They Bullied the Wrong Sister

My little sister was a ghost in the machine of Hollywood.

A nobody, an actress so far down the D-list she barely cast a shadow. She was the kind of sweet, timid soul who’d get steamrolled in the industry and wouldn't dare squeak in protest.

Which is why I was currently sitting in a car with her, on our way to film a reality show. Someone had to have her back.

On the show, I took on everyone and everything. I fought with the cast, the crew, the network executives. I got the live feed cut—twice—and was personally responsible for half the guests ending up in jail.

The internet’s reaction? “Ainsley, we’re seriously worried you’re going to get yourself killed.”

A joke. As if the heiress to the Stratton Enterprises fortune had anything to fear.

The worst-case scenario? I’d have to go home and finally run the damn company.

1

Are you insane? Film a show with you? In your dreams.

Sophie, you're getting treated worse than dirt in this industry, and you want to drag me down with you?

Here’s some advice: instead of plastering on a fake smile for the cameras all day, you should be figuring out how to milk that rich old man of yours for every cent. The crumbs that fall from his table could set you up for life.

The words on the phone screen burned my eyes.

“Ainsley.” Sophie’s voice was a whisper. She gently touched my hand, the one holding the phone.

I typed back a single, eloquent word—Fuck off—then blocked and deleted the contact listed as “Cousin.” As I went to hand the phone back to Sophie, my thumb slipped, accidentally opening her social media DMs. The screen was still on.

You’re such a clout-chaser. Wearing the same brand as my girl? You should try jumping off a building instead. It’d be more original.

Hey, Sophie, you little bitch. Did you like the dead rat we sent? Next time you ‘accidentally’ fall into a male celebrity, we’ll make sure your whole family gets what’s coming to them.

Heard you’re bringing your sister on the show. What kind of trash is the sister of a manipulative slut going to be? Can you two just disappear already and stop making us all sick?

I actually laughed at that last one.

They had no idea. I was the furthest thing from “good” they could possibly imagine.

When I was a kid, I burned down my family’s winery playing with matches. In school, when bullies tried to shake me down for protection money, I put them all in the hospital. As an adult, I’d survived close encounters with crocodiles and pythons in the Amazon. When my family tried to force me into the corporate world by cutting off my credit cards, I sold three of my cars, invested the money in the stock market, and never touched a dime of their money again.

My sister, Sophie, was the daughter of my dad’s best friend from the army. After they passed, we took her in.

Before she came to us at fifteen, she’d been bounced around between relatives who treated her like a burden. It made her the polar opposite of me. I was the tornado that tore through the house, leaving chaos in my wake. She was the quiet, straight-A student who never caused a lick of trouble.

But I never knew. I never knew that the girl who always told me she was “doing great” and begged me to be careful on my adventures was being tormented by our own family and harassed into oblivion by strangers online.

While I was reeling, the “rich old man” my cousin had referred to was in the middle of one of his classic lectures. “You don’t come home for years, running off on one reckless trip after another. You almost got yourself killed! Look at your Uncle Mark’s son. So what if he lost a fortune on his startup? At least he’s doing something serious with his life! When are you going to stop giving me gray hairs?”

The rage that had been simmering inside me boiled over. “He lost a fortune, I made back three. I guess the neighbor’s kid is always better, right? It’s fine if you don’t understand me, but do you have any idea what Sophie has been…”

“Ainsley!” Sophie, who had been standing by like a nervous sparrow, grabbed my arm. Her eyes were wide, a mix of panic and pleading.

My heart softened instantly. The words on the tip of my tongue changed course. “…do you have any idea that Sophie invited me to be on a reality show with her?”

Sophie’s jaw dropped. !

My father stared. ?

I was done standing by. I was about to find out which was stronger: this toxic little world she was trapped in, or my will to burn it all to the ground.

My decision was final. The only thing Sophie begged me to do was keep our connection to Stratton Enterprises a secret, which suited me just fine.

On the day of the shoot, the production team told us to arrange our own transportation. Our estate was in a remote area where Ubers were scarce. Sophie refused to be seen in any of the limited-edition sports cars lining our garage. In the end, we borrowed the beat-up Honda Civic our housekeeper, Maria, used for grocery runs.

The show was called Getaway, a live-streamed reality series where celebrities invited a non-famous friend or family member to join them. Each episode lasted two days. A team captain was chosen for the first day to plan the entire itinerary. At the end of the episode, online viewers would vote, and the team with the lowest popularity would be eliminated.

