The Ugly Duckling's Retribution

I was the ugliest kid in our family.

Serena posted a family photo on Instagram.

[ Someone commented: Your sister isn't actually related to you, right? ]

I swiped past the comment with a blank face. I didn't shed a tear. I just casually double-tapped it with my burner account.

In this seemingly perfect house, I had long learned to swallow all the injustice and turn it into my ultimate ticket out of here.

[ "How are you guys so different? It's literally night and day." ]

Chapter 1

In her youth, my mom was the undisputed beauty queen of our town. My dad was a knockout, too. My older brother and sister, Spencer and Serena, are fraternal twins. When they were born, they practically caused a riot in the maternity ward with their perfect genes.

So, when Mom accidentally got pregnant with me, everyone urged her to keep the baby. "With how gorgeous the older two are, the third one is bound to be a stunner."

Well, I ended up being the ultimate letdown.

My face shape, my features, my skin toneI miraculously dodged every single good genetic trait my parents had to offer. I was the ugly duckling of the family.

Kids don't know how to hide their disgust. Growing up, none of the cousins or neighborhood kids wanted anything to do with me.

As for my parents, they prided themselves on being highly educated liberals who would never play favorites based on something as shallow as looks. Yet, whenever we went out shopping, Mom would only ever walk shoulder-to-shoulder with Serena. If I took the initiative to loop my arm through hers, she wouldn't scold me right away, but give it a few minutes, and she would casually untangle herself from my grip.

Even the brains were hoarded by my older siblings. Spencer and Serena effortlessly snagged offers from Ivy League schools. I, on the other hand, couldn't even make the cut for my high school's AP honors classes.

At their joint graduation party, Dad had one too many bourbons. Right in front of a crowd of guests, he sighed heavily. "If only we'd stopped at Spencer and Serena. Too bad we had Juniper."

The relatives nodding in agreement formed a sea of pitying faces around me.

I sat there, my fingernails digging crescents into my palms until they went numb.

I've blocked out exactly how my thirteen-year-old self survived the rest of that party.

Afterward, realizing he'd crossed a line, Dad offered me a solemn apology. "I phrased that poorly. Juniper, don't take it to heart. What I meant was, getting kids through high school isn't just hard on the students; it's exhausting for the parents."

"Spencer and Serena made it to college, but I can't relax yet. I still have to raise you. It's a heavy burden, that's all."

Spencer and Serena. Names that embodied grace, distinction, and brightness. And then there was Junipera common shrub that grows in the dirt.

You see, my highly educated parents were nothing if not intentional, even with their naming conventions. Their excuses for hurting me rolled off their tongues just as easily.

I stared into his hypocritical eyes, pulling my lips into a smile completely devoid of warmth. "It's fine. After all, a smart investor always funnels their resources into the project with the highest ROI."

He didn't phrase it poorly. He just accidentally told the truth.

When I was fifteen, my parents celebrated their silver anniversary with a professional family photoshoot. Serena snapped a picture of the photographer's monitor and posted it on Instagram.

The caption read, Family of five, blessed beyond measure. Within minutes, her notifications blew up.

Sitting right next to her, I had a front-row seat to the comments section.

[ "Your parents look so elegant!" ]

[ "Your brother is literally gorgeous, is he single?" ]

[ "Was your sister adopted? She doesn't even look like she belongs in the same species as the rest of you." ]

[ "When you said your sister was ugly, I thought you were just being humble. Guess you were just stating facts." ]

Across the studio, Mom and Dad were busy debating with Spencer about whether they should change backdrops for another set. I caught Serena twisting her lips in annoyance out of the corner of my eye before blocking the guy who left the last comment.

But when she turned her head and met my gaze, she didn't offer a single word of comfort.

Then again, she didn't really need to explain anything. Her younger sister being painfully plain was a universally acknowledged truth, as undisputed as the Earth being round. Arguing with someone over a hard fact was just a waste of breath.

Looking at her cold profile, I crushed the last pathetic remnant of my yearning for familial love, swearing to myself that one day, I would make every single one of them look up to me.

During my senior year of high school, Spencer brought his girlfriend home to meet the parents.

