didn’t play them.

I tapped and held the chat. Delete. Block.

Then I clicked into Ethan’s chat.

Same exact thing.

Two people. Two seconds.

Helen froze, her coffee cup halfway to her mouth. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning up my contact list."

She didn't ask further. She dialed a number. "Yes, the contract is locked. Confirmed. Multi-million global exclusive—"

The door was pushed open.

Chloe from PR walked in holding a printed draft. Her expression was incredibly tense.

"Savannah, you need to look at this first."

I took it from her.

It was a press release template.

The headline read: *"Brand Announces Savannah Miller as Face of the Campaign; Grateful for Her Family's Constant Support."*

The third paragraph was jarring:

*"It is reported that Savannah's journey to becoming a supermodel was heavily supported by her sister, Sienna Miller. Sienna not only introduced Savannah to her first modeling scout but also stood by her side during every critical milestone of her career."*

I stared at the lines for three seconds.

"Who wrote this?"

Chloe swallowed hard. "Sienna’s team contacted PR last month. They said this was a co-marketing draft both of you had agreed on."

"She said you gave her the green light."

Helen leaned over to look. Her face instantly darkened.

"Last month?" Helen’s voice rose an octave. "She contacted our PR last month? Who authorized this?"

"She went straight to the new intern on our team. They went back and forth for three drafts." Chloe scrolled through her phone. "She even sent over her own bio and headshots, asking to attach them to the press release to 'maximize mutual resources' later."

I threw the draft back on the desk.

Last month.

Sienna had sent that whiny voice note just yesterday, saying, "Savannah, can you let me have this one?"

But she had already started coordinating the press release a month ago.

In other words, she never intended to wait for my permission.

She was just going through the motions to keep up appearances.

"Has the brand seen this draft?"

Chloe nodded. "Sienna CC'd the brand’s marketing department directly. They were actually quite pleased. They said the 'supportive sisters' angle is a great narrative for social media engagement."

My phone buzzed.

An unknown number.

I hesitated for a second, then picked up.

"Savannah, it’s me."

My sister’s voice. She was calling from a burner.

Her tone was steady. None of that fragile, tearful act she put on in her voice notes.

"You blocked me."

"Yes."

"Did you sign?"

"I signed."

The other end went quiet for a moment.

Then she laughed. Softly, as if discussing something completely trivial.

"So you saw the press release draft."

I said nothing.

"Savannah, the brand already approved that draft. It goes out next Monday. If you force them to pull it, they’ll think you can't even manage your own team."

"Whether you can keep this contract or not... you should think about that carefully."

She spoke very slowly.

As if weighing every single word.

"Ethan was right. You really should thank me. Without the heartwarming backstory I built for you, why would the brand choose you? Just because you're a girl who used to weigh two hundred pounds and ran it off?"

"A supermodel needs a clean, beautiful narrative. You know that better than anyone."

Helen heard the voice through the speakerphone. Her face turned purple with rage. She opened her mouth to yell.

I pressed my hand over hers.

"Are you done?"

"Savannah, I'm trying to help you."

"Help me? By fabricating a story that never happened?"

"I am packaging you—"

"Pull the press release. Before next Monday. Or my lawyer will be contacting you."

I hung up.

Helen stared at the phone.

We sat in silence for a long moment.

"Savannah, what she said... about introducing you to the scout. Is any of that true?"

I put my phone back in my bag.

"Helen, the scout who discovered me was Marcus Bennett. He found me right outside Central Park after a half-marathon. I weighed 160 pounds back then."

"My sister was vacationing in Miami that day."

Helen took a deep breath.

"Then why is she—"

"Because she has always been like this."

I threw my bag over my shoulder and walked toward the door.

"She doesn't need to do anything. She just has to say 'I did it,' and everyone will believe her."

Helen chased after me.

"But what about the brand? The draft is already approved."

"I said it. Pull it."

"What if they think you're difficult to work with—"

"Helen." I stopped by the elevator.

"When I was two hundred pounds, people avoided me like the plague. I survived that. When I was 140 and got told I was 'just okay,' I survived that too."

"I am not letting a fake press release define who I am."

The elevator doors slid open.

Helen stood behind me. Her voice was quiet but firm.

"Alright. I'll handle the brand."