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.

I looked Clark up and down, a mocking smile curling on my lips. “Not bad. Looks like you’re doing better now than you used to.”

He stiffened. “What nonsense are you talking about? Do I know you?”

His eyes darted with panic. I simply raised an eyebrow and said nothing. He remembered me—how could he not?

A few years ago, before he ever made it into the entertainment industry, I kept him around for two months. He was barely out of school, immature, and arrogant for no reason. I paid his rent, bought his clothes, but he couldn’t even be bothered to pour me a glass of water. If I hadn’t been too busy back then, I would’ve kicked him out long before the two months were up.

Before I could say more, the door to the room swung open.

“Sis!” my sister cried, eyes lighting up. “When did you get back? I missed you so much!”

She threw herself into my arms like a wounded deer seeking shelter, her frame trembling slightly. I hugged her tight, then shot Clark a cold glance over her shoulder. A silent warning.

But the netizens had their own interpretation.

[Oh damn… do both sisters like the same man? That’s messed up.]

[Cara Hartman doesn’t look innocent at all. This is going to be fun.]

Inside the room, Stella didn’t say much about the bullying. Instead, she looked up at me with confusion. “Why are you here?”

“I’m a guest now,” I said simply.

She blinked. “Really?” Then, remembering we were still on live broadcast, she fell silent.

Not long after, there was a knock on the door. Clark and Paula stood outside.

“Stella,” Paula chirped sweetly, “I convinced Clark to help you with the task. Since I earned today’s reward, I thought I’d treat everyone to dinner. Would you and your sister like to come along?”

Paula’s tone was light, friendly—even generous. But I knew what she was doing. This was a subtle flex, a show of dominance disguised as kindness.

Stella, ever the sweet and trusting one, didn’t see it. She smiled brightly. “Thank you so much, Sister Paula! I haven’t eaten all day.”

Cue the barrage of hate again.

[Seriously? Paula was just being polite. Does Stella really not get it?]

[Taking your sister to tag along too? What a third wheel.]

[Starve for a day and act like it’s someone else’s fault? She didn’t even try in the challenge.]

Still, my sister pulled me along. We followed them down to the parking area, but just as we approached the car, Paula suddenly stopped.

“Ah… this is awkward,” she said, feigning concern. “The car’s only a four-seater, but there’s five of us…”

I scrolled lazily through the comments on my phone. Netizens were busy gushing over Paula’s “grace” and “generosity.”

I arched an eyebrow, locked my screen, and looked up.

“If I remember correctly,” I said coolly, “this car was a reward for Stella completing her task, wasn’t it?”

Paula faltered. “Yes, but… I did invite you, right? You wouldn’t stop me from joining, would you? I mean, I can always take another car. It’s really fine.”

Retreating to gain sympathy—how textbook. She knew netizens would start rallying around her again.

My sister looked like she wanted to smooth things over, but I beat her to it, flashing Paula a polite smile.

“Oh, I think you misunderstood. I just meant I can’t let you treat us to dinner for free. I’ll drive.”

Then I opened the back door and added casually, “Love teams should sit together, right? You and Clark take the backseat. Stella will ride shotgun.”

Paula froze.

Her screen love interest on the show was Adam Holloway. Pairing with Clark publicly would sabotage her carefully crafted on-screen romance. But backing out now would be even more humiliating. So, with a stiff smile, she nodded and got in the car.

Once everyone was inside, Clark realized he was the odd one out—with no seat left for him. He rushed toward me, a little flustered.

“I’m Stella’s partner. I should drive.”

He reached for the keys, but I leaned back casually against the driver’s side door, smiling coolly.

“My sister may have picked you, but you said you were forced into it. No need to force yourself again, right? It’s better for everyone.”

I had used his own words against him. His face turned pale.

Just then, the rear window of the car slid down, and Paula leaned her head out with a syrupy smile.

"Stella's sister," she said sweetly, "I was only able to complete my mission today thanks to Clark’s help. It wouldn’t be right to leave him behind when we go for dinner, don’t you think?"

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Ah, there it was—the veiled accusation that I was freeloading off her “generosity.”

I folded my arms and replied evenly, “Then how about this—you get out, and my sister and I will cover our own dinner.”

The smile slipped from her face. Paula yanked the door open with a snap. “Fine! If you want to get out, get out. The program team made me spend my own money today anyway!”

She stepped out and turned to Stella, eyebrows raised in faux concern. “Stella, think about this carefully. You didn’t complete your mission. Even if you have a car, you won’t be allowed to eat. But I earned today’s reward—I can pay for dinner.”

I tilted my head, still smiling. “Are you trying to guilt my sister into abandoning me? Or are you hoping she’ll feel bad that her partner helped you instead and lost her the right to eat?”

Paula flinched. “Of course not! That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Of course not,” I echoed with a pleasant smile. “I believe you. Since you’re happy to spend your own money, then you should have no problem calling a taxi.”

With that, I slid into the driver’s seat and turned to the last remaining guest still in the car—Adam.

“If you don’t mind being the third wheel, you’re welcome to join us.”

Adam, ever the seasoned veteran, met my gaze calmly. He understood exactly what was happening. Paula and Clark were hyping a love interest storyline; Stella was positioned as the contrast, the foil. And he? He was the disposable pawn in their script.

“I appreciate it,” he said simply, settling back into his seat. “I’d rather not play lightbulb tonight.”

[Is this a love team breakup?!]

[Honestly, good. Paula and Clark are the real match.]

[LOL, Cara thought she was flexing, but she just got embarrassed.]

[Clark was Stella’s partner, but helped Paula instead. Now Paula’s mocking Stella for failing the mission? That’s low.]

[Don’t be fooled. The show set this up deliberately—classic drama bait. Adam should’ve distanced himself from the Hartman sisters while he had the chance.]

I was about to start the car when a knock tapped at my window.

I rolled it down to find Paula there again, putting on her best “concerned” expression.

“The program team doesn’t allow guests to spend personal money. Even if you're new, you still have to follow the rules.”

I nodded. “I’m aware.”

“But if you really want to eat something, I can cover it for you.” Her voice was light, generous—for the cameras.

I glanced at her, then smiled faintly. “Thanks, but no. I’d hate to max out your card.”

[Cara is so ungrateful.]

[She's nasty. Paula just offered to pay, and she has to be rude?]

[The Hartman sisters are a pair—one’s a sob story factory, the other a toxic alpha.]

“Sis…” Stella tugged at my sleeve, her voice small. She was reminding me: this was still live.

I shut the window and shifted into drive. “I’m serious. I’m doing her a favor—credit cards have limits.”

The hate poured in through the livestream barrage, but I didn’t care. I drove straight to the most exclusive chain of luxury restaurants in the country.

When we pulled up, Adam finally spoke, breaking the silence.

“Are you sure about this place?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded. “Absolutely. If we’re not eating here, then what’s the point?”