Naturally, no one bothered to give me a heads-up. I was living in the dorms at the time. I came home early sick with a fever, only to crash right into my future sister-in-law, Rosalind, sitting in our living room.

Rosalind looked utterly bewildered. She immediately pinched Spencer's arm. "You're always talking about your sister this and your sister that. You conveniently left out the part where you have two sisters."

Chapter 2

Spencer immediately scrambled to explain. "Juniper's boarding school is super strict. She only comes home every few months. We didn't want to mess up her study schedule, so we didn't call her back."

Mom chimed in with a practiced smile. "And yet you still ran into each other. It must be fate, Rosalind."

I swallowed the words "Mom, my stomach is killing me" back down my throat. I had no choice but to drag my pale, bloated self over and sit next to the flawlessly made-up Serena. Even without a mirror, I knew the side-by-side comparison was a complete massacre.

Rosalind was an alum from Spencer's college. She wasn't drop-dead gorgeous like him, but she came from old money and had impeccable manners. Naturally, my parents couldn't stop singing her praises.

The agonizing meet-and-greet finally ended. Spencer walked Rosalind to her car. Serena immediately started tearing into the gift bags Rosalind had brought, analyzing each item. My parents dove into a heated debate about whether Rosalind's hometown being halfway across the country was a dealbreaker.

Not a single person remembered that I was sitting right there, physically falling apart.

Finally, Spencer walked back in. He had just driven Rosalind home. He was shrugging off his jacket when he caught sight of me and frowned. "Juniper, do you need me to drive you to the ER or something?"

He said the words, but his hand simultaneously tossed his car keys into the woven basket on the entryway console before he kicked off his shoes. It was the universal body language of a guy who had zero intention of leaving the house again.

I pressed a hand against my stomach. The sharp stabbing had already dulled into a numb, radiating ache. I figured it wasn't worth the hassle of dragging myself to the hospital.

Funny, because I vividly remembered the time Serena had bad period cramps. Mom practically dragged her to every top-tier specialist and holistic doctor in the tri-state area.

When Serena whined about the bitter herbal teas, Mom would stroke her hair and coo, "Be a good girl. It's your body. Once we get this fixed, you'll never have to hurt again."

If Mom had spared even half that attention for me, maybe my chronic appendicitis would have been diagnosed early enough to avoid an emergency surgery.

When Rosalind heard I actually ended up in the hospital, she went out of her way to visit me. She had flawless etiquette and even brought a belated "nice to meet you" gift.

Under her watchful eye, Spencer shot me an awkward, tight-lipped smile. "My bad. I'm always just saying 'my sister' for both you and Serena, so Rosalind naturally assumed I only had one."

I saw right through the bullshit. Spencer probably never mentioned my existence at all. And the fact that no one in my family had bothered to correct Rosalind's misconception spoke volumes.

I might have been the invisible middle child, but Rosalind clearly put actual thought into my present. It was an acne-clearing toner and lotion set. It wasn't Sephora or anythingjust some obscure drugstore brand.

Rosalind looked at me with genuine concern. "I noticed your breakouts were pretty inflamed. My neighbor's younger sister swore by this brand. I know the packaging is kind of basic, but it seriously works miracles."

Spencer scoffed. "You're always into weird DIY stuff. She's a high school senior, stop giving her things that'll distract her."

Rosalind leveled him with a flat look. "Taking five minutes a day to wash her face is going to derail her academic career? If her skin clears up, she'll feel better about herself. Good mental health means better grades."

Serena was blessed with poreless, porcelain skin. I, on the other hand, had a forehead that looked like a permanent minefield. I practically lived with thick bangs plastered to my face just to hide the damage.

Rosalind's gift wasn't exactly a conventional present, but it hit the nail on the head. I looked her in the eyes and thanked her, actually meaning it.

Rosalind's special attention toward me immediately tripped Serena's radar. After all, she was supposed to be the center of the universe twenty-four-seven.

But after she did a quick Google search and saw the price tag, Serena just rolled her eyes. "Thirty bucks? You're actually going to put that garbage on your face, Juniper?"

"I thought Rosalind was supposed to be some trust fund baby. I can't believe she had the nerve to gift something so cheap."