As the celebrity, Sophie was designated the first captain.

The moment our sad little Civic pulled up to the entrance of the massive Westwood Park, a swarm of crew members surrounded us, and the livestream began.

During the drive, Sophie had been anxiously reviewing the day’s schedule for the six cast members, muttering about restaurant reservations, landmark check-ins, and driving directions. Distracted, she didn’t see the low concrete post next to our parking spot. The moment she opened her door, it scraped against the post with a sickening screech, leaving a deep gash in the paint.

“Oh, no.” Her face crumpled. “Maria is going to kill me.”

Maria had been with our family for decades; she was more of a grandmother to us than a housekeeper. A papercut was enough to earn a lecture. Careless driving was a capital offense in her book.

I shrugged, a silent gesture of ‘you’re on your own.’

The live chat, of course, interpreted it differently.

[LOL, so she’s admitting they borrowed that piece of junk?]

[Wait, are you serious? An actress has to borrow a car to get to a shoot, scratches it, and isn’t even going to fix it? Just gonna hand it back like that?]

[Come on, guys, it’s all for show. These people make more in a day than I do in a year. This is just a pathetic stunt for attention. Look how naturally her sister is playing along. Another wannabe actress.]

I glanced at the comments and looked away. Arguing with the legion of morons online would only make Sophie’s job harder.

We were told the other two pairs of guests were already somewhere inside the park, and it was our job to find them. After walking for a bit, I draped my arm over Sophie’s shoulder, leaning on her slightly. My body was still healing from my last… excursion.

She looked at me, her brow furrowed with concern. “Ainsley, are you tired?”

I pinched her cheek. “Not a chance. I could probably carry you for a half-mile run right now.”

A series of excited shrieks erupted behind us. I turned to see a small group of teenage girls trailing us, just behind the camera crew.

“Hey,” I said with a wave. “Are you guys here for my sister?”

They all shook their heads in unison.

Undeterred, I pushed Sophie forward. “Let me introduce you. This is Sophie Stratton. A phenomenal actress. She’s got the talent, the integrity, and the grace. A future superstar. Get on board now, you won’t regret it.”

Sophie covered her face with her hands and dragged me away.

“Tch.”

The sound, sharp with disdain, cut through the air.

On a bench to our right sat a woman, her expression sour as she watched us. The sound had clearly come from her.

I closed the distance in two strides. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Could you run it by me again?”

Sophie rushed over and squeezed my hand. “Ainsley, she’s one of the other guests.”

The man sitting beside the woman took her hand and stood up, carefully smoothing her dress before turning to the camera. “Hi, everyone. I’m Ryan, and this is my girlfriend, Morgan.”

[OMG! OMG! It’s my favorite couple from ‘Love Unlocked’! I can’t believe it! The chemistry is still off the charts! My shipper heart can’t take it!]

[Who’s that aggressive woman talking to Morgan? She looks like she’s about to start a fight. So trashy. Morgan is from a super-rich family and she’s way more humble than that.]

[Sophie Stratton, you have some nerve. You relentlessly harassed Ryan on ‘The Actor’s Crucible’ until he was forced to quit. How dare you show your face in front of him again?]

[Wait, what? She’s not even that pretty. How did she have the audacity to go after Ryan? Like sister, like slut, I guess. Both are disgusting.]

[What was the network thinking? Can’t they vet their guests? This is so cringey!]

After his introduction, Ryan looked at my sister. “Long time no see,” he said, his tone flat.

Sophie gave a tight, nervous nod.

Morgan clung to his arm, a sly smile playing on her lips. “She even wore a matching outfit for you, Ryan. I guess she’s still carrying a torch for you.”

Sophie was wearing a simple white blouse and a black skirt. Ryan was also in a white shirt, paired with black trousers. It was the most basic color combination imaginable.

I scanned the park around us. A grin spread across my face. “Well, in that case, it looks like half the people in this park are carrying a torch for your boyfriend, from the five-year-olds over there to the eighty-year-old grandpas by the fountain.”

“Morgan didn’t mean anything by it,” Ryan said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder possessively. “She’s a fashion designer with her own independent label, so she’s just very sensitive to these things.” It was a statement meant to sound like a defense, but it reeked of a brag.

Morgan’s gaze was pure contempt. “You’re so protective of your sister. But do you have any idea what she did? She chased my boyfriend so relentlessly on that show that he had to drop out, costing him the lead role in Declan Reid’s new film.”

[What is this Ainsley person’s problem? Does she have any clue what a snake her sister is?]

