Chapter 73

Chapter 73

Sara’s Point of View

I strolled through the mall, the chatter of shoppers buzzing around me like a faint hum. As I passed by one store window after another, my phone buzzed in my hand. Expecting a routine update, I barely glanced at the screen before I opened my email.

And then I froze.

It was a curt message from the brand I’d recently partnered with a prestigious fashion label known for its high standards and fierce competition. My heart dropped as I scanned the words, each one cutting through me like a blade.

"Ms. Brown, we regret to inform you that your endorsement contract with our brand has been terminated effective immediately. We have chosen to move in a different direction for our new campaign. We thank you for your past contributions and wish you the best in your future endeavors."

I stared at the email, my mind blanking as the words sank in. This wasn’t just any endorsement; it was one of the most significant deals I’d ever secured. It had been worth millions, a contract that could have kept my name in the limelight, furthered my influence, and bolstered my image. And now… gone. Just like that.

I blinked, struggling to process it. A wave of disbelief crashed over me, making my cheeks flush with a mixture of humiliation and anger. I quickly glanced around, as though someone might be reading over my shoulder. My fingers tightened around my phone, and I could feel a tremor start in my hands as I held back the scream bubbling up inside me.

Just then, I caught sight of a digital billboard across the mall. My heart stopped as the screen flickered, and then there she was the brand’s new model, draped in the very clothes that were supposed to be mine. The woman in the ad was beautiful, undeniably so, but she didn’t have half my charm, half the talent or appeal I brought to my campaigns. Yet, there she was, smiling confidently, as if she’d taken something that belonged to me.

The whispers began around me, low and quiet at first, but quickly gathering momentum.

“Isn’t that Sara Brown?” a voice murmured from somewhere behind me.

“Oh my god, I heard she lost her contract with Delise,” another chimed in.

“They must have replaced her,” someone else added, their tone dripping with glee.

I clenched my jaw, feeling my face grow hot. This was my nightmare a public humiliation that I couldn’t escape. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep my head high as if their words didn’t matter. But inside, I felt as if I were coming apart.

I glanced back at the screen, my chest tightening with every beat of my heart. The billboard was enormous, and it felt like the model’s face was mocking me, her smile rubbing salt into my wounds. She looked so self-assured, so unbothered, while I stood there feeling like a discarded doll, tossed aside and forgotten.

“Maybe she’s just not what she used to be,” someone else muttered, not bothering to lower their voice.

I turned, narrowing my eyes at the source of the voice. It was a group of young women, their eyes glinting with a kind of spiteful satisfaction as they looked me up and down. They smirked when they saw me watching, whispering something to each other that made them snicker.

I lifted my chin, forcing myself to stay composed. I was Sara Brown. I was meant for more than this more than these people who found joy in my suffering. Yet, no matter how hard I tried to pretend their words didn’t hurt, I could feel the pain sinking deeper, cutting into my pride, my confidence.

As I walked through the mall, my gaze occasionally flickered to the advertisements, to the posters and displays featuring that new model’s face. She was everywhere, on every screen, every corner, every banner. It was as if the brand was determined to erase me entirely, to make sure I’d be forgotten.

“You know,” a middle-aged woman said to her friend, not even glancing at me as I passed by, “Sara Brown’s career has been on a steady decline. It was only a matter of time.”

Her friend nodded, looking sympathetic but not surprised. “Maybe she’s finally lost her touch. It’s not like she was ever that special.”

The words were like daggers, each one digging deeper into wounds I had tried to ignore. My breathing grew shallow as I forced myself to keep walking, my mind whirling with anger, frustration, and shame. How could they talk about me as if I were some washed-up has-been? I was Sara Brown someone people envied, admired, talked about. I wasn’t supposed to be someone they dismissed so easily, someone they forgot the second I walked by.

My fingers clenched around my phone, and I could feel the heat of unshed tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them back, determined not to let them see me cry, not here, not now. But no matter how hard I tried to compose myself, the hurt lingered, gnawing at me from within.

I wanted to scream, to tear down those advertisements, to shout at those people whispering about me, as if they knew what it was like to be in my position. But I couldn’t. All I could do was keep walking, pretending I didn’t hear them, pretending I wasn’t affected by their words.

As I rounded a corner, a familiar face caught my eye. It was Lauren, an old acquaintance who used to admire everything about me. But now, she was looking at me with a hint of pity, a soft smile that felt like a slap in the face.

“Sara,” she said, her tone dripping with forced sympathy. “I heard about the Delise contract… I’m really sorry. That must be tough.”

I forced a smile, refusing to let her see my pain. “It’s just business,” I replied coolly, waving a dismissive hand. “I have other projects lined up. This won’t slow me down.”

Lauren’s smile faltered for a moment, but she recovered quickly, nodding. “Of course. I’m sure you’ll bounce back. You always do.” Her tone was polite, but I could see the faint glint of doubt in her eyes, the disbelief that I would actually recover from this.

I wanted to lash out, to tell her that she knew nothing about my life, nothing about what I was capable of. But instead, I simply gave her a tight-lipped smile, nodding as if her words meant nothing to me.

She gave me one last pitying look before she walked away, leaving me standing there, feeling exposed, vulnerable, as if everyone in the mall could see through my carefully crafted facade. I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my expression neutral, even as the weight of humiliation pressed down on me, suffocating.

The whispers continued around me, like a chorus of voices that I couldn’t escape. My fingers tightened around my phone, my jaw clenched, and I took a deep breath, willing myself not to crumble under the weight of it all.

But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care, that their words meant nothing, I could feel the cracks forming, the doubt creeping in.

As I walked through the mall, my gaze lingering on the advertisements that no longer bore my face, I felt an emptiness settling in my chestba hollow ache that I couldn’t ignore. For the first time, I felt as if I were truly alone, as if I were fading into the background, no longer the star of my own story.

And as the whispers followed me, as the strangers looked at me with pity and smug satisfaction, I felt the weight of it all crashing down on me, leaving me standing there, lost and uncertain, with only the bitter taste of failure lingering in the back of my throat.