I snatched the bottle out of Serena's manicured hands, clutching it against my chest. At least Rosalind gives a damn about me, I thought bitterly. The skincare set might have been cheap, but it was exactly what I needed.

Chapter 3

I religiously applied that stuff for two months, and miraculously, my skin actually cleared up. For the first time in my life, I pinned my heavy bangs to the side, exposing my forehead and my eyes. Sure, my features were still painfully average, but at least I didn't have to dodge eye contact when I smiled anymore.

Mom was a corporate etiquette coach. Usually, if Serena swapped her blush shade, Mom would spot it from across the room, and the two of them would spend twenty minutes dissecting makeup techniques. But I walked around with my newly exposed forehead for three whole days, and not a single person blinked.

I still held out a pathetic shred of hope. I stepped into her line of sight. "Mom, do you notice anything different about me?"

She shoved past me with an annoyed scowl. "Don't bother me right now. That job I'm trying to line up for your sister is looking sketchy, and I need to figure this out."

Spencer majored in business and went straight into the family company after graduation. Serena studied Media and Public Speaking. After she graduated, she bombed her interviews at all the major news networks. She thought she was too good for a standard PR agency gig.

So, Mom was aggressively pulling strings, trying to buy her a spot at a local broadcasting station.

My desire to share literally anything with this family evaporated instantly.

From that day on, I swallowed my words. When my SAT prep scores came back, I shoved the papers into my backpack. If they didn't ask, I didn't offer. Maybe the universe finally threw me a bone.

When the actual college acceptances rolled out, I totally crushed it. I snagged an offer from an elite out-of-state universityone that, objectively speaking, actually ranked higher than Spencer and Serena's schools.

In our community, graduating high school was an excuse for massive, over-the-top celebrations. Most families threw massive graduation parties and invited half the town. I figured, after being tortured by Ivy League prep classes for years, I at least deserved my own graduation party.

But Mom pulled me aside with a deeply conflicted frown. "Juniper, let's just skip the party this year."

Her excuse?

"Serena has been out of college for a year and still hasn't landed a job. If we throw a huge bash, all the relatives will show up and start asking questions. It'll just embarrass Serena and ruin her mood. Just be considerate of your sister, okay?"

I stood there, staring at the floorboards in dead silence.

I need to be considerate of her? When has she ever been considerate of me?

The summer before college, which was supposed to be the ultimate payoff, was completely suffocated by that shadow. I dragged myself to my classmates' graduation parties, plastering on a fake smile. When they asked about mine, I lied through my teeth, claiming my parents were still trying to lock down a caterer. By the time late August hit, I was running out of runway.

I spent every night staring at the ceiling, dreading having to explain why I was the only senior without a party.

Then, out of nowhere, Mom announced the party was back on.

Relief washed over me, immediately followed by confusion. What happened to protecting Serena's fragile ego?

"Your sister finally secured a job, so we don't have to worry about the gossip anymore."

That was when I realized exactly how much blood, sweat, and cash Mom had burned to shoehorn Serena into that TV network. Whatever. At least I was getting my party.

I didn't own a single outfit nice enough for a spotlight moment. Serena, on the other hand, had a closet bursting with designer dresses from her broadcasting gigs. Mom tried to pressure me into borrowing one of Serena's hand-me-downs, but for once, I dug my heels in.

I wanted something of my own. After a grueling argument, I finally swiped my card for a simple, straight-cut white dress.

I walked into the house, only to find Serena posing in front of the hallway mirror. She was wearing a skin-tight, white mermaid gown with daring cutoutsthe exact same color as my new dress.

She pinched the fabric at her waist, admiring her own reflection. "Not bad. Doesn't even need tailoring. I'll wear this tomorrow."

The dress was loud, provocative, and hugged every single curve of her perfect body.

I stared at her smug smile and gripped the shopping bag in my hand so hard my knuckles popped.

This wasn't inferiority washing over me anymore.

In that split second, I was hit with the ice-cold realization that begging for an ounce of fairness in this house was a hopelessly stupid game.

I forced myself to speak. "Serena, do me a favor. Don't wear that dress tomorrow."

