Roxy North was the entertainment industry's resident tough girl. When she was photographed getting a little too friendly with several male celebrities, her response was sharp: “We’re just bros. A dirty mind sees dirt everywhere.” When the tabloids caught her seemingly breaking up the golden couple—A-list actor Owen Scott and the angelic Isabella Vance—she scoffed. “He’s like a brother to me. Girls are always so dramatic and suspicious. That’s why I can’t hang out with them.” Not long after, my sister, Isabella, tried to kill herself. Hounded by reporters, Roxy turned the tables. “What does her suicide have to do with me? Don’t try to pin this on me just to squeeze some money out of it.” Owen was crucified online, branded a two-timing cheat. My sister was dragged for being a drama queen who brought it on herself. Even my family was cyberbullied, accused of faking our grief for a payout. Through it all, Roxy’s tough-girl persona held strong. She built her fame on my sister's grave, capitalizing on the tragedy to become a household name. Three years later, I entered the industry, my face an uncanny reflection of the sister I had lost. And now, I was on a reality show with Roxy North. 1 The moment the cast for the new challenge-based reality show was revealed, the internet exploded. “Whoa, that face… she’s a dead ringer for Isabella Vance!” “Is this what they mean by a ghost from the past? The resemblance is insane!” “My heart just stopped. For a second, I thought my angel was back. The likeness is unreal.” “It’s not just her face. Even her name is similar.” “Wait, isn’t Roxy North on this season too? Oh, this is going to be good.” “My girl Roxy is on the show! I’m so here for this!” Roxy’s reputation preceded her. Three years ago, she and the heartthrob Owen Scott were on a dating show. Her edgy, no-nonsense attitude next to his gentle, humble demeanor created a shipping frenzy. After the show wrapped, paparazzi snapped them together constantly. She’d visit his movie sets; they’d be seen entering the same hotel, one after the other. Shippers dug up photos of them wearing matching bracelets and using identical phone cases. They even found vacation photos, posted separately, that were clearly taken in the same spot. The final nail in the coffin was a picture Roxy posted on her social media: a thermos of steaming hot chicken soup. The caption read, “Thanks to a certain someone for the homemade broth.” That post sent their names trending worldwide. The shippers went wild. “OH MY GOD, MY SHIP IS REAL!” “Is this it? Is this the official announcement?” “I love this dynamic. She’s the powerhouse, and he’s the supportive one at home. Roxy is such a boss!” But Owen, the supposed other half of this romance, repeatedly set the record straight. “Please don’t believe everything you read online. Ms. North and I are just colleagues.” Every time he did, Roxy would be the first to comment. “Don’t listen to the rumors, guys. I see Owen as a brother, and we work for the same agency. It’s not what you think.” Her non-denial denials only fanned the flames. “We get it, the studio won’t let you go public!” “Owen, why are you so shy? Be a man like Roxy!” “‘Just colleagues.’ Riiight. Suuuure.” As their fame skyrocketed, a bombshell dropped: Owen was already living with someone. That someone was my sister, the ethereal beauty, Isabella Vance. Isabella had been by his side since the beginning, long before he won his first major award eight years ago. Fans quickly realized all the “couple’s items” Owen owned were actually matching sets with Isabella, not Roxy. The shippers couldn’t handle it. They turned on Owen, savaging him for leading them on. They launched a brutal hate campaign against Isabella. Owen tried to fight back, releasing photos and statements proving he and Isabella were the real couple. But to his heartbroken fans, it was all lies. His attempts only enraged them further. Buried under an avalanche of online hate and real-world doxing, Isabella sank into a deep depression and retired from acting. But the harassment didn't stop. Someone leaked her home address. Tormented by strangers at her door, Isabella finally broke. She slit her wrists, ending her life. Devastated, Owen quit the industry and vanished from public life. And Roxy, the third point in this tragic triangle, faced the cameras with tears in her eyes, playing the innocent victim. “I’ve always been one of the guys, that’s just who I am. What does her suicide have to do with me? I’m a victim here too, you know. Don’t abandon your conscience just to get a payout.” She was talking about my family, implying our fight for justice was nothing but a cash grab. Roxy took