[He’s defending her! She’s defending him! This is true love! Real couples are the best!]

[If he hadn’t been forced to quit, Ryan would have been named Best Newcomer that year for sure. Sophie, how are you ever going to repay him for that?!]

[An unknown with no formal training won the whole thing? It was definitely rigged.]

[If you have a powerful enough sugar daddy, you can get anything you want. Best Newcomer? Hell, you could buy yourself an Oscar.]

The Actor’s Crucible was a performance competition show. I’d only seen the final episode, which I watched with my parents. Sophie had won the championship with four consecutive A-grade performances. The prize for the winner and runner-up was a custom-written high school movie directed by the legendary Declan Reid.

I had no idea this utterly forgettable guy, Ryan, had even been on the show, let alone had some kind of history with my sister.

Morgan scoffed. “Playing on your phone during a live broadcast? Sophie, didn’t you teach your sister any manners?”

I glanced at the crew members, who were pointedly doing nothing. “The network hasn’t said a word. Why are you so worked up? Spend less time watching historical dramas.”

Her eyes widened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Sophie ducked her head, trying to hide a smile.

It meant exactly what she thought it meant. The emperor isn’t worried, but the eunuchs are losing their minds.

I’d just spent the last two minutes on my phone, watching clips of Ryan from that show three years ago. He was even uglier then, with acting skills that were an absolute train wreck. There was one clip where he got a papercut and cried like he’d been shot.

This guy?

I shot a sideways glance at Sophie. If she’d genuinely ever had a crush on him, I was going to ascend to a higher plane of existence out of sheer disbelief.

She instantly understood my look and shook her head frantically. “We barely even spoke. All those videos were heavily edited.”

I relaxed.

Ryan put on his best victim face. “It’s all in the past. We were all young…”

I cut him off. “I just took a look at your highlight reel. You were ranked last in every evaluation. The mentors criticized you in every single class. My sister, on the other hand, went from a D-rank in the beginning to a perfect A-rank by the finale. When you quit, you gave an interview where you implied it was because she kept confessing her love to you, distracting you and dragging you down. I’m just curious—how exactly does someone at the bottom of the ladder get their leg pulled by someone at the top?”

“And another thing,” I continued, not letting him breathe. “Let’s get specific. When and where did my sister confess her love to you? Tell us all the details. Oh, and by the way, that show had cameras everywhere, even in the bedrooms. So I assume this didn’t happen in the bathroom, right?”

Ryan’s face turned an ugly shade of red. He stammered, unable to produce a single concrete detail. Of course he couldn’t. His entire strategy was to make vague, suggestive claims and let the online mob fill in the blanks.

“It never happened at all, did it?”

“Everyone knows how reality TV editing works. Slap on some slow-motion and a romantic BGM, and you could make it look like my sister was giving heart eyes to a golden retriever. You played the victim card, quit the show, and milked the sympathy for all it was worth. It got you the lead in two cheap web series. So how exactly did my sister ‘ruin’ your career? Have you ever watched yourself act? You even narrate the stage directions. You’re always talking about how you’d die for your art. Let’s see how you’ve been ‘honing your craft.’”

I held up my phone, reading from his online bio. “Ah, here we are. Contestant on a matchmaking show. ‘Relationship expert’ on a panel. The resident villain on a celebrity house-share show. Got into a physical fight with a veteran actor. A regular cast member on three consecutive seasons of a dating show…”

I couldn’t help but applaud. “They say a diamond shines from one place. You, my friend, are a shard of glass, reflecting light from everywhere.”

Ryan was speechless.

Morgan jumped to his defense. “Ryan is just trying to seize every opportunity to get noticed! Hard work pays off, and I know a visionary director will discover him soon enough!”

I put my phone away. “If you really love acting, spend less time crafting a personality in front of the cameras and more time honing your skills behind them. If no one’s sending you scripts, then send out your resume. Audition. If you can’t get a lead role, fight for a supporting one. Stop blaming the world for your problems. If you want a blockbuster script, first ask yourself if you’re good enough to deserve it.”

I remembered what Ryan had called her: a “fashion designer.”

I gave her dress a deliberate, slow scan, then looked away after three seconds.

It looked like a pink burlap sack adorned with a cheap lace trim. My eyes burned.

My tone shifted. “Let me guess, you designed this yourself?”

She tossed her head back, smug. “Of course. I design everything I wear. It’s all one-of-a-kind.”