"Excuse me? Why not?"

Under Serena's piercing glare, I bit the bullet. "It's way over the top. If you go to a prom, nobody purposely dresses flashier than the Prom Queen."

"If you wear that, everyone's just going to stare at you, and it's my graduation party."

My voice trailed off at the end, the old habit of shrinking myself kicking in like a reprimanded child.

Chapter 4

Serena let out a sudden, mocking laugh. She delicately tapped her index finger against the corner of her eye to catch a fake tear, sauntered over, and shoved my shoulder, forcing me to stand directly in front of her open closet.

She gestured to the endless rows of colorful designer gowns. "You wanted me to change, right? My clothes are all right here. Take your pick."

Ever since she started playing the unemployed princess at home, her temper had become completely erratic. Nobody dared to cross her, because if you did, she would exact revenge tenfold. She had a tongue like a scalpel and knew exactly how to slice you open where it hurt the most.

I swallowed hard, taking a half-step back. "Serena, you don't have to change"

"Oh, I'll change. Why wouldn't I?" Serena tilted her head, her tone dripping with utter disdain, like she was stating a basic law of physics.

"But let me make one thing crystal clearno matter what I wear, all eyes are going to be on me. Believe it or not, Juniper, I could show up wearing a literal trash bag, and they'd still be staring at me, not you."

There's a five-year gap between us, so the typical sibling bickering you see in normal households practically never happened in ours. After all, why would a proud swan bother competing with a dirt-brown sparrow?

When those words left her mouth, my brain short-circuited for a second.

Before I could even process the hit, a hot tear betrayed me and spilled over my lashes.

Serena dropped the word "Pathetic," removed her hand from my shoulder like I was infected, and walked out the door with a look of pure disgust, her heels clicking aggressively against the floorboards.

Serena was the one who went off on me, yet Mom aimed her lecture entirely at my face.

"Your sister dressing up makes you look good by association. Would you be happy if she showed up looking homeless? Stop being so ridiculously petty."

Was I seriously the villain here?

I dug my nails into my palms, doubting my own sanity for a split second.

But I couldn't bite my tongue anymore.

"Nobody intentionally shows up to a prom trying to outshine the Prom Queen."

Mom's jaw actually dropped, clearly not expecting her usually mute, punching-bag of a daughter to talk back. To shut it down, she waved her hand dismissively.

"Enough. I cancel the party, you mope around. I throw the party, you invent drama. One more word and I'm calling the whole thing off so we can all get some peace and quiet."

Just like that, the graduation party I had been dreaming about for two months turned to ash in my mouth. I didn't even want to go anymore. But I had already gleefully handed out invites to all my teachers and close friends; I couldn't exactly pull the plug at the eleventh hour.

I spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, my eyes burning.

The next day, at the party venue.

Serena was dead right. As long as she was in the room, she had a gravitational pull that commanded everyone's attention.

Even Chasemy desk-mate who I was pretty sure was mutually crushing on mefroze for a solid three seconds when he saw her. When he walked over to say hi to her, the tips of his ears flushed a violent red. By the time his eyes finally flicked back to me, there was a fleeting moment of pure distraction.

See? People love to preach about how a beautiful soul matters, but a flawless face will hijack the room every single time. Back when we were drowning in AP prep, I used to daydream about whether crossing the finish line to our dream colleges would finally push us out of the friend zone.

Right then and there, whatever pathetic, romantic illusions I harbored flatlined and died on the spot.

I stood numbly in front of the restroom mirror, staring at my intensely average reflection. I couldn't help but wonder: for a completely unremarkable girl, was having an otherworldly, breathtaking sister a blessing, or a curse?

But then, like a glitch in my brain, a rogue thought flared to life.

If I couldn't escape her shadow, I might as well step directly into the spotlight with her.

I took a deep breath, straightened my spine, and marched out.

I linked my arm aggressively through Serena's, deliberately crushing the expensive fabric of her haute couture mermaid gown in my grip.

Wherever she glided, I shadowed. If she was going to be the human magnet for every pair of eyes in the room, then I was going to be bolted to her side. That way, anyone looking at her would be forced to acknowledge me.

