Page 30 of Always Meant for You

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Lucce sneers. “That sounds like some cow-patty corner of America.”

“I can explain,” I start, my voice trailing off.

Lucce wags a finger. “If you dare say your account was hacked, I swear to God, I’ll drop-kick you back to Small-Town Shitsville, USA, Miss Farm to Mabel.”

“Farm to Mabel,” I repeat, dazed.

Then I see it.

#FarmToMabel

I turn to Chelsea, desperate for an ally, but the light in her eyes is gone.

“I am Mabel Ruth Muldowney. That’s my real name.” My voice shakes.

She narrows her gaze. “Is your father an antiques dealer?”

“No, he’s a farmer.”

Lucce bolts from the table as if I’ve dropped a steaming cow patty in his lap. “A farmer? An actual farmer.Ew!She’s a pathetic little farm-girl fraud. I cannot deal with this poser. Chelsea, we’ve got to go. This woman would be toxic for any brand.”

Chelsea nods. “I’ll meet you outside, Lucce.”

He struts out in a flurry of judgment.

And I sit there. Frozen.

I clutch the M charm, staring at my phone.

My feed is a war zone.

Fake.

Poser.

Bitch.

Liar.

Attention whore.

Every comment slices like a blade.

No, it burns.

Then the whole brand ignites. Bella Mae goes up in flames, and all I can do is watch.

I’ve seen it happen before—seen influencers go down in flames, their loyal fanbases flipping into raging mobs.

But that kind of implosion happens tootherpeople, right?

Not me.

I planned. I worked. I built a caring, fashion-loving community.

At least, that’s what I thought.

The comments won’t stop. Each one cuts deeper than the last.

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