Page 23 of My Real Love Affair

Then she smiled. “We’ll see.”

CHAPTER 8

MELODY

Iexcused myself to use the restroom after another dance with Austin. My feet ached but I was having too good of a time dancing to tell him I needed to sit down. The champagne had gone straight to my head, or maybe it was the surreal nature of the entire evening. Either way, I needed a moment to collect myself.

The Plume estate’s powder room was as over-the-top as the rest of the wedding. Marble countertops, gold fixtures, and enough mirror space for an entire bridal party. I was washing my hands when three women walked in wearing their fancy designer dresses that showcased their perfect bodies.

I recognized them vaguely from the ceremony. Society types. The kind of women who probably had trust funds and summer houses in the Hamptons. They stopped talking the moment they saw me.

“Oh,” one of them said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “It’s her.”

My stomach dropped, but I kept my expression neutral. I dried my hands slowly, deliberately, buying myself time.Never show fear.

If I ever went on that African safari I’d been dreaming about, I had a feeling it would be a lot like this. A pack of hyenas ready to pounce had just walked in. If I looked afraid, they would tear me apart.

“I can’t believe you have the nerve to show your face here,” another woman said. She had dark hair with a very expensive blowout and a dress I knew was Prada.

“In the restroom?” I asked innocently.

“After what you did,” she replied.

“I didn’t do anything,” I said evenly, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

“Right.” The third woman laughed, bitter and sharp. “You just took money from a brand to promote body positivity and then let them Photoshop you into oblivion. Very authentic.”

“I didn’t know they were editing the photos.” I turned to face them directly, refusing to cower. “I would never have agreed to that campaign if I’d known.”

“Sure you wouldn’t have.” The first woman crossed her arms. “That’s why you signed the contract, right? Took the money and ran?”

“The contract didn’t include anything about photo manipulation. They did it without my permission or knowledge.”

“Oh please.” Dark-hair rolled her eyes. “You expect us to believe you had no idea? You’re a professional influencer. You know how this works.”

“I know how it’ssupposedto work. With integrity and transparency.” My voice was steady even though my heart was racing. “I would never compromise my values for a paycheck.”

“Your values?” The third woman stepped closer. “You built your entire platform on being ‘real’ and ‘authentic.’ And the first chance you got to work with a major brand, you sold out. You made every plus-size woman who trusted you feel like shit.”

That one hurt. Because it was true—not the selling out part, but the fact that womenhadbeen hurt. My community, my followers, and the people who’d trusted me. They felt betrayed, and I understood why, even if the betrayal hadn’t been intentional.

“I didn’t sell out,” I said quietly. “I was used. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” Dark-hair examined her manicure, utterly dismissive. “Because from where I’m standing, you got paid to lie to thousands of women about what real bodies look like. That makes you a fraud.”

“It makes me a victim of a brand that prioritized profit over principles.”

“God, listen to her.” The first woman laughed. “You sound like a press release. If you’re going to try to save your career, you’re going to need better PR representation than that.”

“I’m not trying to save anything. I’m telling you the truth.”

“The truth?” The third woman’s smile was cruel. “The truth is you’re exactly like every other influencer out there. You talk a big game about authenticity and self-love, but the second real money comes calling, you’ll do whatever they tell you to do. Including photoshopping yourself into a completely different body.”

“I didn’t?—”

“Save it.” Dark-hair waved a hand dismissively. “We all know how this works. And honestly? The fact that you’re here tonight, clinging to Austin Bancroft like he’s your life raft? It’s pathetic. You’re a pawn. And when he’s done with you, you’ll be even more canceled than you already are.”

The words landed like a knockout punch in a prize fight. But I refused to let them see me break.