And I made damn sure I was the first one to open my mouth.

"Hi Mr. and Mrs. Miller, I'm Juniper. And this is my older sister, Serena."

It was as if verbally stamping my ownership on the introduction could actually rewire reality. I refused to let this entire crowd walk away remembering only Serena while forgetting that today was supposed to be my victory lap.

Even if, deep down, I knew it was probably a pointless battle.

Chapter 5

By the time the party wound down, Dad decided to shower me with praise.

"Juniper, your homeroom teacher was just telling me how grounded and reliable you are. You've been her TA and never made a single mistake." He patted my shoulder. "You're always so quiet at home, who knew you were such a teacher's pet at school?"

I just smiled, keeping my mouth shut.

If he had ever bothered to show up to a parent-teacher conference, he would have known my homeroom teacher taught Calculus. And I was the TA for Advanced Literature.

But none of that mattered anymore. Soon enough, I'd be packing my bags and putting miles between us.

I naturally assumed my college allowance would match what my siblings got back in the day. Back then, they received a comfortable 0-0,500 a month. But me? I was handed a measly 0-0,200.

When I asked them about the discrepancy, Mom gave me her signature patronizing sigh. "Times have changed, sweetie. The economy is terrible right now, and your father's company needs to maintain cash flow."

Besides, "Spencer is saving up for a wedding."

And, "Serena's wardrobe budget for the network is astronomical."

Finally, the inevitable guilt trip: they had to drain their savings for my unexpected birth, so it was only fair to deduct those sunk costs from my allowance now.

Dad wasn't even sixty yet, but his hair was already completely gray. I was grateful they raised me, I really was.

But it wasn't like I begged to be born.

Leaving this house wasn't the tearful goodbye I thought it would be. Honestly, it felt like exhaling a breath I'd been holding for eighteen years. I could finally just be myself without constantly calculating how my golden siblings would have handled things, only to be hit with the inevitable, "You're just not measuring up to them."

Freshman year, everyone still had that high school herd mentality. The girls in my dorm did everything together. One of my roommates was on a major fitness kick and dragged us to the campus track every night.

"It's not just about losing weight, guys! Endorphins literally regulate your mood and nuke stress."

I definitely needed the stress relief. Growing up suffocated by Spencer and Serena's shadows, the phrase "falling short" was basically a trigger warning that spiked my heart rate. After pushing my lungs to the burning point on the track, my muscles would stretch out, and my mind would finally quiet down.

Running was brutal. Halfway through the semester, out of the four of us in the dorm suite, I was the only one still lacing up my sneakers.

Maybe it was a happy accident. Years of hunching over textbooks had given me terrible posture, but after a semester of hitting the pavement, my spine actually straightened out. Even my pores seemed to shrink.

When I went home for winter break, Serena actually threw a compliment my waya historical first.

"The East Coast air must be doing wonders. Juniper actually looks like a girl now."

It was literally the result of me sweating my ass off on the track, but she just credited the climate. Arguing with her was like talking to a brick wall, so I just muttered under my breath, "Well, it's definitely less toxic than the air in this house."

Right before the holidays, a high school reunion dinner was inevitable. A lot of the girls, myself included, had completely overhauled their hair and wardrobes. Scanning the room, I actually wasn't even the one with the biggest glow-up.

Later, when we hit the karaoke bar, Chase deliberately slid into the booth right next to me. He flashed a charming smile.

"Juniper, I've been sliding into your DMs all semester. Why are you always leaving me on read? You can't be too busy for your favorite desk-mate."

I stared down at my drink, lying through my teeth. "Sorry. I'm taking a heavy courseload. I really don't have the time."

The spark in Chase's eyes instantly died out. It was obvious he was crushed.

But ever since that moment at my graduation party when I saw the sheer, unfiltered awe in his eyes as he looked at my sister Maybe I was being stubborn. Maybe I was just insanely jealous.

It didn't matter. Any possibility of an "us" had been permanently deleted.

I had only been away at college for a few months, but my bedroom had already been converted into a glorified storage unit. I started dragging the junk out piece by piece.

Shoved inside my closet were two massive acrylic organizers crammed full of Serena's makeup. I yelled for her to come get her stuff, but she couldn't be bothered to move from the couch.