a six-month “healing” break, while the world condemned my sister for being weak and Owen for being a cheater. When Roxy returned, her fanbase hadn't just recovered; it had grown. She had successfully profited from a tragedy, her tough-girl image stronger than ever. She used every handsome co-star as a stepping stone, manufacturing rumors to climb higher and higher. And now, here we were, Roxy and I, standing together in front of the cameras. When the producer yelled, “Let the challenge begin!” I heard a death knell tolling. It was for Roxy. Your time is up, Roxy. This is where your story ends. 2 The first event was a three-round challenge. In the first round, we’d draw lots. Whatever we drew, we had to touch it, blindfolded, for a full minute to win. The loser would face a penalty. There were supposed to be three female contestants, but one dropped out due to illness. Roxy, her competitive streak showing, immediately picked me as her opponent. Beating the new girl who looked so much like her old rival would be a satisfying victory for her. As we prepped, she shot me a smug look, chin high. “Annabelle, honey, I know you’re new here, but a competition is a competition. I won’t go easy on you.” My face was a mask of indifference. I gave her a look one might reserve for a particularly stupid insect. Then, I turned to a staffer and asked for a blindfold, slipping it over my eyes without another word. I was afraid another look at her would make me puke. The show was broadcasting live, every move captured for the world to see. The comments section was already buzzing. “Roxy’s competitive fire is on full display! Go, girl!” “She’s so focused this time. I feel bad for the other girl, she might actually cry if she loses.” “What’s with this Annabelle girl’s attitude? Roxy is a veteran. Show some respect.” “People like her don’t last long in this business.” My coldness seemed to momentarily throw Roxy off, but it only fueled her desire to win. “See? This is why I don’t get along with girls,” she said, loud enough for the mics to pick up. “But I’m not like those guys who go soft on a pretty face. Don’t come crying to me when you lose.” She waved a hand, letting a crew member tie on her blindfold before striding to the table with feigned confidence. If I hadn't overheard her bribing the director's assistant for an easy draw, I might have actually believed she was fearless. But she had no idea this show, and its director, David Shaw, were famous for one thing: authenticity. Shaw was notoriously fair and unbribable. I wondered what her face would look like when she realized her challenge was very, very real. Fear thrives in the unknown. With your sight gone, every other sense screams. I felt a cool, scaly sensation on my forearm. A slender body slithered up my arm, a forked tongue flicking against my bare skin. I heard the faint, tell-tale hiss. I knew instantly what it was. A small smile touched my lips. How fun. I held out my other hand, and as if it understood, the small snake glided onto it. For the next minute, I and the little creature moved in a quiet, harmonious dance for the cameras. When the timer buzzed, I slowly removed my blindfold. A small, pink corn snake was coiled peacefully around my wrist. I affectionately rubbed my cheek against its head. It didn't react with aggression, only a gentle flick of its tongue. On the other side of the stage, Roxy’s turn was just beginning. The moment her fingers brushed against the object, she shrieked and snatched her hand back. “What the hell is that thing?!” Her voice trembled with undisguised terror. Realizing her overreaction, she quickly tried to play it off. “Whoa, it’s cold! But I’m fine, I’m fine.” Despite her words, her hand felt like it was weighed down by lead. She couldn't bring herself to reach out again. Behind the cameras, Director Shaw’s brow furrowed. He had no patience for time-wasting. “One full minute of contact, or you forfeit the round.” A staffer began a loud, public countdown. Forced, Roxy gritted her teeth and extended her hand again. This time, she lasted a single second before a full-blown scream tore from her throat. “Get it off me!” She seized the small lizard on the table and hurled it across the room like a grenade. In that instant, the director’s calm voice announced, “Annabelle wins.” I felt no joy in the victory. I walked slowly to the corner where the stunned lizard lay. Though they are cold-blooded, these were pet-grade animals, completely harmless. I gently scooped it into my hands. After the trauma it had just endured, the tiny creature gave my finger a weak, harmless bite. I asked my assistant to take it to a vet. That small act of