I texted my older brother Mason for $20 and suddenly the entire internet dragged me as his mistress. It's the first month of summer break. I'm already broke, and there's no way I'm calling Mom and Dad about it. So I send a voice note to Mason. Me: Mase, can you spot me $20? Five minutes later, my phone buzzes. I grin, expecting his usual eye-roll emoji and a money transfer notification. Instead, I get this — Mason: Stop hitting up random guys with that baby voice. Have some self-respect. I stare at the screen. My thumbs hover, frozen. Random guys? I'm his sister! Same parents, same house, same everything! I don't know what crawled up his ass today, but fine. Me: Got it, Mason. I toss my phone on the bed. He's probably in a mood. Whatever. I'll figure out the twenty bucks myself. I don't think about it again. Until the next morning. Riley, my best friend, sends me a link. I tap it. It's a TikTok. A girl with bleach-blond hair and lash extensions thicker than my eyelids is crying into the camera. Behind her, in giant red letters, is a screenshot of my messages with Mason. My name. My selfies. My Instagram handle. All of it. "Ladies, I need y'all to be careful out here," the girl sobs, dabbing fake tears. "This is the kind of girl who slides into taken men's DMs with that fake baby voice, begging for cash like a little gold digger. Twenty dollars? That's all you're worth? No shame, no morals—what kind of parents raised you?" I scroll down. A hundred thousand likes. The comments are a bloodbath. "$20 a pop?? Sign me up for ten." "Aren't you scared of catching something?" she replies. Encouraging it. "Disgusting. Her parents should disown her." "Pretty face, rotten soul. Classic." My hands start shaking. I tap her profile. @BellaKnoxOfficial. 2.3M followers. Relationship & lifestyle creator. And then I see the pinned post. A photo. Kissing Mason. Captioned: My everything! She is Mason's new girlfriend. That's how she got the screenshots. That's how she got my face. I can't breathe. I screenshot everything—Bella's video, the comments, her profile, the kiss photo. Every receipt. Then I open the Reed family group chat and dump it all in. My fingers are trembling so hard I have to retype the message twice. Me: Look what Mason's girlfriend did to me. If she sets foot in this family, I'm done. Done. Send. I wait. Three seconds later, the messages vanish. Every. Single. One. Mason—the group admin—deleted them. Then a system notification pops up: You have been removed from "Reed Family." I let out a laugh. A short, ugly, disbelieving laugh. I open Mason's contact and type fast. Me: ??? The message doesn't go through, because he blocked me. I try calling. Straight to voicemail. "Are you kidding me?" I hiss at the empty room. My own brother. Blocked me. Over a girl he's been dating for, what, two months? Fine. Fine. I'll call Mom. I'll call Dad. I'll call every single person in that family chat one by one if I have to— Ding-dong. The doorbell. I freeze. Mom and Dad aren't supposed to be back from their trip for another week. But maybe they saw the post. Maybe they came home early. I jump off the bed, wipe my face on my sleeve, and run for the door. I'm already half-smiling when I pull it open. Then a hand cracks across my face so hard my vision goes white.
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