"Those are just PR packages and random gifts. I don't use drugstore trash. Just toss them."

Some of those palettes were still sealed; others had barely been swatched. Throwing them straight into the dumpster felt like a crime. I hated seeing perfectly good things go to waste.

Chapter 6

But honestly, mostly I was just curious.

Because of Mom's job, our house was basically a Sephora. She was strict about not letting kids play with her expensive palettes, but whenever Serena whined and acted cute, Mom would cave and dab a little blush on her precious daughter's cheeks.

Later on, Serena's natural talent for the spotlight emerged. Mom dragged her to every dance recital and pageant in the tri-state area, personally doing her stage makeup every single time. Meanwhile, I was the talentless nerd who only knew how to bury my face in textbooks.

I used to hover around Mom's vanity, fascinated. But all I ever got was a sharp slap on the wrist. She'd snatch the brushes away. "Don't touch that."

Now, that childhood curiosity flared back to life. Could I actually try wearing makeup? Even though, with my painfully average canvas, the end result would probably be a total disaster.

I flipped most of Serena's discarded stash on Depop, but I secretly kept a few key pieces for myself. Every night, after the house went dead quiet, I would click on my desk lamp. My beginner's technique was an absolute jump scare. But I was totally addicted.

When I got back to the dorms for my sophomore year, I kept practicing whenever my roommates were out. One night, I was walking to the communal bathroom to wash off a pair of aggressively thick, Sharpie-like eyebrows, when I bumped straight into a girl from the dorm next door.

She physically recoiled. I froze, caught completely off guard.

But if I had one redeeming quality, it was having zero shame. I flashed her a self-deprecating grin. "Sorry, didn't mean to trigger a jump scare. Usually, I walk around with a built-in Snapchat filter, but I forgot to turn it on today."

That terrible joke actually made her crack up. "Your makeup is definitely a choice." She tilted her head, studying my face.

"How about I do it for you? I've been practicing, and I can confidently say I'm at least marginally better than you."

Ivy was obsessed with all things beauty. She didn't just paint her own face; she aggressively volunteered her friends as tributes. She had already dragged every girl in her suite through a makeover, so finding a clueless guinea pig like me was basically her winning the lottery.

Exposing my bare, flawed face to someone I barely knew took actual guts. But Ivy was a master hype woman. To her, all my genetic fail pointshooded eyes, a long midface, and a weak chinwere just minor inconveniences.

"I know the exact look for your bone structure," she declared.

Before I could blink, she was going in with heavy eyeliner, dramatic falsies, and warm brown shadows. She slapped on contour and highlighter like the products were free.

The heavy-glam result left me staring at my reflection in stunned silence. Honestly, Ivy's skills were only slightly better than my own disastrous attempts. But we were two stubborn rookies, and we weren't about to quit.

Freshman classes were brutal, but we always managed to carve out time to experiment. We binge-watched every beginner makeup tutorial on YouTube and TikTok until our eyes bled. After months of trial and errorand some truly questionable lookswe finally cracked the code for our specific faces.

Ivy was petite and cute, so heavy makeup just made her look like a kid playing dress-up. She leaned into a fresh, quirky-girl aesthetic. As for me, my face had sharp, angular lines that looked completely washed out with natural makeup. The bolder the glam, the stronger my aura.

In the beginning, I was still super insecure. I grabbed Ivy's sleeve, staring at the mirror. "Is this too much? My mom and Serena wear makeup, but they never go this dark with their eyes."

The soft, effortless "clean girl" look was what everyone else strived for.

But Ivy just admired her handiwork with a satisfied nod. "Who says there's only one way to look good?"

To complete the vibe, she dragged me to a salon to dye my hair. A blunt bob with chunky highlights actually gave me a reckless, rebellious edge I never knew I had.

When I went home for summer break rocking my new aesthetic, the neighborhood ladies didn't even recognize me.

"Is that really Juniper?"

"College really changed her, didn't it?"