“If you like it so much, I can give you a few pieces,” she added with a smirk, her eyes raking over my outfit. “That generic jumpsuit and those common combat boots… what did that cost you, under a hundred dollars? You can’t even buy a t-shirt from my brand for that price.”

“Oh, right, I don’t even know what you do for a living,” she continued, her voice dripping with condescension. “Does your monthly salary even cover one of my outfits? Don’t tell me you’re still mooching off your actress sister at your age.”

A slow smile spread across my face. “Money has never been something I’ve had to worry about.”

“But I am curious about your brand’s design philosophy. Is it… recycled waste? I mean, it’s great that you’re environmentally conscious, but I wouldn’t recommend continuing. I happened to look up your online store just now. Your bestseller has two sales, and most items have zero. I guess that’s one way to ensure everything is ‘one-of-a-kind’—by selling it to yourself. Your factory workers must get a lot of vacation time.”

The live chat exploded.

[I’m a 27-year-old entrepreneur in New York. I own a penthouse on Park Avenue and drive a Porsche and a Ferrari. I’m not saying this to brag, just to show you that with enough effort, I can also make up any bullshit I want.]

[This sister is hilarious. She knows nothing about fashion and she’s trying to lecture Morgan on design.]

[Morgan’s brand ‘Cherish’ has a boutique in Paris. She could just be a lazy trust-fund baby, but she’s talented and hardworking. Who does this Ainsley person think she is?]

[Can the producers please shut these two up? I’m so sick of seeing their faces.]

[Gotta be honest, though… Morgan’s dress is really ugly.]

The crew finally stirred. The cameraman took two steps closer, making sure not to miss a single word.

Sophie, desperate to stop me from getting more hate online, tried to pull me away. “Ainsley, let’s go find the other guests.”

But Morgan wasn’t done. She grabbed my arm. “You want to talk design? Fine. I’m going to make you eat your words.”

“Do you know who Solange Renaud is?” she declared. “She’s the youngest-ever chief designer for a major international luxury brand. She’s collaborating with my label at the end of the year. We’re co-designing a couture collection for the spring season. Don’t think you can just throw around a few buzzwords and act like you know anything. You look down on my brand because you could never afford it!”

She shouldn’t have done that. She had just walked directly into my line of fire.

I patted Sophie’s hand to calm her down. “Well, what a coincidence,” I said, drawing out the words. “I happen to know her.”

“Impossible!” Morgan blurted out. “She’s never even been to the United States.”

“I never said I met her here. In fact… I saved her life once.”

It had been in North America, deep in a remote forest. She’d been recklessly searching for inspiration, got herself into trouble, and I was the one who got injured pulling her out of it. We’d been through a life-or-death situation together and had kept in touch ever since.

Morgan burst out laughing. “Wow, you can just say anything, can’t you? Are you just telling us your dreams now? Hahahaha!”

Sophie stepped in front of me, like a mother hen protecting her chick. “My sister doesn’t lie.”

That only made Morgan and Ryan laugh harder.

I pulled out my phone and dialed an international number. Solange kept odd hours; time zones were never an issue. The camera zoomed in, trying to get a shot of my screen, but the operator managed to keep it just out of frame to protect my privacy.

The live chat was a blur of text.

[No way. Solange Renaud is my idol. If Ainsley really knows her, I’ll eat my own shoes.]

[I’m with you. She’s totally bluffing.]

[LOL, I could call any of my friends with a French accent and claim it’s Solange. It’s not like we can see her face.]

[I am Napoleon Bonaparte. Venmo me $50 and I will make you a general in my new army.]

I rested my chin on Sophie’s head, my eyes on the speakerphone.

Ring… Ring…

After the third ring, the call was disconnected.

[AHAHAHAHAHA, THE ACT IS OVER! Did the actor she hired decide the pay wasn’t good enough?]

[That backfired faster than a firecracker in a hurricane.]

[If the sister is like this, the other one can’t be any better. I’m starting to believe Ryan’s story now.]

A second later, a video call notification popped up on my screen.

A woman with warm brown hair and light eyes appeared.

“Ainsley! I have wonderful news! I’m coming to America in mid-December!”

The cameraman respectfully avoided my screen, but Solange’s voice, speaking in fluent, elegant French, filled the livestream. Her identity was undeniable.

[AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH SOLANGE! It’s really her! I’m watching this live! That’s like, one degree of separation from greatness!]

[HOLY SHIT. Ainsley wasn’t lying. Who the hell is she? I can’t find a single thing about her online. No school, no job, nothing.]

