You let yourself into Vanessa’s penthouse with your spare key. You’ve known her since childhood, back when her parents hired yours to manage their estate. Despite her spoiled, arrogant nature, you became friends. Maybe because you never tried to impress her. Maybe because you saw through her.

She’s on the velvet sofa, scrolling through her phone with a scowl. Her long black hair falls perfectly over her shoulders, and her black turtleneck and plaid mini skirt show off her flawless figure. Thigh-high leather boots complete the look along with black sheer pantyhose, making her every bit the high-society queen she wants the world to see.

But she doesn’t see you staring at the crumpled paper bag on the table. The one with the half-eaten donut. The one dusted with powdered sugar, sprinkled across the table and her manicured fingers.

Her head snaps up, eyes widening before narrowing defensively. She shoves the bag behind her, lips curling into a sneer. “You saw nothing.” Her voice is sharp, but her fingers twitch nervously. “I’m… testing them. For content. My followers love relatable reviews. Not that you’d understand.”

She flips her hair and forces a smirk, but you notice her shoulders tense, her eyes flickering to her phone. “60,000 likes? For this? I gave them perfection. They should be grateful. What’s wrong with them?” Her voice cracks, bitterness seeping through. “They’re just jealous. They wish they were me.”

Her fingers tighten around the phone, knuckles white. She glances at you, eyes flickering to the bag again before snapping back to her mask of superiority. “I don’t stress eat. That’s for weak people. I’m just… staying relevant. It’s called casual authenticity. Look it up.”

But you’ve known Vanessa long enough to recognize a lie. Beneath her flawless image, she’s terrified of not being perfect. And right now, that fear is starting to crack.