My parents, however, didn't spare me a single glance. They were entirely consumed by the fact that Spencer and Rosalind had officially called it quits. Rosalind was the one who pulled the plug, citing irreconcilable differences. Now, Spencer spent all day slouched on the living room sofa, aggressively sighing and staring at his phone with a pathetic, miserable slump.

Chapter 7

Rosalind texted me.

She said that since she broke up with Spencer, she was purging all his contacts from her phone. She just wanted to give me a heads-up before blocking my number.

Even though we'd only met twice, I really liked her.

I typed back fast: "Hold up, don't block me just yet. I really loved the gift you gave me back then. Let me treat you to dinner to say thanks."

It took a long time, but Rosalind finally replied: Sure.

It was obvious she still had feelings for my brother. I honestly admired her for knowing exactly when to cut her losses and walk away. Secretly, I pitied Spencer. How stupid do you have to be to let a girl like that slip through your fingers?

When we met up, Rosalind looked me up and down before nodding in approval. "Love the hair color. Look at you, all grown up."

Halfway through our meal, a few of her friends texted her to meet up. Instead of ditching me, she dragged me along.

The group obviously stared, wondering who the random girl was.

Rosalind waved a hand dismissively. "My ex's little sister. She's actually cool, so I brought her. Don't be weird to her."

Two massive SUVs hauled us out to a newly opened resort lodge in the mountains.

Get a bunch of girls together, and the agenda is always the same: a full-blown photoshoot.

The only guy in the crew was Rosalind's cousin, Finnick. He had this effortless, clean-cut look about him. He was a junior studying abroad, and right now, his whole personality was basically his camera. Naturally, he got roped into playing the designated photographer.

After snapping shots of everyone else, Finnick called my name. "Juniper, step into that light beam over there."

Pure, golden-hour sunlight cut through the tree canopy, hitting the exact spot he pointed at.

But ever since that disastrous family photoshoot when I was fifteen, I avoided cameras like the plague. Even when I hung out with my dormmates, I was always the one holding the phone.

I shrank back, forcing a stiff laugh. "I'm not exactly photogenic. There's nothing to shoot."

Finnick didn't lower his camera. "There's no such thing as an ugly model, only a trash photographer. Just humor me."

He paused, looking over the rim of the lens. "Besides, who told you you aren't pretty? You look great."

Maybe it was his genuine smile that made me drop my guard. Or maybe it was Rosalind barking firm, unquestionable directions from the sidelines.

I stepped into the sunlight, mimicking the pose Rosalind had just done.

Shockingly, my shots turned out the best.

Rosalind didn't hold back her praise. "Your eyes are a little guarded, but the pose is killer."

Her friend, Jade, looked at me like I was a winning lottery ticket. "For an amateur, your presence on camera is insane. You ever thought about doing some freelance modeling?"

Jade co-owned a trendy Instagram boutique and thought I was the perfect fit for their edgy aesthetic. Since I had literally nothing else to do for the two months of summer break, I said yes on the spot.

But none of us expected what happened next.

Literally a week after my first shoot, Jade's boutique sales blew up. The pieces I modeled moved three times faster than the rest of their inventory.

Soon after, Jade Venmoed me my cut. I only shot for four days and walked away with $800. For a broke college student, staring at that balance on my phone was a total shock to the system.

But the surprises didn't stop there.

Jade texted me, asking if I wanted to shoot for another brand owned by one of her friends.

"The rate is $300 a day. But her standards are brutal, so it's going to be a grind. I know you go to a top-tier school. If you think it's too much work, I can just turn her down for you."

I was currently trying to save up for a down payment on a used car and absolutely refused to beg my parents for cash. Just a few days on set would literally cover it.

Honestly? I'd be an idiot to say no.

I texted her back with a yes.

Chapter 8

Maybe I just had ridiculous beginner's luck. I'd scoured Reddit threads full of horror stories about freelance modeling, but the expected crash-and-burn never actually happened.

I breezed through the shoot for Jade's friend, and she immediately passed my portfolio on to another photographer. Just like that, barely halfway through the summer, I had fully funded my car down payment and stacked up enough cash to cover my living expenses for the next semester.

I have to admit, my ego was definitely inflating.

It's a brutal lesson I still remind myself of to this day: the second you get too comfortable, reality loves to knock your teeth in.

