Chapter 2

"You and Sienna are really close, aren't you?"

The hairstylist chatted casually as she pinned back my hair.

I didn't answer.

"She was here last week for a styling session and mentioned you. She said she was the one who got you discovered. You guys have such an amazing sisterly bond."

The hairpin pricked my scalp slightly.

"When was she here?"

"Last week. She said she wanted to shoot a few test drafts. She’s thinking of getting into modeling too."

"She also told us you promised to mentor her."

I looked at my own face in the mirror.

From two hundred pounds to now. My features hadn't changed.

But my jawline was carved out, millimeter by millimeter, through three years of running and two years of lifting. No one "mentored" me through that.

My phone lit up.

A message from my mother:

*“Sienna cried all night. Why can't you just let her have this? You’ve been competing with her since you were kids. Now that you're successful, you don't even care about your own family.”*

I didn't reply.

The second message came right after:

*“Ethan called and said you blocked him too? He’s always looked out for both of you. What is wrong with your attitude?”*

The third was a voice note.

I tapped it.

My mother’s voice was cracked with tears: *"Your father said if you don't apologize to Sienna and Ethan, don't bother coming home for Christmas."*

Helen pushed the door open. "Are you ready? The *MODE* exclusive interview is about to start."

I turned off my phone.

*MODE*. The holy grail of fashion magazines. Some models work for ten years without ever landing a feature profile here.

The interview took place in the lounge next to the studio.

The journalist was a young woman with wire-rimmed glasses. Very polite.

"Savannah, first of all, congratulations on landing the global campaign."

"Thank you."

"During our pre-interview research, we found a really beautiful angle for this story."

She opened her notebook.

"Your sister, Sienna, runs an Instagram account with over a hundred thousand followers. She has documented your entire journey from two hundred pounds to supermodel."

"She mentioned that she introduced you to the scout, and was the one who stayed by your side through your darkest times."

My fingers tightened against my knees.

An account documenting my journey.

Over a hundred thousand followers.

And I had absolutely no idea.

"So we wanted to ask—" The journalist looked up, her smile professional and warm, "How do you view your sister’s role in your career?"

Helen took a quiet, sharp breath next to me.

"Can you show me that account?"

The journalist looked surprised but handed over her phone anyway.

The handle was: *@Sienna_Supports_Savannah*.

The profile picture was a selfie of Sienna.

The first post was from three years ago.

A photo of my back while I was running.

The caption read: *"Savannah started running today! I suggested it to her~ I hope she can stick with it."*

The angle was clearly shot from the balcony of our old apartment.

Sienna was living at home back then. I was running on the pavement downstairs. She was taking photos of me from above, secretly. She had never told me.

The second post. A photo of me lifting in the gym. The angle was a reflection from the mirror in the free-weight area.

The caption: *"Savannah is moving to the heavy weights! I hired a personal trainer to design a workout plan for her. It breaks my heart to see her work so hard, but it’s worth it for her health!"*

I had never had a personal trainer. I learned those movements one by one from YouTube videos. I pulled my muscles three times and injured my shoulder twice.

The third post. A photo of me walking out of a building, head down, after failing a casting call.

The caption: *"Savannah didn't pass her audition today. My heart breaks for her. I went to comfort her and bought her favorite hot chocolate. I will definitely help her find better opportunities."*

I hadn't even seen her that day.

I had walked four miles home alone because I couldn't afford an Uber.

The comment section was filled with praise:

*"Sienna is such an angel! Savannah is so lucky to have a sister like you!"*

*"Savannah owes her entire success to you!"*

*"Honestly, she should be grateful to you for the rest of her life."*

I scrolled down a bit more.

There was a sponsored post for a weight loss brand. The image used was my workout progress photo.

The caption: *"Savannah's transformation is my proudest achievement. I highly recommend this product to everyone working hard to better themselves."*

She was using my body to cash brand checks.

I handed the phone back to the journalist.

"This is the first time I am seeing this account."

The journalist froze.

"My sister never introduced me to anyone. The scout who found me is named Marcus Bennett. He met me at the finish line of a half-marathon."

"I don't know who took those photos, and I didn't know she was using my workout progress to run paid ads."

The journalist’s pen stopped.

Helen immediately chimed in. "This topic is a bit too personal, perhaps we can—"

"No need to skip it," I looked directly at the journalist. "You can verify everything I just said. How you write it is your choice."

"But I will make one thing clear. From two hundred pounds to where I stand today, every single step was my own."

The interview ended.

Helen stared at me in the hallway.

"Are you sure you want to go on the record with that? If she publishes this, the bridge between you and Sienna is completely burned."

"Helen, that bridge was burned a long time ago. She’s just been using my ashes to keep herself warm."

My phone buzzed again. Someone was sending me screenshots.

It was Ethan’s Instagram feed.

He had reposted Sienna’s latest post.

Sienna’s post said: *"Savannah got the global campaign! Even though I gave up my own opportunities in the industry to support her, seeing her succeed is my greatest joy. Forever proud of you, Savannah."*

Ethan’s caption was short:

*"Kind people always finish last. You deserve so much better, Sienna."*

Helen looked at the screenshot, her expression darkening.

"Ethan... does he really not know the truth, or is he just playing dumb?"

I flipped my phone face down on the table.

"Helen, he didn't even look me in the eye when I was two hundred pounds. Do you really think he would waste his time verifying a story about me?"