Chapter 1Mom and Dad have 10M followers.
My twin sister? "America's Sweetheart."
Me? Erased.
Our birthday, Blair got a luxury car full of roses. I got stuck holding her ring light.
Mom snapped: "Stay out of frame—Blair's brand is ONLY child!"
School drop-offs, Dad just filmed Blair's entrance. Barely looked at me.
"Don't tell anyone you're sisters."
I scored 1570 on the SAT. Blair got a 400.
Their score reveal video? Still ALL Blair.
"Grades don't define you, baby. We just want you happy."
"Be yourself. We'll always love you!"
I actually smiled.
So... being loved doesn't take effort.
The attention I killed myself for? Keep it.
I'm DONE.
...
The score reveal video hit ten minutes.
Mom, Dad, and Blair stared at the screen.
One million likes.
They nodded, satisfied.
"Easy thirty million views at this rate."
"We can charge way more for sponsorships now."
"Blair, you're our golden ticket. Just posting your scores pulls insane traffic."
Blair sprawled on the couch, feet on the coffee table, looking smug.
"Obviously. This account's yours, but I'm the reason it's big."
"I'm the traffic queen."
Mom finally remembered I took the SAT today too.
"Maisie, your scores out? What'd you get?"
She walked over and glanced at my phone.
Her voice lifted.
"1570? You actually got a 1570?!"
Blair scoffed before Mom could finish.
"Maisie the nerd. What's the point of scoring that high?"
"Even if you get into some fancy college and land a job, so what?"
"You can NEVER beat me."
"One sponsored post pays more than you'll make in a year. How are you competing?"
Mom's smile vanished the second she saw Blair wasn't happy.
She shoved my phone back at me.
"Go make lunch. We haven't eaten all day."
"And after lunch, write the next script. Can't let this momentum die."
Without another look, Mom turned and headed straight for Blair.
"Sweetie, stop eating junk."
"Your sister's making lunch. Save room, don't want my baby girl starving."
I still didn't move.
Dad—sitting next to Blair the whole time—got annoyed.
"Didn't you hear your mom? Why are you still sitting there? Go make lunch!"
"Your sister's right. All that studying fried your brain."
I gripped my phone tight, staring at the three of them.
My throat burned.
Blair and I are twins. Born one minute apart.
I was the easy baby. Ate, slept, never caused trouble.
Blair? High-maintenance from day one. Took all their attention.
Preschool at three—I cried till my eyes were red, but still walked in with my backpack.
Blair clung to Dad's leg screaming for them to take her home.
Dad thought it was cute and posted her crying photos on Instagram.
Back-to-school season. The photos blew up.
From that day on, Mom and Dad kept posting Blair online.
Ten years ago, when short videos took off, they used their Instagram base to launch a vlog account.
became the first family vloggers to hit ten million followers.
Blair became the America's favorite daughter.
But no one ever knew.
Behind that perfect family brand was another daughter.
I was still thinking—Blair hurled the watermelon rind at me.
"Maisie! Are you deaf?"
"Go make lunch! You trying to starve me?"
Chapter 2
I shot her a cold look.
Didn't say anything.
Turned around and went to my room.
I opened Mom and Dad's account and scrolled through the comments.
"So jealous Blair has parents like this. Family goals."
"With love like that backing you up, you'd never be scared of anything."
"Are they having another kid? Can I still get born into this family?"
Some comments made me laugh.
But then tears started falling.
Blair and I have the same parents.
But not the same love.
Blair's their internet daughter.
So obviously she gets all the attention and camera time.
I get that. Never fought for it.
I just worked harder, hoping they'd notice me even a little.
But turns out some love you can't earn no matter how hard you try.
If I can't get it even killing myself trying, I don't want it.
Loud banging on my door.
"Maisie! Get out here!"
"Who the hell do you think you are giving me attitude?"
"Got a 1570 and now you think you're better than me?"
"Get out here! I'll break this door down if you don't—"
Before she could finish, I yanked the door open.
Stared at her coldly.
"What."
Blair scoffed.