[French major here, translating! Solange is coming to the US in December! So what Morgan said was true!]

[OMG Morgan is so amazing! A true female icon!]

[My deepest apologies, I cannot, in fact, eat my own shoes. I retract my previous statement.]

I switched to French and explained I was in the middle of filming a show. She didn't care at all. In fact, she insisted I point the camera at her so she could say hello to everyone.

“Are you coming to collaborate with a brand called ‘Cherish’?” I asked.

The face on my screen looked utterly baffled. She switched to heavily accented English. “Cherish? Collaborate? No, I am coming for a study trip. Remember the ancient legends you told me about, from the deep woods? I was so fascinated. I want to learn more about American folklore.”

The triumphant smile on Morgan’s face froze, then shattered. She made a desperate lunge for my phone, trying to talk to Solange herself.

The director’s voice finally cut in. “Could everyone please proceed to find the last two guests?”

As we walked away, Sophie was practically beaming, shooting me looks of pure adoration.

Morgan had crumpled into Ryan’s arms, sobbing.

As a parting gift, I called over my shoulder, “Oh, by the way! Solange once told me that people have used her name to scam investors before. That’s why she has a strict policy against collaborating with small, independent brands.”

Morgan’s sobs grew louder.

The final pair of guests were cousins. The sister, Faye, was a stand-up comedian who, off-stage, seemed to have crippling social anxiety. Her brother, Finn, was a charismatic live-stream shopping host. He was all charm, calling everyone “bro” and “sis,” but something about him rubbed me the wrong way from the moment I saw him.

With all six of us assembled, we boarded the production van and headed to the restaurant Sophie had booked.

Morgan, who had been silent for the whole ride, decided it was time for an encore performance.

She poked at the dishes on the table with her chopsticks. “This meat is so greasy. And this fish smells so strong. How is anyone supposed to eat this?”

Ryan dutifully peeled a shrimp for her. “I don’t know who chose this place. It’s all stuff we don’t like.”

Finn chimed in. “Honestly, that place next door is way more famous. Their food is incredible. This place is pretty mediocre.”

Sophie could handle the criticism from Morgan and Ryan, but with Finn piling on, she started to believe she’d genuinely messed up. She looked mortified.

She stood up, her head bowed in shame. “I’m so sorry. Why don’t I go out and get you all something you’d prefer to eat? This was my fault.”

I dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “Sit down. And eat your food.”

“But, Ainsley…”

“Sit down,” I repeated. She obeyed.

I placed a piece of braised pork on her plate. “The choice of restaurant, the dishes on this table—Sophie consulted every single one of you beforehand. She asked for your opinions and told you she was happy to change anything if you weren’t satisfied. Every single one of you said nothing, or said ‘whatever, it’s fine.’

“So, here are your options: either find another place to eat on your own, or shut up and eat what’s in front of you. You’re all adults. No one is here to coddle you.”

“My sister is the captain today. You can offer suggestions, but don’t look for trouble. We’re filming a show, not providing you with a personal punching bag.”

[Is Ainsley a mob boss? Acting like she’s some big shot protecting her underling. She thinks she looks so cool, but it’s just pathetic.]

[Who’s using her sister as a punching bag? She’s the one who screwed up the arrangements. Don’t blame people for telling the truth.]

[Everyone vote for the other two teams! If we can get their popularity low enough, we won’t have to see these two annoying bitches next episode!]

“In fact,” I said, my eyes fixed on Morgan, “let’s settle this now. Does anyone have any objections to the afternoon’s itinerary? The scenic spots, the hiking trail? Speak now.”

She avoided my gaze, searching for an ally. Her eyes landed on Faye, who had been silently eating this whole time.

“Faye, you don’t look like the athletic type. Isn’t that a lot of walking this afternoon? And a mountain hike? Do you think you can handle it?”

Without looking up, Faye replied, “Yes.”

Morgan faltered, then tried again. “It’s okay, you know. If you don’t want to go, just say so. I can go back to the villa with you to rest.”

Faye finally lifted her head, pushing her gold-rimmed glasses up her nose. “I want to go. I’m actually interested in all the places the captain planned.”

I leaned back in my chair, watching Morgan with amusement. As I shifted, my foot bumped into someone. Ryan, sitting across from me, didn’t react. But Morgan slammed her hand on the table, glaring daggers at my sister. “Sophie, have you no shame? In public, with all these cameras on you, seducing my boyfriend right under the table!”

Her voice was so loud that the entire restaurant turned to stare at us.

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