kindness completely shifted the mood in the live chat. “Holy crap, Annabelle has nerves of steel!” “Did you guys see that? She didn't even flinch. She smiled!” “Okay, but was anyone else horrified by Roxy? Who just throws a living creature like that?” Of course, Roxy’s die-hard fans rushed to her defense. “Seriously? What girl isn’t scared of reptiles?” “LMAO, that’s a normal reaction for any girl.” “She was just startled, give her a break.” “But… hasn’t Roxy always bragged about being a tough girl? Didn’t she say she loved cold-blooded animals?” “She said she likes snakes, not lizards! It’s different!” Even now, her fans were trying to spin it. 3 Holding up my wrist, with the pink corn snake still coiled around it, I walked slowly toward Roxy. The snake lifted its head, its tiny, black-bead eyes fixed on her. “Roxy,” I said sweetly. “I heard you love snakes. Want to pet him?” The live chat was already a warzone over her reaction. Roxy’s face was pale. A glance at her manager’s thunderous expression told me she knew she’d screwed up. She had been exposed. But I kept advancing, step by step. If her blindfolded panic could be excused as fear of the unknown, her reaction now, with her eyes wide open, would be far more telling. If she flinched, if she refused, her entire tough-girl persona would shatter. Roxy squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep, fortifying breath before shakily extending a hand. Just then, the snake flicked its tongue out. Mistaking the movement for a strike, Roxy shrieked and yanked her hand back, a raw sound of terror escaping her lips. Even then, she tried to salvage it, forcing a pained smile. “He’s cute. So… pink.” Her fans immediately latched onto it. “See! She’s a total badass! Anyone who doubted her can shut up now!” “She touched it! Are the haters happy now?” In a spot the cameras couldn't see, Roxy was frantically scrubbing her hand with a sanitary wipe. When she caught my eye, she shot me a look of pure venom. I couldn't help but smile. The fun was just getting started. Because Roxy lost, she had to face the penalty. I looked at the director, my eyes wide with feigned anticipation. “I wonder what the punishment is?” Director Shaw waved a hand, and a staffer walked out carrying a large black box. I caught the brief, meaningful look that passed between Roxy and the staff member. Sure enough, a moment later, Roxy pulled a slip of paper from the box and announced with forced cheerfulness, “It’s the water balloon challenge!” One of the male contestants stepped in. “Isn’t that a little harsh? You can’t have a girl’s makeup get ruined on live TV.” But Roxy just laughed, as if she had it all under control. “It’s just a water balloon. What’s there to be afraid of?” Her fans roared with approval. “Our Roxy isn’t like those other divas who are scared of showing their bare face!” “Exactly! She’s a natural beauty! She’s said publicly she hates wearing makeup!” “This is nothing for her!” Since her debut, Roxy had cultivated an image of being an all-natural, tough-as-nails girl. She’d claimed on talk shows that she’d never had a pimple in her life and hated the sticky feeling of foundation on her skin. When a host asked about her skincare routine, she’d proudly declared she used nothing but a cheap, drugstore lotion. The reality? Her makeup routine took four hours. She was obsessed with achieving a “no-makeup” look, and she terrorized makeup artists over the tiniest imperfection. While everyone was distracted, I slipped backstage, pulled a large bottle of a mysterious liquid from my bag, and poured its contents into the water balloon tank. Let's show the world the real you, Roxy. She sat on the stool beneath the balloon, watching with a confident smirk as it filled with water. Seconds later, it burst with a loud POP. Water cascaded over her. Drenched, she tried to play it cool, slicking her hair back and wiping her face with a hand. But then she noticed the silence. Everyone was staring at her, their expressions a mixture of shock and disgust. “What? What is it?” She looked down at her hand. It was covered in a thick, beige sludge. Her foundation. She brought her hand to her nose and sniffed. A faint, chemical scent clung to her skin. Makeup remover. I’d poured an entire bottle into the water. The online audience, now seeing Roxy’s real face for the first time, went into an unprecedented frenzy. “Who the hell is that?!” “Her skin looks older than my mom’s!” “I thought she said she never wears makeup…” “IS ANYTHING ABOUT HER REAL?!” Roxy, seeing her own disastrous reflection in a monitor, clutched her face and fled the stage.
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