"Look at the time. You still haven't made lunch. What are we supposed to eat?"
"Don't think scoring a 1570 puts you above me. You're nothing."
I didn't want to argue anymore.
But I wasn't going to keep trying to please them either.
"I don't want to."
"Not just today. Not ever again."
Blair froze for a second.
Then yelled for Mom and Dad.
"Mom! Dad! Maisie said she's never cooking again!"
Over the years, whenever I didn't want to write scripts, didn't want to edit videos—Blair would pull this move.
She'd call for Mom and Dad, and I'd cave immediately.
Terrified of making them upset.
That's what kids starved for love do.
They'll do anything for even a crumb of it.
But now? That pathetic crumb of love? I don't want it anymore.
So her threat means nothing.
Dad stormed over, face twisted with anger.
"Think you're hot shit now? Talking back to your sister?"
"You better fall in line or you're eighteen now—get the hell out of this house!"
Mom looked startled at Dad's words and stepped forward.
But everything she said still favored Blair.
"What's wrong with you, Maisie?"
"You've always been so good. Why are you acting out today?"
"Come on, don't upset your sister. Just go make lunch."
Dad sneered.
"Every dollar in this house came from me and Blair. You freeload and throw attitude?"
"We don't support dead weight."
I stepped back, dodging Mom's outstretched hand.
"Since middle school, I wrote every script, came up with every idea, did all the editing."
"Without me, you think your account would have all those viral videos with millions of likes?"
"And you gave birth to me so raising me is YOUR job!"
"You don't get to—"
I didn't finish.
Dad's hand cracked across my face.
"Don't you dare talk to me like that!"
Chapter 3
Blair laughed when she saw me get hit.
"You actually think you're somebody? Gonna claim this account blew up because of YOUR scripts?"
"It's ME! People follow because they love ME."
"Nothing to do with you."
My cheek burned.
The last bit of hope I had? Gone with that slap.
I smiled a little.
Didn't argue back.
Ten years ago when short videos took off, Mom and Dad jumped platforms.
But videos aren't photos. Pretty pictures don't mean interesting content.
Four years of filming got them barely a hundred thousand followers, mostly old Instagram fans.
Then in middle school, I wrote a script to make them happy—
About Blair starting middle school, parents supporting her big moment.
That video blew up.
Three million likes. Over a million new followers.
That success showed Mom and Dad what I was worth.
For the next six years, I handled all the ideas, scripts, and editing.
Made them the first family vloggers to hit ten million.
And all that work got me "we don't support dead weight"?
Ridiculous.
I didn't say anything else.
Went to my room.
Pulled my suitcase from the closet and started packing.
Dad was still pissed, watching me with cold eyes.
"Leave then! Stop being an eyesore in my house!"
"Quiet dogs really do bite hardest."
Blair crossed her arms and walked over, looking down at me.
"You're eighteen and this is all you got?"
"Look at your clothes. My cleaning rags are cleaner than this."
"Since you're moving out, beg me and I'll give you some designer stuff."
"I've got tons of last season pieces anyway."
"Giving it to you or throwing it in the trash—same thing."
My hands stopped.
Our family's been making eight figures a year for a while now.
Mom and Dad gave Blair a black card with no limit.
Every time new collections dropped, Blair could swipe away without a care.
They even built her a whole walk-in closet for her luxury items.
Me? Two or three outfits per season, some faded from washing.
I wasn't hurt about it before—Mom always smoothed it over.
"Maisie, you have to understand your sister. She's on camera so she needs to look nice."
"You're sisters anyway, so what's hers is yours. Wear whatever you want."
But all these years, I never had permission to touch Blair's stuff.
I looked up at her.
"No thanks. Throw it in the trash."
"Things that aren't mine—even if I got them, wouldn't feel right."
Just like your spotlight.
What's not yours gets taken back eventually.
I didn't have much to begin with. Ten minutes and I was done.
As I walked out, I heard glass shattering and Dad's furious voice behind me.
"Don't anyone stop her! Let her go!"
"And don't ever come crawling back!"