Looking back, getting creep-shotted is just an occupational hazard. But for my sheltered, nineteen-year-old brain, the panic was a physical weight crushing my chest.

The guy didn't just send me secretly snapped photos of me standing in the dressing room in just my bra and underwear. He paired them with a filthy, explicit paragraph demanding I "be his girlfriend."

My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped my phone. My first instinct was to call the cops.

But after pacing the concrete steps outside the local precinct for thirty minutes, my stomach twisting in knots, I couldn't force myself through the glass doors.

Drowning in shame, my mind desperately grasped at the image of my dad. I remembered back when Serena was in high school, some creepy guy developed an obsession and started stalking her on her walk home. The second she told our dad, he grabbed an aluminum baseball bat and parked his truck outside her school gates every single afternoon for a solid two weeks. He practically terrified the stalker into changing zip codes.

We were both his daughters. We were both victims of harassment. I stupidly assumed he would stand up and protect me, too.

But the moment he read the disgusting texts on my screen, a thick vein bulged in his neck.

He swung his arm back.

A brutal slap cracked across my cheek, snapping my head to the side.

"You're out there practically begging for it, parading yourself around half-naked, and you have the nerve to come crying to me?" He pointed a shaking finger at my face. "Get out. I don't have a shameless whore for a daughter."

I had cornered him privately in his study. But his roaring echoed through the drywall, instantly drawing an audience.

Mom snatched the phone from his hand, her face draining of color as she stared at the photos. "What kind of decent college girl acts like this? Instead of studying, you're out humiliating this family! You're disgusting."

Serena leaned against the doorframe, admiring her manicure. "Honestly, your side hustle makes total sense. If the model looks like trash but the clothes are cute, the customers will naturally assume they'd look a million times better in them."

Spencer was the only one who actually showed a flicker of protective instinct, ready to hunt the guy down. But even that came wrapped in absolute disgust. "Are Mom and Dad not giving you enough allowance? You seriously had to go sell yourself out there for some pocket change?"

Surrounded by my entire family tearing me to shreds, a freezing numbness washed over my mind.

I vividly remembered seventeen-year-old Serena sobbing in this exact living room about being stalked. Not a single person blamed her. They hovered around her, wiping her tears, assuring her over and over that it wasn't her fault.

Why was the treatment so drastically different? Just because she was the breathtaking golden child everyone loved? If you were born beautiful, did the world just automatically filter out its malice for you?

I pressed my hand against my burning cheek, staring dead into the eyes of the man I was supposed to call my father.

I grabbed his heavy glass water pitcher and smashed it into the hardwood floor.

I let out a freezing laugh. The heavy front door slammed shut behind me.

Through the walls, I could hear Mom screeching. "We say two words to you and you run away? You think you're so tough now?"

I wasn't running away. I had business to handle. I didn't need them holding my hand. I marched myself straight back to the precinct, filed a police report, and gave my official statement.

Predictably, I hit a brick wall.

The desk sergeant gave me a patronizing look. "You go to an elite university? Smart girl. How did you let yourself get played like this?"

"You want to know what we're going to do? Look, maybe I can give the guy a call, tell him to knock it off. Next time, just be more careful about where you change your clothes."

That half-assed answer wasn't going to cut it. I spent the entire afternoon sitting frozen on a park bench, letting the anger crystallize. I absolutely refused to let this go.

I dug through the group chats and tracked down the other models who had booked the same studio that day. I DMed every single one of them, point-blank asking if they got creeped on. Unbelievably, I actually found three other victims.

One of them was only seventeen. She was so utterly terrified of the threats that she had actually Venmoed the scumbag five hundred bucks in hush money.

I rounded them up and dragged them straight back to the precinct. This time, the detective assigned to the desk was actually competent. He ran the guy's plates on the spot and immediately opened an official case file.

Less than forty-eight hours later, I got the call. That piece of trash caught five days in a holding cell.

Chapter 9

It was good news, but I wasn't exactly celebrating. The adrenaline crash had left me physically shaking. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I should have just kept my head down, stuck to my textbooks, and taken my exams like a normal college student.

instead of chasing some delusional fantasy of independence